The Persistence of Memory
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 1
When I stood at Endellion in the sun's evening glow
At Chywoone Hill at Newlyn, to watch the fishing fleets go
I watched the sheave wheels at Geevor as they spun around
And heard the men singing as they go underground
And no one will ever move me from this fair land
Until the good Lord calls me to sit at His hand
For this is my Eden and I'm never alone,
for this is my Cornwall and this is my home.
I've left childish footsteps in the soft Sennen sand
Where I chased the boy there, all wriggly and tanned
I've stood on the clifftop in a westerly blow
And I've heard the waves thunder on the rocks far below
But no one will move me from this fair land
Until the good Lord calls me to sit at His hand
For this is my Eden and I'm never alone
For this is my Cornwall, and this is my home.
Adapted from the song 'This is my Cornwall' by the Fisherman's Friends
In the beginning, the child had two fathers. Or so it appeared to me, being that boychild. At the beginning of things, I came to understand what that meant. My natural father shared his bed with a boy from Germany who had come to love me, and who cared for me like any loving mother would. That's what Garth is to me, a wonderful substitute for my real mother. He fed me, changed my nappy when the time came, often, kept me clean and wholesome, comforted me when I was upset by pain, discomfort or infant disappointments, soothed my tiredness, watched whilst I slept, and woke me at the beginning of each new day, always assuming I hadn't woken before. I have never known my natural birth mother and I never will. She is not spoken of. In time, as I grew, I had questions I must have answers to. The German boy would answer my questions with an unfailing honesty. Garth, christened Goethe, would answer in a strong accent, a curious mixture of east midlands, and German.
'Garth.' I say as the towel reaches my thighs and buttocks.
'Yes my darling kinderboy.' [boychild]
'Why do you sleep in Daddy's bed?'
'Because we want to feel close to each another, the reason being my sweet boykind, is that we love each other truly and deeply.'
'Do I have a mummy? Have I ever had?'
'Yes, the woman who bore you into this world.'
'Why isn't she here?'
'She has given you into my loving care now my darling kind.'
'Does she love me?'
'Of course she does, just as your father and I do.'
'Will Daddy make more babies with you?'
'No darling boy, he won't.'
'Why not?'
'Because I am a man, not a woman. A man must have a woman to make a kinderbeing.'
'Why does Daddy want to have a man with him at night, even though he's lovely and kind like you are?'
'Because……..[a pause for thought] some men prefer to have another man lying close to them my darling kinderkind.'
'Does Daddy like men more than women?'
'I believe he does now my sweet boy, in certain ways, yes. But only in some ways.'
'What ways?'
Not that night as he dried my slender body, but in the end, Garth had to tell me about important aspects of human relations, especially those that pertained to his particular relationship to my father. In short, my father had accepted his essential homosexuality when he found the boy Garth homeless and desperate for his loving care. With his compatible sexual preference, Garth soon found himself under the body of his new and generous master, now deprived of the woman's body he never really wanted, and not for the first time had he experienced the invasion of the fully formed male genital part. And not for the first time did he feel the lips of a lover enclose his own parts and extract from it a ready supply of sweet boy seed. With his naturally flaxen hair and piecing grey blue eyes and well-worn clothing he was indeed noticed as he spent days wandering the docksides of his native Hamburg, close to mighty church of S. Michael. There was a boat leaving for Harwich, the port in a storm, that morning. At sixteen years young, a new life perhaps, and release from tyrannical Hamburg?
The boys were practising in the chancel. Garth sat and listened as he looked up at the intricately painted roof, moved by the sounds of the tinkling voices as they faded, drifting gently heavenwards. The sounds took him back to Michel, the largest church in the city of Hamburg with its baroque tower standing four hundred and thirty-three feet tall. Once he'd sung for a capacity congregation of two thousand five hundred in this very place. Once he had allowed his robes to be invaded. They said it was his fault; the scandal that ensued. As is usually the case, the boy was not to blame for the incident. The boy sang no more.
'From the top of page six boys,' The man said. 'Bar 32. Robin, I'm not hearing you. Is there a problem with you this morning? Again? Come on boys, concentrate! ' The man went on. He looks at the Master, the boy close to tears now. He knew he had to do better, but he was trying. As always, he was trying his best. The sounds just wouldn't come out right. The B Flat was flat. The C he'd missed completely having lost the line on the stave. He was panicking, his eyes flicking from bar to bar trying to re-locate the notes all the other boys were singing. And then he couldn't see properly. The tape he'd hastily put on to secure one arm of his spectacles had come off. A boy had accidentally sat on them in French. His fault needless to say. He shouldn't have put them down where he did. When he joined the other boys, a little late again, he couldn't get out of his head how cross his father would be at the needless expense of a new pair of glasses. They started with Stanford's Evening Service in B flat. By the time they'd gone onto the Nunc, he'd lost his concentration completely.
'Money doesn't grow on trees Robin!' The irritable man said to him. 'Go to bed!'
He wanted to cry right there and then but he knew he'd have to hold them back somehow; if he could.
Garth had heard the piece the boys were singing, or trying to, before, which brought back memories of his short time at the Michel. He looked at the boy who had been admonished and sent unseen and comforting vibes of love to him across the cool space between himself and the small figure in the scarlet Cathedral chorister robe. The other boys look nervously at the Master.
' Just Robin please. From bar twenty-four then. Beginning of. You need to emphasize that B natural. Come on Robin. You need to be much more accurate sounding those consonants. I want to hear you this time.' He waves up to the organist to lead him in. Garth knew the terrified boy had and would make a complete mess of it.
'Alright. Perhaps the rest of you can get this right. From the top of page two then. Bar twenty.' The man raises his hand and the organ leads them in once more.
Leaning against the mighty stone pier, Garth lowers his head and prays for the boy.
Shortly after my tenth birthday, I had heard strange noises from my father's bedroom while I stood outside the door listening. What was my father doing to Garth? Why was he hurting him? I turned the door handle slowly. The door opened silently and I looked through the narrow gap and saw my father's body lying over Garth's on the big bed. The two bodies were moving in a slow rhythm, my father's legs wedged between Garth's, his naked body supported by his elbows as he looked down at the boy. I watched as the motion continued, as Garth went on crying, and trying to kiss Daddy. Daddy just looked down at Garth, still pushing his body into the other, in jerky thrusts. Then Daddy cried too and said something to Garth and soon after, he stopped his pushing. Then the two bodies were quite still, the one still pressing down on the other, still joined.
Daddy has put his seed into Garth, my boy daddy. I knew then that I was going to have a baby brother to play with, and quietly closed the door.
And the child shall be called…… Duncan .
And so we shout……..Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluuuuuuulia !
I thought Elspeth, Duncan's grandmother, was looking very frail when I last saw her. I imagine that taking on the responsibility for Duncan must have weighed heavily on her shoulders, and consequently taken its toll on her health, not that she ever complained, as far as we know. She was one of those who would always see her first duty towards the family, whatever that involved. Whatever the cost to herself. You could call her wonderful, unselfish and unconditionally loving, for that's what she was.
Her son found her in bed, grey faced and unresponsive. An ambulance was called, and in due course the doctor quietly confirmed that she had died peacefully in her sleep. Luckily, her grandson Duncan was at his parents' home up in Padstow the previous night. His father had 'phoned on the Sunday afternoon and got no reply from his mother Elspeth, which worried him. They always spoke at that time of the day on Sundays. Peter Grant drove south to Truro and let himself in with his own latch key and found her upstairs in her bed, her mouth still open, mercifully with closed eyes, pale and still. She was eighty-six, her birthday in three days time. Peter knew as soon as he saw the frail figure. There was no panic. No fumbling with his 'phone to make a call for help. Peter felt the prickling begin behind his eyes. There's no one else in the room so he can weep now without any embarrassment. He was always close to his mother. He puts his hand close to hers and touches it, that old wise hand he knew so well, now shrivelled and old, brown age marks thickly scattered.
I was at home in our stone farmhouse on the edge of the Cornish village of Poverty S. Erth when Peter gave me the news, prompted by a distraught Duncan who insisted that he telephone me at Morwenna House. I asked to speak to Duncan. Within seconds he had broken down and was in floods of tears. There were serious implications for him as he couldn't live on his own without his grandmother there at 31 S. George's Road, Truro, consequently he could not continue to attend the school 'up the hill' in Truro. Duncan would be forced to leave his school with immediate effect on his own well-being and his future prospects.
I told both Peter and Duncan that come hell or high water, we would find a solution. As soon as I was off the 'phone, I spoke to my father and his partner, Garth. I had lived 'in digs' when my father had to move from the small east of England city, westwards to the even smaller Cornish City of Truro. I went to stay with Anna and Adrean and their two children until such time as I could move west myself. That worked well. This could work too. With his parents' permission and full support, Duncan will stay with us at Morwenna House in the village of Poverty S. Erth for the foreseeable future.
I think Garth was unconvinced, but seeing my determined expression, Dad nodded encouragingly, which as usual I knew would be enough for Garth to agree.
'It's an emergency Garth. Someone's life. Please? You'll love him. I know you will.'
'Like you do? Is that it?' Snaps Garth.
'Yes, that is it.'
I felt my bottom lip start to wobble as I said those words, considering poor Duncan's fate. The unbearable truth rose to haunt me in those moments. Emotional blackmail? No. It could never be anything like that. In that conversation one thing had surprised me. That I had revealed my very strong affection for Duncan, publicly. I had to in order to make a stronger case in support of Duncan coming to live with us, despite being somewhat younger than me. To have those sort of feelings for a boy more or less my age would have been one thing, but to declare my 'love' for a much younger boy might well be seen to be quite inappropriate, which it isn't. At least not in my eyes.
A trial period was agreed, with immediate effect. We are over the first hurdle. His father Peter Grant will bring him tonight to Morwenna House. I still have my wider than usual single bed. I can go on the floor if necessary, but I do want him in the same room as me. We have two spare rooms, but that's for later. Tonight he needs me close to him.
Peter arrived with a nervous looking Duncan at six o'clock. I had suggested he drop him off and leave promptly, which he did. He had a small holdall in his hand as he waited at the end of the path to our front door. He looked upset and anxious. I went to meet him as he ran towards me. Arms around each other now, with some tears. It's a bit of a moment for Duncan. In the space of a few hours he had lost a loved one and moved house. All a bit much for a young mind to take in.
I put him into my bed at nine having helped him undress and get into a new pair of my soft flannel pyjamas. He wanted me to stay with him until he fell asleep which I was happy to do. More than happy. I stroked his face and head, his eyes closing. It wasn't long. I got in with him in case he should wake in what are unfamiliar surroundings, and panic. The last thing he needs at this stressful time. I left him sleeping soundly.
At nine thirty I undressed, folded my clothes just as Garth has always insisted I leave them, and got back in with Duncan, nude. Shamefully I was aroused by my closeness to his body; the warmth of his skin against mine, and the softness of his breath. I drew back the duvet to look at him lying on his back, his pyjama top ridden up his tummy which is exposed down to the loose white cord of the bottoms that just cover him. The temptation is too great, and yes, I do look. It's a simple matter of moving the fabric two or three inches downwards. So simple. He is so beautifully calm in sleep as I go on looking, and loving what I'm seeing.
I couldn't bear to leave him so I was still there when Duncan woke around seven. I heard Dad and Garth getting ready to leave for work, so our big shower area, installed at some expense, would be free. I always waited, if I could, for them to leave before I began all my morning preparations in peace and quiet. I leave for my job at the school at eight. So all that works out nicely. And now I have Duncan here. I'm behind him, spooned in as they say, so I can gently stroke his shoulder as his mind and body begin to animate. These are lovely moments of realization for him, as he comes to terms with the reality of this new morning, and sadly the recent events, the memories of which will soon flood back.
He doesn't turn towards me in the way he would have done, his face shining into mine. No, this is very different. I go on stroking his shoulder, a thing I know he loves. Being in this kind of contact. He didn't shower last night. I put him straight to bed, emotionally exhausted.
I touch his eyes. They are open now. Eyebrows next. I love the texture of Duncan's eyebrows as I run a fingertip along one and then the other. That usually makes him laugh, but not this morning. He's a sad boy at this moment. An odd thing I suppose to wax lyrical about, and there's plenty more of him to get excited about. His mouth, with that top lip; the heart shape of it that I've held against mine, just once, months ago now.
I'm hoping he won't turn over and face me because I know I'll want to cry, but must not. Poor Duncan. There's nothing I can do but sooth the ravelled sleeve of care. These are magic moments.
He finds my hand and pulls it around his chest and holds it hard against him. The grip on my hand is strong.
I asked Garth if the occasional blub was a dodgy habit to get into. He said if you feel like it, just do it. That was good enough for me. I love Garth, my Dad's partner. Just as well as we live together. He's way younger than Dad, and I'm not surprised he was attracted to him. He's my alternative father, a bit like a mother would be because he's effeminate and wafer thin. He dyes his hair very blond and often wanders around the house nude, save for a pair of briefs. I know I can ask him anything about anything. Questions about human relationships for instance. By now I'm fully aware of what I am, and what he is, but I'm not so sure about my father. Is he or isn't he? After all he must have done it with my mother or I wouldn't be here would I? Maybe he's half and half. Garth always has an answer for me.
'People change Alex. They think they're one thing and find out much later they are something different. Don't worry, lots of dad's are both things at the same time. It's not all black and white my kkinderdarling.' He says squeezing my arm.
'Do you think that's me then?'
'That's a question to ask yourself Alex, not me. But this friend of yours, Duncan. What does he do for you? I mean, what does he do for your soul? Does being with him make you happy? Is he more than just a good friend to you? How does he make you feel deep inside Alex? And what kind of feelings do you have for him? These are the questions you need to find answers to. You're not a little boy anymore. You have become more aware of your mind and body now and how it all works. You've been thinking about your relationships as we all do, especially when you're with someone you have feelings for. Especially when you find yourself very close to them and you're touching for some reason. How does that make you feel Alex? You will know by now exactly how he affects you. Is that true?'
'Yes, true. He does affect me in lots of ways. Nice ways.' I said, smiling.
'Nice ways? Well that's good. It shows you are very responsive. I think you always have been.'
'Have I?'
'Oh yes. It's lovely isn't it, relaxing in a warm bath water; and having all that time to think.'
I remember those days when I played with toys in the bath; my little wooden sailing boat, and my own body. Some self-discovery was going on which I wanted to share with Garth.
'Look Garth. See?'
'That's very nice darling. Now it's high time you got dried.' He'd say, dismissing my little show.
I stand looking down at myself. What an odd thing it is. And why does it grow like that?
Garth stood there holding the towel for me, and then wraps me up in it, before running his fingers through my wet hair. Dried, I would stand before him, in more ways than one, as he held my pyjama bottoms open for me to step into as I held onto him, looking down at this alien thing I had been given for no other useful purpose than to act as a convenient conduit to pee through. But I was on the brink of a new discovery.
When Duncan turns over to face me, his eyes look red and sore, as he holds my hands tight against his chest. He attempts a smile as his eyes fill once more. I'm so sad for him.
It's fifteen minutes past seven and he's calm at last. I'm finding it easy to share the loss of his beloved grandmother, Elspeth Grant.
'Do I have to go to school today Alex?'
'Yes. You'll be on your own here if you don't sweetheart, and that wouldn't be good for you. It's best for you to go, by far. Something else to think about. You'll be fine and we can talk at lunchtime if you want to? Just come to the Arts office. I'll be there if you need me. Ok?'
'Will you come in with me?'
'Yes of course. Are you ready? Come on, stand up for me.'
I slipped his horrid Ghost Busters tee shirt over his head and saw him as I love to see him whenever I get the chance. Standing naked in front of me, as I am in front of him. It's a big shower, one that Dad and Garth had put in so they use it together. More romantic they said. Sometimes I shower with Garth but never with Dad. Neither of us would like that. I try not to think about what Dad and Garth do together in bed, but I know that my daddy does sex with Garth. I never go near their room now, not after the last time thank you very much. Those noises Garth was making. But I have looked in their bedside drawers and there are things in there, and other things too. I asked Garth what those things were for. Garth always answers my questions honestly and fully. Really? Is that really what you do? With an irrepressible curiosity I decided to find out for myself exactly what it felt like. The thing. With my enquiring mind it was time to consult the anatomy book to put a name to the funny bump a couple of inches up my insides. I asked Garth about it.
'It's your prostate Alex. A useful bit of kit.'
'So how does it work?'
He told me in some detail including the interesting fact that if it was stimulated correctly, and it's a big if, it can lead to a very pleasurable experience. I knew it did but how , exactly.
'During sex darling. You know about all this don't you?'
'Oh yes.' I lied.
I'm twelve at this point in my life. My boarding school, S. Endellion, has taught me quite a lot in the short time but not this detail.
'The erect penis will come into contact with it during intercourse, thus rubbing against it, if it's not too big, causing it to become stimulated. If that continues for long enough, your partner might orgasm. Let's just say that it's possible. Not likely, but possible.'
'Did it ever happen to you?'
'Lots of times darling. When I was a boy I had a lovely kindfreund.'
'Kind means child doesn't it?'
'Yes, mein kind, it does mean that.'
I've often thought about that way of doing things. The idea of it, and what it would feel like, not with a bendy rubber object made very slippery, but the real thing .
I know Garth loves me even though he's not my father. But he acts like he is. He says I'm cute, especially my long legs and firm rounded bottom. That's so funny. He says I still look like 'my little boy' because I hate pubic hair so, as and when any appears, I've decided I'll get rid of it all. Garth showed the best way to do it, and around my back passage. Apparently you get it there as well. Horrible! That's more difficult to deal with Garth said. You have to be careful back there as obviously you can't really see what you're doing anything like as well. Much later when I did get that ghastly stuff, all went according to plan and what little hair I had all around that area was gone. I wanted to him my bottom part to check that it looked right. He said there's nothing to worry about. He let me shower with him. All this was about four years ago. I remember looking down at his penis. At the time I thought it looked a massive thing compared to mine. He noticed me looking at him.
'Ok is it?' He said, smiling.
'Yes. It's massive.'
'Oh not really sweetheart. But it suits me. And your father quite likes it.'
'Would you mind if I touched it? Just for a second?'
I didn't wait for his permission.
I put my hand out and I felt it just under the rounded end, just below that most sensitive part with my fingers underneath and my thumb on top. It jumped. Garthe didn't like that.
'Hey! You mustn't do that! Please don't . That's not fair. Really not fair Alex.'
Honestly, that's all I did. It didn't get any bigger when I touched it, not then, but mine did. It came up so fast. So weird how it did that. Garth was smiling now. I'm going to do it again. I don't care what he said. I need to know what his does.
I put my hand around Garth's penis and felt it properly this time as the blood began to flow into it. It's growing by the second. I squeezed it and pulled at it before I had my hand smacked. Even then I could not take my hand off. It felt hard now. Really hard.
Ok, so that was a bit of Garth's contribution to my alternative education. It only ever happened the one time I can assure you. My dad was out shopping or something so he took me into their bedroom. I'd been going out with a boy called Johnny by this time and both my dad and Garth knew about it. I was a slow starter in the puberty stakes and was worried about a few aspects of the process, like, what should I expect to happen? Things had started, but it didn't look right to me. I knew what it was supposed to look like from a magazine that was going around my form at school but it certainly didn't look like that . It didn't feel like they described it.
I sat on the bed beside Garth, naked of course as we'd just come out of the shower. I watched Garth. He didn't touch me, not at any stage, nor I him.
'Go out now Alex. Go to bed.'
'Why?'
'Oh for goodness sake!'
'Why not? What are you doing?'
It was very obvious what he was doing. I rushed back to my own bed and rubbed myself up and did it. It came really quickly. In a fit of daring, I put the fingertips of my hand to my lips. I thought it a very odd taste. A bit like the smell of a swimming pool changing room. I have decided I like it. The taste of it. I like it very muchly. Indeed I do. I'm wondering if all boys are the same?
After that I played up to Garth rather naughtily which made him smile, but he never did anything untoward, not ever. Apart from the occasional hand on my bottom and the usual daily 'nice pants on today Alex.' I made a point of parading semi-nude. I absolutely love the things he gets for me and feel the need to show him. He was at that time working part-time at a new Next shop in Truro and brought home good stuff for me, always a bit on the small side if it was underwear, and boys' sizes, of course. When I was twelve, the label in the back would say…..BOYS AGE 8-10.
'Some new stuff for you Alex.' He would say, extracting a small package from the bag. 'Try these on?'
'Now?'
'Yes. I thought now Alex.'
Ok then. He'd watch as I whipped off what I had on, and donned the new offerings. I loved doing that, and always found it a major turn on. Next produced great pants for boys, a really stimulating alternative to those thick cumbersome things a lot of the boys still had to endure. With them on, and my shirt raised high so he could get the full 'boy' effect, my penis firm inside and pointing skywards, Garth would always have some sort of comment, like 'Very edible Alex.' Something of that ilk. There was never anything particularly sexual about our fun and games, at least I didn't think so at the time.
'A bit intrusive around the bottom Alex. Sorry.'
At that, he would tweak the material with a finger and thumb, all soft and sexy, from deep between my bottom cheeks where they had dug themselves in somewhat, and pull them out, and then gently let go again. He himself sported what I thought to be the most outrageous underwear that disappeared up his backside probably forever. A thong I think he called those things he favoured.
'Don't they get………a bit contaminated Garth? Right up there like that?'
'Hmm. Could be a problem, but it's more a matter of how they feel dear boy. Something nice up the bum all day long.'
Phew!
I suspect that most boys of the age I was at the time, nine or ten, develop a consuming interest in their private parts, both front and back. I certainly did as I was clearly becoming rather highly sexed. Putting a new pair of pants Garth had got from Next always got me going as I looked myself in the bathroom mirror, in every other respect, nude. Erections would come thick and fast and subside slowly. I had to get out of bed, whether I had one or not, and if I did, it would last for ages and be seen of course which I never minded, much to Garth's amusement. It was a certainty if I had not woken earlier and climaxed in yesterday's pants prior to the alarm going off. I had already explored my back passage in the way boys and girls do.
I had developed a consuming curiosity in my prostate gland being the age I was at the time, eleven. I had explored my rear end thoroughly, to some satisfaction whilst I worked at the front end, but could find no sign of what Garth had spoken to me about. There seemed to be no sign of this strange bit of male kit that did such a vital and interesting job for us boys. So who is my go-to adviser and confident?
'I'm worried Garth.'
'What about my kinder kind?'
'That gland you were on about recently. Frostbite…..prospect……. precinct, or whatever you called it. I've looked for it. I haven't got one and the book says every boy has one. I haven't. I'm worried Garth. Do you think I should go to the doctor?' I ask, innocently, looking up into dear Garth's blue eyes.
'No. I can assure you that you do have one. It's called your prostate. Repeat.'
'Prospate. Prostrate?'
'Oh never mind. As I said, you have one.'
'I haven't. It's not there.'
'You have a devious streak in you young Alex.' He says as he lays his hands on my shoulders.
'Will you look? Please? It's not fair to let me worry like this is it?'
Of course it isn't! Go on Garth, check the boy out and allay his fears.
As you suspect, I knew exactly what I wanted from Garth; one of his fingers, or two, up my kinderkunt, as he calls my back passage. After all, it's only something he must have done hundreds of times when I was in infancy, dealing with a yet another dirty nappy. He gives me a smiling agreement, taking my shoulder again and leading me into his bedroom. And so he does, as I lie on my back holding my knees back as far as I could to give Garth perfect access to my slippery rear end, aching for his kind and immediate attention. Now I really know what the tube of whatever it is is for. A gentle soothing lubricant to facilitate invasive fingers, or something else?
I had also by this time worked out what my father was doing with Garth in bed most Sunday mornings. Occasionally I found a used condom either left in the bathroom or in the kitchen bin, for my examination. I'd hold up the open end and observe the seedy stuff gradually make its way down into the funny shaped receptacle at the end, filling it right up. Furthermore, I had ample opportunity to explore my father's bureau, the cupboard and chest of drawers in their bedroom and wonder what the various items inside were used for, one or two clearly battery driven with thin wires attached and which I discovered made buzzing noises; one that appeared to be a replica of a cracking good boy's circumcised cock that vibrated alarmingly inside it. It wasn't what I thought to be adult sized but much more the size I was at this time. Roughly four inches long but quite thin. To be precise, four and three-quarter inches. I had measured myself with unerring accuracy needless to say.
That morning alone in the house, I gave my rear end a thorough workout with a man-sized black and flexible replica penis that didn't have a buzzing facility and made myself alarmingly sore as I hadn't twigged how much of gel stuff one needed to protect the delicate tissue up there. That evening and worried about the damage I might have inflicted on my insides, I presented my problem to Garth, kneeling on the floor and with my elbows on the edge of my bed. He parted my buttocks for a closer examination.
'Good grief boy! How did you do that?'
I had to tell him, and as a result, Garth was forced to explain one or two things.
I'm sure it had nothing to do with liebe zu kinden, my diagnosis and subsequent treatment for my self-inflicted soreness. After the life he had endured back in Hamburg, nothing could be further from his mind I'm quite sure.
He used the same thick white pasty cream he used on my baby bottom nine years before, and the same as we can still apply with great effect to that area when needed.
I drew a deep breath as I felt the invasion begin. Garth is nothing if not careful and sensitive.
His touch is so wonderfully light, as you would expect from him. Gentle. He makes little circles; round and round he goes, gradually moving from the outside towards the centre point and that concentration of a million nerve endings that are giving me much more than a soothing sensation. Much more!
'Are you ok down there?' He asks quietly, almost a whisper, his right hand to the side of my buttock. I don't think I answered him. My concentration was focused elsewhere, and on the supreme pleasure I was experiencing.
This in an entirely new experience for me and I can barely speak. The sensation has complete control over me as I take deeper and deeper breaths. Exquisite seems an appropriate word to use as the object of my desire, the boy's rigid kinderkock eases into my swirling sexual world; my kinderkunt. I'm in heaven. The fantasy is taking shape nicely.
It's in now, embedded within my whole being. I can feel the boy's breath on my face as he pushes and pushes, my whole body shifting to his rhythmic penetration. At last, at last, at last! His mouth is all over my face, wetting me. I grab his face and suck out his tongue, bucking frantically. He's cumming. He is…….now!
Garth's practical remedy worked wonders and the soreness has departed, and I'm somewhat wiser now you'll be relieved to hear, although I could have done with a second and even a third appointment with Garth's middle finger, giver of supreme pleasure. This evening I found a tube of the said lubricant and a little present under my pillow. I can't wait, in fact I don't have to. My father won't get back until after seven and I'm alone in the house for once. Perfect timing!
I don't think it was a climax, at least what I felt was nothing like the usual feeling I had. This was a very different sensation with a very slow build-up culminating in a feeling of well-being. I think I was on the edge of something but not there. Not yet.
Not yet a teenager, I'd get into bed with Garth when I needed an arm around me. My father had gone to work early as he always did. Garth never got up early so I knew I could get a cuddle from him. I think he is a child lover, but not in a thousand years a child molester. I know he loves me, mind, body and soul, as I do him; but never did he do anything to me or anyone else to reproach himself for. He's just like that . I have never felt any kind of unease in his presence, as I've stood naked before him, sometimes with my kinderkock rigid and upstanding, and wanting, but with me not knowing how to properly satisfy these new urges I was experiencing on a daily basis. I had not yet learnt the art. Garth told me recently, in another question and answer session, how he learned the art back in Germany. No, not once did Garth ever take a liberty with me. Perhaps he would have liked to have brought me to a giggling climax and sucked the non-existent sperm out of me on those occasions, but he has always abided by his controlling mores. I just don't know and furthermore, I would never ask him about such an issue. Anyway, it was years ago now. These days we see each other naked from time to time coming in and out of the bathroom perhaps, or in warm weather, lounging in the garden.
Garth's family were determined, so he told me, that he and his brother and sister would not have the sexual hangups that apparently can trouble the modern child. He said……
'The nineteen-sixties were a time of sexual freedom Alex, and experimentation in society. Free thinking adults did not want their kids to grow up with the same conservative hang-ups they had worked hard to get rid of. Sex especially should be enjoyable and the exploration of our bodies and our budding sexuality was the key to a happy childhood. Children like us, all three of us very close in age, were encouraged to explore ourselves and each other, not in secret like mum and dad did when they were young, but openly. In fact our parents helped us by showing us how to masturbate ourselves and each other. We were encouraged to watch as our parents began their foreplay and then made love, and even allowed to join in, sharing the pleasure of touching and bringing one another to orgasm. They considered it was important that we knew how to give pleasure to our partners, and receive it too. You know, the technical aspects of sex. Where the clitoris is and how to stimulate it to best effect, and not with fingers necessarily, but with your tongue. Girls should not be afraid of a penis but learn how to use it for their own and the boy's pleasure. It was all to do with love Alex. How sex can and should complement a truly loving relationship.'
Good stuff, but is it true? I was keen to know more.
'So did you live in a large house?'
'No. Just a small flat in a block. Just two bedrooms for all of us so the three children had to share two beds, my brother and I in one and my sister in the other, but we swapped about quite a bit. I got to know all about s girl's personal difficulties when they came along each month, the blood and her pain and everything. Bloody knickers on the floor which frightened me half to death the first time I saw it after she had just started her periods. One or other of us would sleep with her when she felt low, bless her. Once a month my father would call me and my brother into their bedroom when my mother couldn't accommodate his needs. That was when I first witnessed mann sperma ejaculate from the head of a large circumcised penis, all an essential part of our education. We were to watch so we knew what happened when a man came to orgasm and a large amount, it seemed to us, of his semen appeared in several pulses, gradually diminishing in strenth. My mother fellated my father until he announced rather breathlessly that he was about to produce a week's worth of ejakulat, which he did in several whitish pulses that shot into the air and landed on his chest and stomach. I remember feeling slightly sick but excited at the same time. I was allowed to put my hand on his stomach to feel it. It was warm and sticky and you could just catch a very distinctive aroma coming from it. My mother looked at me, smiling and clearly pleased with the result. I thought, why can't I do that? They thought that it was important that we should see what made us three kinders. The actual male human substance that gave us life. And then things began to go wrong. It must have become increasingly obvious that I was different from most boys. My father caught me dressing up in my sister's clothes for one thing. A naked boy posing with an erection in front of the mirror dressed only in a pair of his sister's knickers does create a few doubts in the mind of an aggressively heterosexual man given the odd lapse of bullying do you not think Alex?'
'Possibly.' I answered with a smile.
'Yes, very possible. And there were other signs too. A small group of like-minded boys used to frequent a local beach, a massive sandy beach not far from the city and prance about naked. There would be a lot of foreplay going on as we lay on towels all put together to form a communal play area. We thought it huge fun, swimming and sunbathing naked. We didn't even bother to take any swimming kit. Sometime in the afternoon we'd have this love-in session which ended up with everyone……..well you can guess. We got reported to the local police. My father wasn't thrilled. That was the beginning of the end for me. I was staying out late at night to avoid being at home. Not the best thing for a cute blond-haired boy of thirteen in tight pale blue summer shorts to be doing in Hamburg. I started missing school days and just wandering, often around the docks area near the Saint Michael church. I met someone in there. I would go there most days and just hang out and listen to the organ being played. I think I became quite well-known, this boy in a blue and white striped tee shirt and shorts. I'd be given cups of tea, and then some food at lunchtimes like I was the church cat or something. Eventually I was given jobs to do in return, like sweeping floors and cleaning brass objects. I liked it. Every afternoon the choir would practice before the service at five. I had to be home by then so I could change into my school clothes before my father came home. A bit devious really. Soon after that some guy came to talk to me. He asked me loads of questions about what I was doing there and why wasn't I at school. I didn't convince him. He took me into a side chapel to pray with him. It was all for me, ending with a blessing. He was very young and kind and rather beautiful with long dark hair and kind eyes. He had seen me listening to the choir practicing. We went over to a piano which stood away in a corner. He played notes as I stood by it and asked me to sing the same note. I was still a soprano then. I must have done it right because he asked me if I would like to join in with the next practice because my voice was potentially good and I clearly needed something more to do. He said there were several very poor boys who had become members and now loved it. They were very reluctant to do it at first, but I would be given another boy to be with all the time who would help me, and not to worry. I had to have faith in myself. So I joined.'
'And……?'
'My father was completely disinterested but didn't stop me going. It was a life saver for me, as the priest talked me through all my troubles and got me calmer and living at home, and going to school every day again. It didn't last long though, so one day I persuaded a crew member of a boat going to Harwich to smuggle me aboard the next day, which he did.'
'Did you have to pay him?'
'I had no money, but I did have a good body and a pretty face that was more than acceptable to him. I shared a bed with him in this tiny cabin, but at least it was just with him, no one else. Again I had met another kind person, English as it happened which was another bit of good fortune. We had to be careful getting onto the ship, but we got to his cabin undetected. It was tiny, with a single bed with a plaid blanket on it and one pillow, built into the wall with a round window in it with a view out onto the docks with all the cranes. He opened the porthole and started to ask me questions.
'This is it I'm afraid. How old are you?'
'Just fourteen. You?'
'Eighteen. I told my parents I've run away to sea.'
'Not that far then?'
'No. Are you frightened?'
'No. Should I be?'
'No. I just thought you might think I'm like that. You know, a homo.'
'Are you?'
'Yes, at least I think so. How about you?'
'The same. Fairly sure.'
'I'm not expecting to do it with you by the way. If that's what you were thinking?'
'I wasn't. Do I look queer?'
'Maybe. A little bit. Do you dye your hair like that?'
'No it's natural.'
'Oh. Lucky boy. You stand out. Stood out I should say. When I saw you.'
'Do you do sex with people?'
'I have done, once or twice. Not in Hamburg. At home in England. I'm on watch tonight so you'll be on your own here until two tomorrow morning.'
'When does your watch start?'
'Not for another two hours……….and a half.' The young man says, looking at his watch.'
'Oh that's a shame.' Garth says, looking at the young man.
'You really are………very lovely.'
'So are you.'
'Thanks.' The boy says, smiling graciously.
'How are you feeling?'
'Quite good actually.' The nice boy says in a very pukka English accent. 'Your English is good.' He says changing the subject.
'We all learn it. I think it might come in useful soon.'
'Now in fact. How are you feeling?'
'A bit weird……in a nice way.'
'Can I help in some way?'
'Probably. You've been very kind to get me on this ship. I owe you.'
'No you don't. What are you going to do when we get to Harwich?'
'I don't know. Tell my parents where I am, not that my father will be bothered. I'll find a shelter somewhere. I've done all this before several times.'
'I come from Peterborough. Do you think you could get there?'
'Probably. What's there?'
'A friend. He will let you stay there if I ask him. At least you would be safe.'
'That's amazing. Will you go back there?'
'I don't know. But you're here now. That's nice.'
'Yes. What shall we do for two hours?'
'Have you brought a book to read?'
They both laughed.
'No! I didn't think I would need one.'
'You don't.'
'Why not?'
'Because I'm here. I've nowhere to go and nor have you.'
'So we can stay here together then?'
'Yes. I'd quite like to lie down but there's not room for two.'
'There is, just.'
'We could try.'
'Yes. It's quite hot in here.'
'Umm. It is. I think I might take my shirt off.'
'I think I might too.'
The two boys look at each other, naked from the waist up. Both of their bodies are in good condition. Not muscular, especially our boy of fourteen.
'I think there's room, just.'
The boy pats the narrow space between his own body and the edge of the single bed. Garth lies in the space with his back to his new friend. They lie there for a minute as Garth feels his heart beating faster. Will he?
His friend adjusts the position of his hands so they're between his chest and Garth's back, wedged, palms open and still. And then the palms begin to move as Garth's heart beats faster still.
'So what happened Garth?' I asked.
'Oh, nothing too dreadful Alex. Anyway, I'm getting embarrassed.'
'He didn't get into your knickers then?'
'Please!'
'Sorry. None of my business.'
'Anyway, you wouldn't want to hear it.'
'Why? Was it noisy?'
'Shush now. Your father might hear.'
'He does hear doesn't he?'
Garth didn't respond to that one, busying himself with something. If a boy I was with, made the right appreciative noises, so long as it wasn't pain which it never was, I'd always come quicker, and stronger.
'Why Alex? Have you heard anything; ever?'
'Yes. You were both oblivious.'
'Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry.'
'Don't be. I shouldn't have been listening to something private like that.'
'But you were?'
'Yes. It was a bit weird. But I kept listening, right to the end. You were having a pretty good time.'
'Your father can get quite frisky on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and when things feel good? I can't hold back. Anyway he wants me to react so I do. Sorry.'
And why not? I had to smile. But what about that boat ride we were discussing?
'So, did he get into your knickers, this English sailor boy?'
'Put it this way, he wasn't entirely disappointed. Before the sea got a bit rough.'
'Oh dear.'
'Umm. Anyway I got to Harwich with an address to get to. That's how I arrived at Tristram's place in Peterborough. He had an upstairs flat he shared with his girlfriend down the Lincoln Road. It was early May and in the days before I started to earn any money I'd sit and watch the two brothers play in the garden next door. Two Polish boys, John and Andrew. Well, the parents were Polish, working in the local brickyards at Fletton. Then I got a paper round. That's how I got to know the neighbourhood, and the boys next door, which led to a job in the hotel near the cathedral. Being in the Euro Community I had the right to work in the UK so it wasn't a problem getting work. I had a break from all the bedmaking and bathroom cleaning at four in the afternoon, before starting in the kitchen. I'd go into the cathedral and listen to the boys rehearsing for the service at five thirty, just as I used to do back in Hamburg. It was fabulous. And of course that's how I met your father. Although he worked for Burroughs the accountants in the city, he had use of an office at the cathedral as he was their financial person, so he was always around at the end of his day. He would come and listen too. It wasn't long before I got noticed. We ended up sitting together.
He started to ask me questions and then after a week or so, he invited me round for a meal. That's when I met you. The sweetest thing I had ever seen. He told me what had happened and how he had got left with you. Just five months old. I had no choice. I fell in love with you at the very moment I saw you. Perhaps it was a moment of euphoria, or opportunism maybe as in a flash I saw the opportunity I had at my fingertips. Your father was desperate. He had employed a succession of daytime nannies, each one a disaster. At the end of that meal I knew he didn't want me to leave but I did leave. I'd known him for about a month by this time. It was May the thirtieth. I remember it perfectly. Half way along my walk back to Lincoln Road, I stopped, turned around and walked back to your father's flat and knocked on the door. He'd been crying. He took me in his arms and a few minutes later we were in bed. I was a long way from being legal so it was all very proper despite both of us being very aroused, nude now apart from your father keeping his pants on. I wasn't wearing any. I didn't have any money. I would have let him do anything he wanted with me but he was very frightened of any consequences. In the morning he put his plan to me over a glass of orange juice. Would I take care of his child? He went round to the hotel I was working at and told them I wasn't well and wouldn't be coming in to work for the next week. That turned into a fortnight and then I was permanently employed by your father as nanny to you, my darling yungkkind. I loved you from the first moments, and haven't stopped, nor shall I, ever.'
There were tears in Garth's eyes, bless him.
'I knew Sean was attracted to me, and I to him. Right from the beginning. But there was a complication.'
'I thought there might be. What happened?'
'Nothing drastic at all. I was fifteen and a half and still underage as far as sex with an adult was concerned. Your father stuck to his principles. We slept in the same bed and I was employed as your nanny. There was a pillow between us. I knew he was masturbating just as I was, but we both had to because we were both acutely sexual. We'd cuddle up together and got erections and went to bed. I was always the first to come and did so quite deliberately noisily which tipped him over the edge soon after. I suppose it was sex together in an odd way, but perfectly legal. I'd always mop him up, and he me. That was sexy in itself. There was quite a lot of it from both of us. I suppose we're made that way as well. It was the nearest we got to sex, but he was very conscious of my missing something he felt I needed. I did want it, but I was perfectly happy to wait a few months until I was legal, not that I would have walked into a police station and reported him if we had have done it properly. I never would have, but he hadn't known me five minutes and I was foreign and who knows what he didn't know about me. I imagine quite a few gay men have been blackmailed by a gay kid they fell for, or had their credit card stolen. Anyway, I had you all day so I'd walk you back in your pushchair to Tristram's place that had a garden. Your father had bought an inflatable paddling pool to go in the garden so you could go in it with me holding you. You were sitting up well by this time. It was late May and we were having quite hot weather. The boys next door were on half-term holiday and would stick their heads over the fence to watch us in the pool. They asked if they could come round and share the pool. I agreed after they assured me they were allowed to. Being hot weather, they appeared in their shorts and nothing else. The elder of the two boys was John, his brother Andrew being a couple of years younger, if that. I think the attraction for John was you. I let him hold you in the pool for ages, you very happy indeed to be with an older boy. The first few occasions they paddled in their shorts and I could see they had nothing on underneath the rather transparent material which barely hid anything. John was thirteen and quite a big boy in that way, and in every respect, very lovely with long legs, narrow hips and a very pretty face, not quite as pretty as his brother who was stunning but less physically mature. It was probably the third time that Andrew asked if he could be like Alex . In other words, naked. I was smitten by John and told your father everything we had done that day which included mentioning those boys next door and how brilliant they were with you. Sean asked me if I was attracted to John, sexually. There was only two and a half years between us, John and I. I admitted to your father that I was. Sean told me that if I wanted to start something with John, I was free to do so. All we did was to masturbate lying on the same bed, separately. He felt that was not enough for me. He was right but I was intensely grateful for your father's kindness and wouldn't do anything to hurt him. He told me that he loved me, and he should let me go my own way sexually, provided I would always remain your nanny. I promised a few things that night that I kept to all this time. There were a few tears and a first proper kiss which led to some mutual touching. The following day you and I went back to Tristram's garden and a play date with the boys next door. John would sit in the pool nude with you in his lap, your bottom directly over his penis. I don't think he ever realised what that looked like to me, but it was all very innocent. At least I think so. John found it exciting, which rather excited me.
You loved being with John, flapping your hands about in the water, splashing him as he played with you. Those boys would ask me questions about the facts of life thinking that by my age I should know all the interesting things their mother or father wouldn't tell them. So I did, much to their amusement. They asked me what I knew about girls and when I said I didn't know anything about girls, only boys, you should have seen John's face. I'm sure that his brother Andrew wasn't going to be like that , as they used to say, but it was quite obvious that John was. We would leave you with Andrew and go into a corner by the house and John would ask me more questions about intimacy between boys and I would describe certain things in detail. I was seriously smitten with him and had gone without for quite a while by then. I desperately needed an outlet, literally, and knew that John was very keen to get started. He wanted to know about the french kiss so I told him. He wanted me to try it on him, so while Andrew was busy with you, I showed him. Queer boys love it, and he did. I didn't touch him first, he touched me. That started it all. Then it was fellatio. The best ways. All the special touches. So I demonstrated those on him, and then him on me. He was a natural lover of boys. Halfway through I was wondering if I should tell him when, as it were, but decided not to. I had told him what to expect if he was successful with me. I was sitting at a chair in the dining room which looked out into the garden through a pair of French windows that seemed appropriate enough, and him kneeling between my legs. I was running my fingers through his hair, not quite blond but deliciously light with darker streaks in it. He had lovely ears too. I knew it was going to work quickly for me and it did. He didn't pull away at any time but just kept going until I had to stop him. It was actually getting painful it was so strong. I pushed his head away and he looked up into my eyes and smiled with those perfect grey green eyes, as if to ask the question….how did I do? There was probably just enough left in his mouth as his tongue ran around his lips. It was so joyful I couldn't speak.'
'Did you tell Sean?'
'Oh yes. I knew he'd want to know and exactly what happened.'
'So how long did you take me to Tristran's house?'
'Most of that summer, until my sixteenth birthday. Sean gave me a small party to celebrate my reaching the age of consent. After that we slept together in a different way. I was done with little boys by then, apart from you of course. I had a much bigger fish to fry now. I took you into the cathedral most days to hear the daily practice apart from Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays which the boys had off. I'd sit you up in the second row back in the south transept past which the boys went on their way to the choir stalls for the rehearsal. One or two began to pause for a few moments to talk to you. Small boys are always kind to babies and seem genuinely interested in them I found. Soon a small gathering would form around us. You had become a bit of a feature at the start of an event which the boys really liked. The rehearsals were very entertaining as the Director gradually instilled new pieces into the boys.
'Ok. From bar fifty-one then. Don't take a breath before the words 'O clemens'. Then breathe before the words 'O pie' at the beginning of bar fifty-two. Consonants. Sound these properly please. Far more precise enunciation if you will boys. And Tom. You must watch me, not Freddie! Right, from bar fifty-one then………..'
They were so sweet, when they were concentrating properly, and rather naughty when they were not. The Director was very young and no doubt a wonderful musician, but he let the boys get away with too much. I knew the discipline that was required from my days at Saint Michel in Hambourg. In the end they came up with a good sound but at times I felt like having a sharp word with a couple of those boys. Compared to Germany, it was all just so English. Unprepared until it's almost too late, and then pulling it off in the nick of time. They all loved each other. That was the bottom line. I remember one lovely boy who lost concentration during a Faure piece.
''Robbie. I have no idea what music you're singing but it's not what's written here!'
That made everyone laugh. I think that Robbie was the least talented boy in that ensemble but with his long golden hair, undoubtedly the prettiest. I fell very deeply in love with him and even shed tears at night for him, prayed for him even, knowing tomorrow he'd make more mistakes. About a month later he wasn't there. Your father bought me a bicycle with gears and one of those white plastic seats to carry a small child in. You and I would cycle around the city on our way to Tristram's garden, the paddling pool and some more time with John and Andrew. Some days John would cycle with us out into the fens of Cambridgeshire, along the Nene and stop at a pub there. The Dog. You'd crawl around the garden with John crawling after you trying to catch you. And then when he did, John would pick you up and draw you tightly into him and kiss you. It was so sweet. You attracted love wherever I took you. Blessed be the pure in heart eh?'
'That was a shame about the boy. I'm a bit sad for Robbie.'
'Yes I sensed some injustice there. But there's a happy ending to the story, thank goodness. A week later you and I went in the west entrance, not the transept door we usually used, because there are no stairs to negotiate there. The rehearsal had already begun. This boy Robbie was sitting at the back of the nave right in a corner on one of the chairs, with his hands in his lap, in his school uniform as usual, grey short trousers way up his thighs, long wool socks and the maroon jumper they wear, blond hair down to his shoulders. He looked forlorn and cut a rather sad figure sitting there with his head down. So I went over with the pushchair to speak to him. He clearly recognized me from all previous visits.
'Oh dear. Has something gone wrong? Alex is a bit worried about you.'
'He's just a baby.' The boys says, turning his bare knees towards us, and looking down at two wide open sparkling blue eyes.
'Babies can think you know. And sense when something is wrong. He wants to know what the matter is. Why have you left the choir? Can you tell Alex why?'
The boy looks up for a few seconds wondering if he really wants to say why, and then down at the staring blue eyes again.
'I was too slow at reading. I couldn't keep up. I kept getting lost so they got cross with me.'
'Did you want to leave?'
'No.'
'Did you tell him that? That you have trouble keeping up and why?'
'No.'
'Why not? Why didn't you tell……..who is it?'
'Mr Trimble. He would have kicked me out anyway if I had told him.'
'Do you have trouble in lessons? Keeping up?'
'Yes. People laugh at me.'
'That's not right. Robbie isn't it?'
'Yes.'
'Robbie, what? What's your surname Robbie?'
'I told your father about Robbie that night. There was nothing I could do about Robbie's difficulty, but I knew he could. Your father carried a lot of weight there. About a week later having told me to 'Leave it with me Garth', Sean did come back to me, having spoken to the boy's school, the one nearby that provides all the choristers for the cathedral.
'He's dyslexic Garth. They know about it. The boy can't process information as fast as normal, so he has a problem keeping up with the others. People often dismiss the child as stupid. A thick idiot in other words which is hurtful, obviously, when they are not stupid. The child will often become frustrated and angry and turn away from situations that are too challenging for them. Like your Robbie has. Presumably this Mr Trimble knows?'
'I don't know.'
'Well try to find a way to ask him. Or would you like me to do it?'
'I couldn't believe it possible, Alex, that no one had managed to tell Mr Trimble about Robbie's reading problem. It would have a profound effect on Robbie's ability to follow the music quick enough. He'd been a probationer longer than the other boys by miles. No wonder.'
'So what happened?'
'The following week he was back in the front row with the other boys, still a probationer, but with a future, and a sympathetic music teacher now. Nice eh? Mr Trimble who seemed a perfectly pleasant and well-meaning guy had no idea about Robbie's problems which showed an unbelievable lack of communication. It was a very different relationship after that. A happy ending, so to speak?'
We laughed. Yes, a very happy ending.
'A lovely story Garth. That's just one of the reasons why I love you so much.'
'You became a bit of a mascot with the choir. We'd sit at the end of the second row back in the choir stalls, very close to the boys. If I had to change you in a hurry, they'd let me do it behind one of the massive stone pillars.'
'Oh gosh. Disposables I hope?'
'Oh yes. I couldn't have coped with terry towelling! I was very glad to get you into proper pants, eventually. Boys don't seem to mind sitting in their own poo.'
'Oh dear. When was it then?'
'Two and a half with you. Almost overnight you decided enough was enough. I showed you a pair of very pretty things and you took one look and insisted that's what you wanted from that moment on. You never looked back. I got you a very nice collection you'd choose from each morning. By the age of five you got very excited each morning when I got you dressed. Off came the overnight precaution and one leg at a time, on went a tiny pair of white knickers that just about contained you. Then in went the hand for a quick play before the shorts went on. You were a very early masturbator. You were certainly having a good go, or looking like you were by the age of six, most mornings.'
'Really? How did you know?'
'I'd come in to your room and if you were in the middle of things I'd let you finish in peace. I'd come back five minutes later when you were done.'
'Do you know at what point I became………productive?'
I knew the answer to this but I wanted to hear it from Garth.
'Just after your eleventh birthday I think it was. There were definite signs left around. You'd leave your residues on anything to hand. Yesterday's pants folded into a little damp parcel, or a sock. You always seemed to be surprised by it and never prepared.'
'Oh, sorry.'
'No, not at all. You were at your most perfect at that stage, just before your father packed you off to Cornwall, the first time, to S. Endellion. I never wanted you to go to that place. You came back that Christmas full of it. And then the letters arrived. Do you remember?'
'I do. What happened to them? They disappeared mysteriously. I thought they had been binned somehow.'
'I still have them. Wonderful love letters from a boy called Gerald. He had incredibly hand writing like script. Very cultured and beautiful. I'm sure you modelled your handwriting on his.'
'That's right I did. I was in love with Gerald. I admired everything he said and did. It was like a spell I was under.'
'And he with you by the tone of the letters. You got one almost every day from him.'
'So what happened to those letters?'
'I have them. You hid them under your smalls in one of the drawers in the chest, and then forgot about the last one when the next one arrived. Some days there were two. I have about fifteen of them.'
'Good grief. May I see one?'
'You should have them all. They're yours. I thought you'd like to see them one day.'
'I would. I remember Gerald very fondly. He was warned off me sadly. We lay down one wintery afternoon in the middle of a rugger pitch. It was a Sunday and there was no one else around. He was spooned into me with his arm around me. It was a very romantic moment. True love really. He was my absolute hero and about four years older, at least. If we hadn't been in our kit he would have been inside me that afternoon. It was only the layers of cotton material that stopped him.'
Garth came back with a bundle of letters tied together with some white string, and left me with them. How intense those affairs can be between boys, and girls too no doubt. The strength and depth of our feeling put onto paper like that, full of oblique references to sex. Christmas is here my sweet things, so come all ye faithful!
Silly schoolboys that we were, shouting out that word whilst singing that particular carol. So pathetically childish eh? We were naughty alright. Horribly naughty in lots of way that only boys can be. So here's one of the letters Gerald wrote to me during that first Christmas holiday, back from my 'big' school in Cornwall.
Gosh, I do remember that letter. My father handed it me saying 'another letter from Alex to Alex'. I had modelled my handwriting style on Gerald's. I ran upstairs to read it, and a few minutes later I was in bed, fully dressed, and despite an earlier success, I orgasmed again in double quick time and there were the first signs of what had never thus far, come. I wondered for a few seconds what it might be and then came to the glorious conclusion that was indeed what the clear sticky substance was. The first person I was going to show it to would be Gerald.
I read the other fourteen letters in bed that night, cheesy as they were, but utterly sincere. We had been seen, Gerry and I, lying together on that rugger pitch by a member of staff who had reported what he saw to our Housemaster. To my everlasting chagrin, our wonderful but short-lived romance had been put a stop to and was over. But one gets over things quickly in that kind of communal living, once one has realised that there's more than one fish in the ocean. Oh yes!
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