Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise.
ALADDIN'S AWAKENING
By
Joel
Chapter 32
Part Two
Alun's giggling was joined by hoots from us. Not, perhaps for the grossness of the verse, but for the recitation.
I asked, "Was Uncle Edward at Trinity?"
A mock shocked expression passed over Rhys's face to be replaced by a beaming smile. "No, he was at Gonville, but I wouldn't put all that past him. Gareth told me Uncle Edward had let slip about a special friend..." Here he waggled his eyebrows, "....he had there, but I think, anyway, Uncle Edward was a real lad in his younger days. Dad's always a bit wary if we are around and Uncle Edward starts telling his tales."
I said I didn't know him very well but he had been very pleased with my help over the translations.
"You've got to do languages at Cambridge, young Jacko," was Rhys's immediate decision, "Bugger engineering and bugger law that's my advice, it's languages for you."
I was silent for a bit then Rhys started again. He turned to me.
"You know Granddad said about seeing your dad and ours in Macbeth, are you doing it for School Cert?" I shook my head. "We did and there's some right dirty bits in it. There's that porter who drinks too much and says it stops him shagging and wants to wee-wee, and then Macbeth says he's off for a wank."
"It doesn't say that, does it?" I asked.
"Sure does," said Rhys putting on a fake American accent. He continued, confidentially, in his own voice, "Some of the Chapel lads were not very happy when we read it through, especially Mervyn Preece who old Dixon chose for the porter's part. And I bet old Dixon did it on purpose 'cause he's certainly not Chapel and likes a pint or two himself. How does it go?" He grunted and put on a deep voice with a marked Welsh accent. "Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.... nose-painting, sleep and urine!" He looked at the three of us who were, for once, gazing at him intently. We all chuckled at that recitation.
He continued. "Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance." He sneered at us. "Like I said, it stops you shagging - and then makes you want to piss." He looked at Alun. "For your edification, brother dear, lechery means wanting to have it away, you know, getting it up and away, and urine is that yellow stuff that sometimes comes out of that appendage you have between your legs when it isn't spitting like a cobra." All this was accompanied by much wriggling of Rhys's buttocks on the grass and rather explicit hand movements to emphasize particular points. Alun merely stuck out his tongue. Rhys was always referring to his reputed stupidity but I knew Alun was bright in other ways. Rhys turned to Matt. "And then Mr Macbeth's in bed with Mrs Macbeth and instead of giving her a length of pork sausage he says "'Come we to sleep. My strange and self-abuse...' And you know what self-abuse is don't you Matt?"
Matt went bright red and it wasn't the result of the sun. Rhys made the appropriate hand movements. "And if you don't that cousin of mine sitting next to you will enlighten you because I know the pair of you are seasoned performers."
"Speak for yourself," I said, knowing full well the meaning of the phrase, "What my friend Matt does in the comfort of his own bed is a matter for him and not for general discussion."
"Well said, young Jacko," said the irrepressible Rhys, "We all do it, but it's never discussed, eh? 'Tis a phallus to be exposed' as the philosopher said." He looked at Alun, who did look a bit puzzled. "Alun, dear boy," he said in sepulchral tones, "Phallus means dick - a play on words, phallus - fallacy. Oh dear, dad's name is Dick - I shall have to mind what I say, won't I?"
"What play are you doing?" he asked Matt and me after dodging a clod of earth that Alun had lobbed at him.
"Midsummer Night's Dream," I said, "We've only read through the first part and it's difficult to know who's who."
Rhys snickered. "But it's full of filth. There's that character Bottom, he's an ass which is only an old way of saying arse. And he says he's got worms or piles or something as he says he has such a tender arse."
This was certainly new light on 'the greatest comic creation in English drama' as the late Mr Campion had described him. I wondered who would take over our education from him? My thoughts in a whirl returned to Rhys who had much more in store.
"Gosh, and you know about donkeys?" He didn't wait for a reply, "They have big dicks and he gets to shag the Queen of the fairies who tells one of her little fairies that after that shag Bottom needs new bollocks."
My turn to look puzzled. Rhys grinned.
"Oh, come on, what else does it mean when she says she has a venturous fairy who shall fetch him new nuts. And what are nuts then but those dangling bits like those..." Here his voice rose in lyrical exposition. ".....that hang below my brother's little winkle and provides him with the venom for his snake-charming act!"
We all had the giggles then, including Alun.
"And that's not all," continued Rhys, "There's that Thisby..."
"I know," interjected Matt, "I had to read Flute the Bellows-mender and he's to be Thisby. Why old Campion..." He stopped. "...Sorry but we heard he'd died suddenly just before the end of term," There was a moment's silence, then he continued, "Anyway I don't know why he chose me for that part."
"Have you got to the bit where they do the play?"
We both shook our heads. I remembered Bottom, i.e. Cleggy, reading the bit where the fairies had to scratch his ears but we hadn't got much further than that.
Rhys chuckled again. "You've got a treat, Oh little Thisby, you have to kiss Wall's arse and you've already kissed his balls."
Wall, Wall? I wrinkled my forehead to get my brain cells working. Wall? I remembered the bit about someone talking through a chink in the wall.
"Haven't you got to the bit where Thisby says 'My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones' - and that's an old word for the dangly bits I mentioned before isn't it?" He looked around for assent and approval which were not forthcoming. He wrinkled his nose. "'I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all'," warbled Rhys. "See, just like this." He pursed his lips and held his left hand up with finger and thumb extended and held together. He slurped a great kiss on the gap where thumb met forefinger. "That was practice." He did it again. "Opening night it'll be for real, "'O Wall, O sweet and lovely Wall, show me thy chink!' And not only that but Wall has to shoot his stuff as well as he goes off stage." He waited. We were all agog, or partly agog! "When he had his arse kissed it must have made him shoot a load 'cos he says 'My part discharged so'. Very sensitive bit is that crack, ain't it brother dear? Get's your part all excited, eh?" Another clod of earth missed Rhys.
We did all manage a laugh. It was entertaining and I was looking forward to reading the rest of the play.
"Anyway," I asked, "How do you remember all those quotations?"
"I am doing English and I think I've got a good memory and I find it easy enough as we have to learn all sorts of bits of plays and poems." He snorted. "I'm doing Romeo and Juliet as my special study play and there's some real dirty bits in that."
I think we were all getting a new slant on Shakespeare. I knew someone had produced cut-down versions of the plays and I realised why.
He was now in full flow. "Opens with two lads, with one of them saying he's going to be cruel with the maids and cut off their heads, or their maidenheads - he actually says that. Know what it means?"
Both Matt and I shook our heads and Alun giggled.
"Gosh, you two are so naive," said Rhys, but with a twinkle in his eye, "Still you are only young lads. I'd better tell you carefully. You know what that thing between your legs is for?"
"Yep, I do know it's not only to pee through," I said, laughing, "We did learn that when we did about rabbits and making little rabbits."
"And what about young ladies, or maidens?" asked Rhys.
"You need them, for..." started Matt, then stopped.
"For what?" Asked Rhys and completed it by answering the question, He lowered his voice. "For that delicate operation called....... fucking. And when that young lady has the necessary part inserted for the first time she loses her maidenhead."
"But that's a town!" said Matt.
We all burst out laughing.
"True, but it's also what girls have got tucked away ready for the big night!"
We contemplated that for a moment. Rhys then took up his narrative again.
"Then the boys see another pair of lads and one tells the other to get his dick out." He sat up a bit and gestured theatrically. "'Draw thy tool, here comes two of the house of the Montagues' and the other says 'My naked weapon is out'. You see, they were all set to have a bit of hanky-panky together with these other lads, but then they were supposed to be enemies. But boys will be boys, I suppose, eh?" He looked at his attentive audience. "There's another bit where someone tells the time and says to some old woman that the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Prick in those days also meant on the point of," he added in explanation.
Matt laughed. "Should be interesting if our other class has to read that play."
I looked at him. 4S, or 5S, as they would be after the summer holiday.
Why?
He laughed again. "There's Davy Noonan in that class and he's only got a little prick! And I know whose hand's been on that!"
I looked at Matt again, my eyebrows knitted. Not me. And I didn't think Matt. I tried to picture Davy. A freckle-faced quiet lad . Who did he go about with? I knew Tom was quite friendly with him but that was because they were both in the Boys' Brigade. He'd never said he'd had a hand anywhere. I couldn't picture his prick. He had fair hair but that didn't help. I suppose I had checked him out at some time but nothing stood (?) out, little or big!
"Whose?" I asked.
"Andy Symes," he replied, "He lives next door and Andy wanted to know if I had but I hadn't but he said he had and Davy's wasn't anywhere near as big as mine."
Boastful Matt! Still it would entertaining to hear the guffaws if those lines were read.
"'Upon the prick of Noonan'" I quoted, "Should be a laugh. Have to remember that!"
"And who is Andy Symes?"
Rhys's Shakespearian ramblings were forgotten as Matt launched into his tale of that afternoon last summer term. Of course this led to discussion of how old we were when we found out we could first squirt with Matt winning by about a year. I prompted Matt to tell the story of the visit to Fensham School and Alun and Rhys were very amused with the tale of Matt's disgrace at the hands, or balls, of Duncan Buchanan.
I said I was very friendly with Duncan's brother and then recounted part of my last experience at Ulvescott with Tom and the finding of the hidden contraband.
"Things happen to you at that place, Jacko," was Alun's unwitting response to my tale. I still wasn't brave enough to tell them all.
Irrepressible Rhys was back again with more as soon as I had finished.
"Hey, Jacko, you're a bit of a mathematician so Matt tells me."
What was that, I wondered?
Rhys held up his right hand first then, as he went on, raised the other, "Work out these, two inches, three inches, two at four inches, two at five inches, six inches, seven inches, eight inches, and finally, nine inches! I'll give you a clue. Think Shakespeare!"
I gawped, I was at a loss. I had mentally added them up but that was obviously not what Rhys was after. Alun knew as his shoulders were heaving. Matt didn't, he looked blank too. I shook my head.
"No idea?" asked Rhys.
I shook my head again.
"Better tell you then. I gave you a clue. Shakespeare, actually plays by Shakespeare." He held up his hand again and raised his first finger. "Two inches, that's Much Ado About Nothing isn't it?. D'you see, a two inch cock's not much use, eh?" He didn't wait for a response. He counted off a second finger. "Three inches is a Winter's Tale - we all know about cold weather shrinkage, eh Matt? Yours was a bit smaller after that dip in the cold water Monday wasn't it?" He held up two more fingers. "Two at four inches. Well, they were the Tragedies of Richard the Second and Richard the Third."
There was an audible groan from both Matt and me. Alun laughed.
"Gareth always called him Dick the Turd - he did that one at School Cert."
"Yeah, and he used to say 'My lord, stand back, and let the parson cough'."
Both Matt and I looked blank again.
"'Stand by and let the coffin pass'" said Rhys in explanation and raised a finger and thumb. "Right..., two at five inches can only be the Two Gentlemen of Verona. Young gentlemen you see, still growing. Like you two gents." He bowed his head towards us. He held up one finger again.. "Let's see.... Six inches..... - any takers? No? Well, I've been told, Measure for Measure, that six inches is about the average for cock size. Did you know that, young Jacko?"
Matt and I both shrugged our shoulders. I thought, if that was the average, then three lads here today were above average - and this young gentleman, as indicated, was still sprouting.
Rhys leered at us. Another finger was raised. "Now I would say that seven inches is As You Like It. I know from great experience that's what my brother desires, isn't it, brother dear?"
What did he mean? I wondered if he and Rhys fucked as I fucked Matt. Alun wasn't playing ball. He only stuck his tongue out. I grinned to myself. If he'd stuck two fingers up would he have meant "Fuck You"? I would have to find some way off questioning him to satisfy my curiosity.
"Last two coming up, He He." Another finger went up. "Eight fine inches is necessary for The Taming of the Shrew. That's enough to keep any young lady in her place! And.... Last but not least..... Roll of drums there, maestro, please!" He waved both arms as if conducting an imaginary orchestra. "Sooooo..... Nine inches is just a young lad's Midsummer Night's Dream! You'd like one like that, eh, Matt?"
Matt sniggered. "Wouldn't mind," he said. I thought...., nor would I!
Rhys hadn't finished. "There's still another play, not by Shakespear this time. Listen, six inches and twelve inches. Name it!"
All three of us shrugged our shoulders, even Alun hadn't heard this one.
"Man and Superman, my dears," he announced, "By George Bernard Shaw, if you didn't know."
We didn't know, but at least twelve inches was more than a dream. More like a nightmare tucking than length into one's undies. They liked that when I said it.
Shakespeare was finished for the day. The cool waters of the quarry called so we got our revenge on dear Rhys and his awful stories by dunking him several times.
We rolled him out on the grass and joined him and dried off together, laughing and giggling and tickling each other. The cool water hadn't cooled our ardour and as I looked around at four aroused young bloods I felt Matt's familiar hand snake round my engorged, exposed tool. My phallus was expertly jerked at the same time as a kneeling Rhys was brought to a staggering climax by his younger brother. As soon as I had recovered I gave my friend Matt his first of the day too. He leaned back against me as, with eyes closed, he moaned and groaned softly when his almost shrew-tamer flung out his answer to my challenge with four hefty squirts.
It was Alun's turn to be with me that night. He confided in me that he and Matt had got on very well and that Matt thought the world of me - I was lucky to have such a good friend. We celebrated our friendship twice in perfect harmony. Alun was, I think, my favourite cousin, he was so open and honest - but so were Rhys and Gareth - but he was just that nearer to me in age, but was further on in his development, and I craved to be like him. I had muscular legs, but Alun also had the beginnings of muscles everywhere, he was taller than me by several inches still, but he looked sturdy and his body felt solid when I held on to him. He was very strong, he had lifted me effortlessly that first day. I also wanted my cock to be his size too. He must be fully grown in that area, if not, any further growth would make him outstrip both my friends Matt and Mike.
Thursday morning I was awoken by Alun who prodded me awake and said he was coming with me for a run. That was settled. No slugging in bed for me. We set off the other way and ran down into the village and passed some farm workers on their way into a field. They gave us a cheery wave as we sped by. Although Alun said he hadn't run as much as me he did do Rugby training at the works gym and that was why he looked so fit.
When we got back the other two were up and about and helping Grandpa deal with the chickens. We all said again how much we had enjoyed looking at Chester but today we were going off again to the quarry. Grandpa said we had to be careful as the place was particularly dangerous because of the depth and a lad had been drowned there just before the war started.
We took sandwiches again for lunch and set off. Alun, however, sped off again down the lane towards the village. On cross-questioning a blushing Rhys we found Alun had gone to post cards to his and Rhys's girlfriends. News! Girlfriends! Naturally we wanted to know more. This had to wait, though, until we got up to the quarry and it was only under more questioning that they divulged this aspect of their adolescent life.
Rhys had long given up the idea of Myfanwy, he had now linked up with the sister of a friend at school. Linked, meaning they had been to the pictures together as a foursome with the friend and his girlfriend. Alun was in the same state of romance. The sister of one of the apprentices who was mad keen herself on Rugby and was an attender at matches. Again, pictures in foursomes, plus discussions about Rugby in this case, seemed to be the extent of their interactions.
This was clear from what the boys then told us this was the extent of any sexual involvement. They said all they ever got was a good-night kiss and a quick feel and then home to relieve their pent-up feelings with a good wank. I said "Like Gareth?" remembering what I had been told at Christmas. They laughed and said that was correct.
Gareth was smitten by Jennifer who refused entry to 'the sacred portals' as Rhys put it so he, like they now, was in the same position, and all had to satisfy their desires in the age-old way of boys everywhere.
"Bloody hell!" said Rhys with feeling, "I come home some nights with the bloody thing almost up to my armpits and if it wasn't for brother here and his willingness to help out a fellow creature I'd have many a solitary night."
Alun sniggered. "Same here. Bloody girls. They're OK when you're with them. Makes the old temperature rise but that's it. Chop, chop, velly solly no can do. I don't know why we bother."
"Only way to keep the population going," said Rhys, "Got to meet 'em and woo 'em'cause if you don't marry sometime, no more kids." He turned to me. "What about you Jacko, got someone in line?"
I shook my head and said I didn't know any girls and I was still only fourteen.
Rhys laughed. "Can't start too young. You know Griffiths the Whopper....," I nodded, the Rugby-playing lad with the mighty tool, seventeen and married, "......well, he was shagging that girl he married when he was fourteen. That kid of theirs was born two days after his sixteenth birthday, the day after he was married to her."
"Hey, Rhys," Alun interjected, "I forgot to tell you, he told me a couple of weeks ago she's expecting again."
"There you are," Rhys pontificated, "Get it away young and you're lucky, or unlucky as the case may be! That Romeo and Juliet. She was supposed to be only twelve and he was fourteen. There you are, Jacko, he shagged, was married and was dead at your age, so you're not too young. At least for the shagging!" I thought, thank you for at least that bit! He smiled a wry smile. "I don't want to be unlucky, I don't want to be married yet. And I don't know about wanting kids." He brightened up a bit. "You hear about the little kid whose parents bought him everything he wanted and so he was always asking for things?" Both Matt and I shook our heads. Rhys laughed and Alun groaned. "Well, his dad had come home early from work and he was feeling..., you know?...., wanting it badly so he got his wife up to the bedroom and they were soon having a good old shag." He looked at Matt and me to gauge any response but we were both all ears. He grinned. "Gosh, they were really going at it and forgot the kid would be home from school soon. They were making a lot of row when the kid came in, he heard it and went upstairs to the bedroom and peeked in, and was really curious with what he saw so he was standing there, staring. The father spotted him and panted out "What do you want?". The kid said, "I wanna watch!". His mother yelled out "OK dear, you can have one for your birthday next week, but go downstairs now and make us all a nice pot of tea!".
We all groaned but all Rhys said was there were plenty more where that one came from. Matt was silent for a moment or two.
"Do you think our mums and dads do it?" he asked tentatively. "I mean, I know they must have to have us, but after?"
All three of us looked at him. This was a great question. If we boys were wanking and doing things every day, then....???
Rhys was looking serious now. "I suppose they must. Griffiths the Whopper told a couple of us one day he looked forward to it most nights and I don't think he was having us on." He paused and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't mind telling you I need to do it to myself regularly,.... You know that as well....." We were all nodding assent, we were in the same boat! "......so I suppose if I was married I'd need it just the same, but with my wife....." Another pause. "....and I suppose our dads are the same."
Gosh. This was very much like the thoughts and questions I'd been having the past few weeks. I said I'd been thinking something like that 'cos of all the experiences I'd had with knowing about other boys. I said it was obvious that boys everywhere did it. And older brothers did it, or older cousins, here I looked at Rhys, so I supposed boys had always done it and did that mean our dads must have as well. And, if they did, they must want it as well when they were older even if they were married or not. I said I'd seen Hans wanking at Ulvescott and he was twenty-two. This caused Matt's eyes to pop as I hadn't got round to telling him the whole tale of Tom and my discovery of Hans in the barn. All three sat mesmerised as I recounted the episode. Matt added that older men must also wank because of the incident in the lavs in Scotland.
We were in a very serious contemplative mood as we sat and sunned our nude bodies and ate our sandwiches at lunch time. Matt announced that he wasn't going to get married. He wasn't interested in girls, especially if they were like his sister. We laughed and Rhys said he had to wait and see, someone would probably come along one day and sweep him off his feet. Matt just repeated his general disenchantment with females and the conversation lapsed.
About two o'clock Rhys said we'd better go back as Uncle Edward was arriving. We splashed around in the pool a bit - notably without any of us getting over-aroused - and dried ourselves off in the sun. It was very hot on the way down but we put our shirts back on as we approached the garden gate. As we went through we could see someone sitting in a deckchair in the shade of an apple tree. It was Uncle Edward. Beside him was a low table with a soda syphon, a bottle and a glass. He had a large brief case by his side and was busy studying a sheaf of papers. He looked up as we approached and waved the papers at us.
"Ho, ho, here come my nephews with their nut-brown knees! What ho, fair princes?"
I wondered how much of the bottle he'd imbibed?
We stood in a row in front of him. He cast his eye along the row, Rhys, Alun, me and, lastly, Matt. "But you're not a nephew. Much too handsome and upright to be a Thomson! You must be the esteemed Matthew I've heard so much about!"
Matthew blushed under his tan. Rhys giggled.
"Uncle Edward, behave yourself. I bet grandma doesn't know what's in that bottle."
"Hush, boy, not so loud. I am just relaxing having good news to impart to all and sundry..." He paused..., my family seemed good at pausing, "...and some very interesting news for young Jacko there." He waved the papers at me. Then he put them down and stood up, quite steadily. I grinned, his knees below his rather old-fashioned khaki shorts were certainly not nut-brown, nor even pink, but a gruesome pale white with his shins covered in a thick mat of black hair. He turned to Rhys. "Before I start, you'll find young Emrys in the kitchen guarding several bottles of pop. Tell him to bring them out here with that other folder of papers, and you, Alun my boy, take the others and root in the potting shed for deckchairs for one and all."
Off we went, obeying the Major's commands and returned to find him with Rhys and his driver, who had delivered the papers for translation to me in Cardiff. Whereas Uncle Edward was in a nondescript khaki shirt Emrys, as I now learned his first name was, was in an immaculate uniform with two stripes on each sleeve.
Uncle Edward waved his arm at us. "You know each other, Jacko, but this is no longer Trooper Jones, but Corporal Jones, and your dear grandmother has just sewn his stripes on for him. A round of applause for Corporal Jones." It was his turn to blush but he was obviously use to Uncle Edward as he immediately took his jacket off.
"Sir, your mother says there are some buns in the kitchen for the boys and I suppose she meant you as well."
Uncle Edward snorted . "Elevated rank hasn't improved your manners with your superior officer, has it? Matthew will go with you to fetch them and you can become acquainted on the way." He waved at the pair of them. "Matthew meet Emrys."
While they were gone we attempted and managed, after several tries, to get the deckchairs assembled without danger of collapse. They returned bearing a couple of plates of buns and glasses for the pop. When we were all seated and munching or drinking Uncle Edward surveyed us and beamed.
"My news first," he began, he held up a hand as if to silence us. "I am getting married at long last!"
My, my. I did a quick calculation, he was two years older than Pa, so.... he must be about forty-two. Rather old to get married. I think Rhys and Alun were even more gob- smacked than I was.
"Golly!" expostulated Rhys, "Who is it?"
"Hush boy, don't get so excited. It's a lady named Della Cameron." Rhys nodded, he obviously recognised the name. Uncle Edward went on in explanation. "She is a widow. Her husband was my best friend at Cambridge but he was killed on the retreat to Dunkirk."
I knew about Dunkirk when all the British troops had to get out of France because of the advancing Germans. I racked my brains, that was some time in 1940, four years ago.
"We're getting married in October, all being well and I don't find myself abroad. And not only that, but you, dear boys, will have two ready-made cousins."
We were evidently rather taken aback.
"Two?" asked Rhys hesitantly.
"Yes, Lachlan and Andrew," he said and looked at Alun and me. "They're about your ages. Sixteen and a bit and fourteen and a bit. I was their godparent and they seem quite pleased I am being transformed into a parent. You'll like them, they're with their mother at present at their house in Suffolk, but you'll meet them soon, no doubt."
"Where do they go to school?" asked the interrogator-in-chief Rhys.
"Boarding-school. One for sons of Officers."
"Posh!" said Rhys disparagingly.
"No," said Uncle Edward decisively, "They were offered places there because their dad got killed. They're just ordinary lads. You'll like them. We do. Ask Emrys."
Emrys was nodding. Uncle Edward went on.
"I inherited Emrys from their father. He was his driver and - I'm going to embarrass him - on that awful withdrawal they got shot up by a German fighter. Angus got killed and Emrys here got a bullet in his side but kept on driving. He got a Mention for that, eh Emrys?"
Emrys blushed again. "That's enough, sir," he said.
"Enough said, then," Uncle smiled. "So, I shall have a ready-made family to look after in my old age."
"And when will we be meeting them all?" asked Rhys.
"You're all invited to the wedding and will get invitations and instructions in due course. That includes you, Matthew, if you wish."
Matt looked pleased at that.
"Now to other things," said Uncle, "My second piece of news is for Jacko. Pass me that folder you brought out, please, Emrys." A brown manila folder was produced and Uncle opened it. "First though, Jacko, congratulations on nailing the abominable Higgs again. His trial is coming up soon but I'm not involved this time as I am related to someone who has provided evidence."
I said I wasn't really involved, Tom had discovered the things in the cellar. Emrys grinned and said about me being a material witness and Uncle Edward nodded.
"Now to business," he said. "Jacko, when I was at Ulvescott in connection with that last business with Higgs I had a couple of meals with Mrs Crossley and was struck with the resemblance between you and those photos of her son Piers when he was a boy." I was thunderstruck. What was this leading too? I must have looked a bit like a cod on a slab as I stared in wonderment at Uncle Edward. He smiled back. "Mrs Crossley said she had also been rather puzzled by it, too. So, I decided to investigate and it's all very intriguing. Anyway, while I was there I asked her where the General's ancestors came from. She said as far as she knew his father and grandfather had been in the Army as well but she thought they originally came from Cheshire. That was interesting because our family has been in Cheshire for generations. I mentioned this to dad when I was in the office visiting him one day and he said he was certain there had been a Crossley somewhere in our family."
I think we all sat up even more attentively after that. Uncle Edward had a rapt audience.
"Now, we have to go back a good few years. To somewhere at the beginning of the 1800's. Not far from here were two farmers, George Thomson and William Crossley, both of whom had large families. In fact, I found out William had eight children, including two who died very young. Still left him with six, two sons and four daughters." He peered at the top sheet of paper. "Yes, his eldest son was William too, and he married a young lady named Margaret Wright. He obviously didn't want to be a farmer so his father bought him a commission and he became Lieutenant William Crossley of the 4th Dragoon Guards. And, if I'm not mistaken, he was the grandfather of the old General, Piers' father."
He looked at us to make sure we were listening. We were.
"As I said, Farmer Crossley had a big family and who should his darling youngest but one daughter marry?" He paused for dramatic effect. "None other than the youngest son of farmer Thomson, who was a young lawyer's clerk in this fair city of ours. So all us young... and not so young, ...Thomsons are related to the Crossleys."
He waited, with a satisfied smile on his face as the bit of hubbub at this news subsided.
"But," he said looking at me intently, "The plot thickens. As I said, Farmer Crossley had a big family and there wasn't much young ladies could do in those days except be dairy maids and become old spinsters and look after aged parents. But some did get away. Farmer Crossley's youngest daughter.." He looked at a second sheet of paper. "...Charlotte Ann, became the companion to a lady nearby, much more upper-class but unmarried, who liked travelling." He stopped a moment. "I may be embroidering this a bit but I have to thank one of the admirable Batchelor brothers who has such a great knowledge of things which have happened in the firm over many years. It's surprising how often old deeds or old Wills have to be consulted from our past records. Anyway, he heard me telling dad about the Crossley name and he delves into the depths of old boxes because it also rang a bell with him too. He found the Will of old farmer Crossley so that's how I knew about the sons and daughters. But, he also found another document..."
I was looked at again.
"What was your mother's surname before she married your dad?"
I thought hard. I knew it. "Fontane, F..O..N..T..A.N..E." I said authoratively.
Uncle Edward smiled triumphantly.
"Back to the story, then. Miss Charlotte Ann Crossley journeyed to Paris as the paid companion of this lady and while there met a young French student." He lowered his voice. "They dillied and they dallied, with a bit too much of the dallying, because within a short while..." Here he raised his voice. "....Miss Charlotte Ann Crossley became Madame Charlotte Ann Fontane. Arnold Batchelor found a copy of a marriage settlement drawn up at the end of 1844 just before the birth of their son, ....wait for it, ...Jacques Fontane!"
I sat even more open-mouthed. Astounded, flabbergasted, knocked for six, pole-axed, bewildered, you name it. Was I related to Jacques Fontane? I knew I was!
Uncle Edward wasn't finished. "I telephoned your mother last night and she said she remembered her father talking about his English grandmother. You look amazed, so is your mother!"
My thoughts were rushing around. It suddenly became clear. I was related in two ways to Piers. I thought hard. We were both descendants of old William Crossley, he from a son, me from two daughters. A second thought struck me. I was fully related to Piers. Tony Marcham and his father were only related by marriage. No wonder Ulvescott seemed so good to me. But, Tom and his strange behaviour.... and Bran, the dog. The flood gates opened. I told them all, except what Tom was actually doing, just that he seemed to be in a dream and I was Piers and I had found connections with Piers' friends. I told them about Bran and the strange way he had led me to the grave and had howled when the lads were manhandling me. Matt was sitting next to me listening intently. When I finished he put his hand out and grasped my arm.
"I've always though Ulvescott belongs to you! I love being there with you, it's as if you are home. And Bran thinks so, too!"
Another person who had detected something. And what about the dog. He was a descendant of Piers' own dog. I couldn't help it. I wept. The three boys leapt up and knelt round me. A very efficient Emrys came over as well and handed me a large handkerchief. I sniffed and snivelled and composed myself.
"Is all that true?" I asked Uncle Edward.
"I think so, it all seems to fit. Look!" He held up two photographs. One was of Piers aged about eleven. The other was one of me taken during my last year in Junior School which had been on Grandma's table in the drawing-room with her collection of photos of the family. We were both dark-haired, our eyes looked similar and our noses were the same shape as were our chins. We could have been brothers, if not twins.
"One other thing," said Uncle, "Mrs Crossley told me Piers had a strawberry shaped birth mark half way up his inner thigh on his right leg....."
I gasped and drew up the right leg of my shorts. My strawberry shaped birth mark caused them all to gasp too. I howled this time. I couldn't help it. I cried out how cruel it was for Piers to have been killed in that rotten war. How cruel for his friend Miles to die as well. I was really distraught. Kind, kind Alun and kind, kind Matt put their arms round me to comfort me. I looked at Uncle Edward through tear-soaked eyes. He was clearly upset as well. I stammered I was sorry. It was a wonderful story and I knew it was true. He was to forgive me for acting like this. I was very grateful to him for solving a great mystery for me. I couldn't thank him enough.
I was better then. There was a general hubbub as the boys looked at the documents and a crudely drawn family tree. Uncle Edward passed me a copy of the marriage settlement and I read that William Crossley had settled the sum of five hundred pounds on his daughter Charlotte Ann on her marriage to Jacques Fontane, student of medicine at the Sorbonne in Paris. Uncle Edward explained that five hundred pounds was a lot of money in those days so Charlotte Ann must have been a very favourite daughter not to have been cast out without a penny. I asked if I could have all the bits and pieces and he said the admirable Miss Creech was going to type it all up and I could have all the evidence so far before I went home. He would try to find out more but we would probably have to wait until the war ended to check all the French connections.
I was in a whirl all evening. Grandpa and Grandma had to hear the story several times. In fact, Grandpa had come home with typed-up copies of both the old farmers' Wills. I read about my two sets of ancestors and when we went to bed that night Alun and I perused them again as we were both descended from these two so long ago.
I felt very happy in bed with Alun that night. We drew out each other's boy-cream three times, the first time quickly and urgently but the second and third times more slowly but just as passionately.
After the second time Alun nuzzled my ear and whispered, "When I get married I hope whatever we do will be as good as this."
Dear, dear Alun. He said 'we' so I knew that he would share his wonderful nature equally and completely with whoever the fortunate wife was.
My first thoughts when I woke next morning were about my forebears. What had they been like? I giggled to myself about the randy young French student. He had only been nineteen according to the settlement when he got married and barely twenty when his son was born. Charlotte Ann had been twenty-two I wondered what had been the attraction? Did he have a nice-sized prick? Gosh, I thought, he must have wanked as a lad and then he was a father at such a young age. Not so young as Whopper Griffiths. Oh, God1 Now I had a hardon and Alun was fast asleep with his back to me. I willed my cock to go down but the more I tried the more rigid it seemed to get. As I tried to get comfortable by turning towards Alun my stiff prick ended up sticking into his arse-crack. I must have given a couple of involuntary thrusts as in the end a muffled whisper came from Alun.
"For God's sake, Jacko, are you at it all the time? You're not going in there. It'll hurt without anything and I haven't got the jar here."
Oh! My cousin had been penetrated. When, where and by whom? I lay still and Alun dozed on. Actually it was quite comforting just lying there with my rod nestling between his buttocks. I snuggled up against his back and dozed as well.
I was awoken by Alun as he turned in the bed and enveloped me in a vice-like hug.
"You're a sexy young hound, Jacko," he mumbled, he reached down and gripped my rampant tool and began to work my foreskin up and down. "Fuck me.... pardon, you nearly did just now, I'll have to be careful I don't bend down to tie my shoe laces with you behind me." He tweaked my cock again, then stopped. He put his mouth close to my ear. "Have you done it that way?" I nodded slowly. "Thought so," he said, "There's not much you haven't done is there?"
"I don't know," I whispered back, "I've only done things others have wanted me to do."
"D'you fuck Matt?" he asked.
I nodded again.
"Has he fucked you?"
I shook my head.
"Didn't think so. I bet his tool would hurt, that size."
I whispered that I'd asked him, but he hadn't wanted to, but he liked it himself.
Alun nodded as if in understanding. Then, "Have you been fucked?"
I didn't mind telling Alun. I nodded.
"So have I," he whispered .
We lay and confided in each other. My adventures with Tony, Roo, Mike and Tom and his with Rhys and a friend at school. This friend, a year older, had fucked him once when he was fourteen and he'd fucked the fifteen-year old in return. Then he'd told Rhys and the two of them had experimented several times until Rhys had complained of soreness.
"It's a pity I've got to go home tomorrow I would really like us to do it." he said with feeling.
"Tonight," I said decisively.
That Friday passed very quickly. We waited in the garden in the morning until Uncle Edward, in his Major's uniform, went off in the car driven by a very soldierly-smart Corporal Emrys Jones . I thanked Uncle Edward profusely for all he'd done and he said it was quite a tale and Mrs Crossley would be sent all the details as well. After that we boys spent the rest of the day at the quarry and in one bout of rough and tumble I found myself straddling Rhys. He retaliated in the only way he could and my spunk soon spattered all over his chest to the amusement of the other two who then demonstrated their own prowess while I gave Rhys a return match.
That night we had a real farewell dinner. Grandpa said he was so pleased to see his grandsons - and he included Matt, as he said he was like one of the family. As the boys had a train journey back we decided to go to bed early so they could rest! A good ploy, because by half past nine both Alun and I were in bed having cleaned ourselves externally and, as far as possible internally, going over the adventures of the past week. We lay and caressed each other as we spoke and in the intervals nibbled at each other's ears, or licked each other under the chin, or just touched a nipple which, for me, sent a peculiar frisson down my spine.
I had noted as we prepared for bed that Alun had procured from somewhere - the back of the airing cupboard I expect - an old piece of towel, as well as a small jar of Vaseline. As we got into bed he explained he'd found that at the back of the bathroom cabinet and it must be pre-war!
We had been talking and feeling each other for some time when Alun nuzzled my ear.
"I'm all ready, Jacko, I want you to fuck me, please," he whispered and kissed my ear. "I want it slow and I want all of you in me."
He reached out and got the piece of towel and put it between us. I moved away so he could position himself over it. Slowly he turned onto his back and held his arms out to me.
"Lie on top of me first, Jacko, I want all your weight on me."
I manoeuvred myself carefully on top of him. He put his arms round me and hugged me tight. I nestled my head into the side of his neck and luxuriated in the hardness and the tenderness of his body against mine. I was stretched out down his body a bit so our steel- hard shafts were lying side by side and, as he moved slightly on the bed, they rubbed together sending more peculiar waves of pleasure deep into my groin.
After a few minutes of this quiet pleasure he stirred and reached out again and found the jar which he then gave me.
"Let me open my legs and you can feel me down there underneath. Put some of that in me."
I must have hesitated.
"It's OK, we're both quite clean down there."
This was true. We had washed ourselves by sitting partially over the wide sink and liberally soaping and lathering that vital area.
I dipped my finger in the jar and found his pucker. I smeared a bit of the jelly round it and then ventured a finger against the opening. My finger went in easily and I ended up with two fingers up to the second knuckle.
"Put it in," He whispered as he raised his legs further either side of me. I withdrew my fingers and reached down and guided the end of my rod until it touched his now slippery rose-bud. I pushed slowly and steadily and my prick flowed through what I thought had been his tight ring a moment ago. There was barely a murmur from Alun who was relaxed and just mumbling softly as he held his hands on my buttocks urging me on.
"Oh God, Oh God, Jacko, wonderful, just fill me up, please!" he whispered and moved his hips slightly as I pressed the whole of my prick into him.
"Leave it there just a minute," he pleaded, "I just want to feel you in there. Oh, it's so lovely, Jacko."
My prick was held tight and I was aware it was pulsing slightly. Perhaps my heartbeat but the firmness with which I was held was so, so pleasurable.
"Fuck me now, please.... Do it slowly. Oh... Oh... Oh..."
Each time I withdrew a little and pressed back he let out an involuntary 'Oh'. No more than thirty or so when I knew I couldn't hold on any longer.
"I'm coming," I whispered.
His hands left the globes of my buttocks and he encircled me round the waist with his strong arms. I came. One last full thrust and I came, and came, and came.
Alun was sobbing softly and I was close to tears as well. I'd fucked other of my friends but this had been so, so intense. Perhaps as I was developing so these feelings did become more intense. That time I had fucked Mike I thought all my insides would end up deep within him. Tonight I knew all of me was deep inside Alun. Not only my prick and my spunk but a deep, deep love of one person for another. My strong, hunky cousin. We both knew it as he nuzzled my cheeks and neck as I lay panting on him. I put my face against his and licked up the salty tears. We lay for ages, my hard length still in him.
"I have never felt like that before," he finally whispered. "You were so gentle and loving. Keep it there."
He held me against him, hugging me and at the same time wriggled his hips. He kept up this movement for several minutes and I felt those familiar feelings again but now almost a hundred-fold. I couldn't tell him, I just gurgled and my spunk flooded out a second time. I almost collapsed on him, the feelings had been so intense. I put my arms under his strong shoulders and hugged him as tightly as I could.
"Oh, Alun, I've never felt like that before either."
My prick slowly softened and I withdrew. We lay on our sides for ages just savouring each other's presence. Alun whispered there was second old piece of towel I could wipe myself on. My prick was very sensitive and it was almost painful to rub even the soft towelling against my shaft.
As we cuddled together I knew I wanted Alun's big prick in me. He had taken me in quite easily. I suspect he and Rhys must have done it often to get him so relaxed. I would need to be relaxed. I felt for the jar.
"Please, Alun, I want you," I whispered, passing him the jar.
He shook his head. "I'm too big for you."
I giggled, "Don't boast!" I became serious and my tone of voice was quite emphatic. "I want you and you'll have to try very carefully. Yes, you are big, but I want you, please Alun."
I think he was somewhat reluctant but I pre-empted any further protestations by sliding away from him and lying on my back and raising my knees. He took the hint and leaned over me and licked my lips and pressed his tongue into my mouth and we duelled with our tongues as I felt him anointing my hole with the contents of the jar. I relaxed as much as possible but did wince slightly as his finger entered me. He massaged inside me for some time so my second wince as a second finger probed and pushed in too was less than the first. I felt him stretching my muscles as he pushed in and opened his fingers. I felt a slight burning sensation as he touched something very sensitive in me. He must have worked on me for the best part of ten minutes and I was getting more and more aroused again.
"Open you legs wide," he whispered as he positioned himself between them and loomed over me. "Please, Jacko, tell me if it hurts and I promise I'll stop."
I was determined it wasn't going to hurt me and as I felt the tip of his glans touch my stretched hole I lifted my legs and locked them round his waist. His movement against me, and my movement giving him full access, was sufficient. I was so relaxed, the head of his penis just pushed through a fully yielding muscular ring. I winced after entry, not at the time. A delayed reaction - too late to prevent him - I didn't want to anyway. He was in. He moved his hips slowly and pulled out slightly then pressed in again, but a bit further. He did this only about six times, when, with almost a cry of anguish, he pressed down hard as his prick pumped out his spunk and the added slipperiness let him fill me with no hurt on my part.
He did collapse on me. At least he would have fallen heavily onto me except my tightly entwined legs slowed his progress. He was weeping openly again. Hot, salty tears dripped onto my face as he rubbed his cheek against mine then locked his lips on mine. We tongue-fucked as we held each other tightly. I couldn't take all his weight, so, still impaled on his rod, with one leg under him, we moved onto our sides. In this position he fucked me again. I wanted it and it was so sensuous. I was clawing at his back almost with the sheer joy and ecstasy of it. Time passed, five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes, who knows? He fucked on and on, that first load of boy-cream lubricating me so thoroughly it must have been very slippery for him. He rolled me onto my back again and I knew all his nearly seven inches were in me as, with a cry now of joy, he shot his second load. I pressed my mouth to his, I didn't want inquisitive cousins, friends or, most definitely not, grandparents coming to investigate the noise.
He withdrew as his prick softened and he wiped himself. We went to sleep with his arm across my shoulder and me cupping his once spunk-laden balls.
I woke in the morning to the sensation of him feathering his tongue against my lips. I was still holding his now slack, pendulous balls.
"Time to move, Jacko." he whispered, "Rhys and I've got to catch that nine o'clock train." He waited a moment as I aroused myself slightly. I weighed his balls in the palm of my hand. They were bigger than mine. "Oh, Jacko," he whispered, "If only I felt like that every time. Last night, you were wonderful...., If only."
I took my hand away and caressed the back of his head with the other. "I love you, Alun, you're my favourite cousin," I confessed, "I love Gareth and Rhys too, but you're my special cousin."
He grinned down at me. "And you're my special, not so little, cousin. In fact, I think you'll be my huge cousin one day." He bent down and feathered my lips again. "Sorry I cried on you last night. I was really very happy, just a bit sad about some things."
I wanted to know more but he was in a bit of a hurry. We went to the bathroom together and washed side by side in the big sink. As I finished drying my face and was picking up my comb I plucked up courage. "Why were you sad as well?" I asked.
Our gaze met in the mirror above the sink. He put an arm round my bare shoulders. I put an arm round his waist and then dropped it to fondle his muscular buttock. He smiled and wriggled the muscle under my hand.
"If I tell you it's our secret, eh?"
I nodded and he knew it was our secret.
"You know I said Rhys and I had done that," - he squeezed my shoulder - I nodded - "Well, he used to let me do it to him but then he said it hurts." He stopped and turned me and gazed down straight into my eyes. "You know I said we wank each other after seeing the girls home?" I nodded again. "It's not really true, Rhys does that to me but... ...he makes me let him fuck me.....," It was obviously difficult for him to tell me. "...Every Saturday night." His shoulders heaved a bit but he composed himself. "I like it, but that's why it was so wonderful last night. You didn't say no." He bent down a bit and kissed my forehead. "Thanks, Jacko, you're the best cousin anyone could have! I love Rhys, he's my brother, I'd let him do anything. Perhaps he's a bit selfish but I can't tell him."
I wondered if I dare drop a hint. I couldn't though without Alun's permission. We had a secret. Rhys was a bit brash but he was kind as well. I wondered why he had stopped his brother? Did it really hurt? Alun had been so gentle with me.
Alun must have read my thoughts. He squeezed my shoulder again. "Don't worry about me, Jacko, it'll work out." He prodded me in the ribs and laughed. "Come on, we'll have to hurry if we want some breakfast and a growing boy like you can't miss that, eh?"
Grandpa and Grandma came to the gate to see the boys off. Matt and I carried a bag for each of them as they had chickens' eggs to carry as well with admonitions to be careful with them. We said fond farewells on the platform and Alun squeezed my hand hard as we shook hands as a 'good-bye'. The train puffed round the bend right on time.
As Matt was helping Alun stow the bags Rhys shook my hand and had a great twinkle in his eyes.
"Remember Jacko, if you read the Tempest, it's not Ariel," he lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, "His name's really 'Hairy-hole' - just like Alun!" He winked, jumped on the train just as Matt jumped off. Rhys slammed the door and both boys stuck their heads out of the open window and waved as the train slowly moved off.
As we slowly walked back we were very quiet. Both of us had had an interesting, nay, a revealing and momentous week. Grandpa and Grandma were eager to make certain we were not depressed being on our own. They needn't have worried. We had plenty to do and discuss. During that day I told him about Alun and Matt let me into his secret. The night before Rhys had fucked him and... wait for it!... he had fucked Rhys. The first time he'd ever done it and Rhys had told him he was now no longer a proper virgin. Well, well, well, if Rhys had had that mighty pole and enjoyed it, there was hope for Alun yet!
We spent the afternoon giggling about Matt's new condition of non-virginity and that moment when they heard Alun call out but couldn't investigate as they both had their mouth's full. Further merriment came when we had to dispose of not only our two bits of towel but two pieces Rhys had rooted out from somewhere for their foul purposes. Luckily, the gardener had left a bonfire smouldering in a far part of the garden so they blazed up quite nicely. I whispered to Matt I didn't know what kindled the blaze so well, the petroleum jelly or our hot spunk. Oh crumbs, Matt said they'd come three times each last night so there was plenty wiped off on the towel - still I couldn't think those three were in total any more intense and pleasurable than our twice each.
The next fortnight passed very happily. On the couple of days when it rained and we couldn't explore the hills and the copse below, we played solitaire with Grandma. I learned a lot more about her 'boys', my father and his brothers. Grandpa had also drawn up more of the family tree. I was intrigued how the lawyers down the generations had never gone from father to first son. Grandpa's elder brother had become a clergyman but had died when he was only forty or so from tuberculosis. I knew from what had been said that his younger brother had been an engineer and been killed in a mining accident. Uncle Edward was a lawyer and was a second son. Rhys was intent on being the next generation and he was a second son. Strange.
Matt and I slept together again. While the cousins were there we had slept with them. Matt was very complimentary about Rhys. He said he'd had very long talks with him and he had sorted out lots of problems Matt had. I knew Matt was a worrier and I'd had experience of some of his problems. He told me quite candidly that he and Rhys had discussed the fact that Matt couldn't be bothered with girls. In fact, that Matt wasn't interested in girls. In fact, that Matt thought he was only interested in boys. Rhys had said he knew two boys at his school who were boyfriends when he was in the Fifth Year and they had the mickey taken out of them at times but they were good lads and it had all died down after one of the Sixth Formers had shut a couple of the mouthy kids up by saying he knew things about them their mothers wouldn't like to know. Matt said to me he hadn't found a boyfriend yet but would do one day. I wondered what a boyfriend did that we didn't? We were friends, great friends, but there must be a difference?
As I noted to the privacy of my diary that fortnight passed happily and sometimes energetically. We certainly released each other's pent-up urges at least twice, sometimes three times and on two occasions, four times a day. With much palaver and surreptitious turning-out of cupboards, Matt found some more old pieces of towel and insisted I fuck him. I did, on five glorious, superb, stupendous occasions. I didn't exactly howl at the moon but one night I bit his shoulder when thrusting at him doggy-fashion and he had to explain to Grandma, who saw the marks on his bare shoulder next day in the garden, that he'd been hit by a branch when in the woods. Bare-faced, or rather, bare-arsed liar I called him that night and fucked him facing him, with his hand over my mouth, struggling to breathe through my nose. Twice I fucked him deep in the woods and once he threatened to shove a handy piece of wood up my anal orifice if I shouted out and the gamekeepers or whatever came running to put an end to the wounded animal... He wouldn't fuck me. I tried by offering myself, I even tried to insist, but he always refused. He said he just preferred being wanked or sucked, especially being sucked. He stroked my back as he said I could do anything I liked to him. He was content. More than content.
So the holiday came to an end. At the end of the three weeks we were more than nut-brown - we were mahogany brown, and that was all over. Most days we sunbathed in the nude for several hours, toasting our lithe and youthful bodies and chiding each other not to let our dicks get sun burnt. We never saw another soul except on the roadway and especially not at the pool in the quarry. Grandpa said the locals never went there as they said it was haunted by the drowned lad. He never haunted us. If he was there he must have envied the two happy lads, who lay naked beside and wallowed in the pool, at his tragic place. On our last day there we picked a bunch of wild flowers, put them in a little damp hollow and thanked him for letting us share his quarry.
To be continued:...........