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 57 (Cont.)
Vignette 13 (Cont.)
From other snippets of conversation I'd overheard and observations made
it was fairly clear that Khaled was also another firm friend. I didn't get the impression that any activity had escalated, if that was the right word, to such a level as with Grunty. Khaled had slept over a number of times during the term and was in with Francis on most of the occasions but with James on the others if Safar wasn't accompanying him. I'd almost bumped into him a couple of mornings as he made his way to their bathroom and I was going to my study. Like all the males in the household he also preferred to sleep in the raw and was used to wandering to and fro in that condition. On both occasions I noted his almost sixteen-year-old well-toned body completed by a good-sized, dark-hued, pink-ended circumcised cock. The second time his morning hardon was still somewhat evident and I could see he was much more equipped in length than Grunty. Oh yes, I had been told that Khaled was 'well-blessed'. Whatever he and Francis, or he and James, sampled together there was no doubt, from the evidence when only partially hard, that Khaled would be a very good firm friend!
I wondered what Grunty wanted the next Thursday when he asked if he could talk to me. I thought, perhaps, that Francis had told him of my observing them, but no, it was for quite a different reason.
"Dr Thomson," he began, as formal as ever, "It's something I've noticed. I've seen this car. It's been parked by the school a few days when we've come out and the last two days it's been in Barton Road by the pub and I think it's the same one that was just along the road here on Tuesday."
"What sort of car?" I asked.
"It's a dark Hillman," he said, "And I've got the number." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. "It's LUR 671."
Thank God! "It's OK, Grunty," I said feeling relieved. "I know the number."
It was one of the minders' cars. I wondered why it was so conspicuous.
"It's about Khaled and Safar, isn't it?" he asked. "Like in Italy?"
I smiled. "You might as well know, it is. And thanks for telling me. It is very important. And thanks for not saying anything about Italy."
"I haven't even said anything to Francis and I won't....," he hesitated. "Is Khaled really a prince? Francis did tell me that some time ago."
"And Safar," I said. "The fewer people who know the better. The boys know and your Head knows. But that doesn't mean you have to treat them any different, they're boys, just like you and the others."
His lopsided grin. "They'll be treated just the same by me. I told their dad that. I liked him. He's very important, though, isn't he?" I nodded. He became serious again. "Do you want me to keep an eye on them."
"Grunty, you're enrolled," I said, "No pay. Sticky buns from Fitzbillies every fortnight, perhaps." I looked at him seriously, too. "Please don't make it obvious. There's always someone around. I guess the conspicuous car was a warning to someone. I don't think they're in any danger but I'll report what you noticed. Something did go awry in Italy. I wasn't told about a change of plan and I saw someone I didn't expect. So I had to check." I smiled at him. He nodded. I hope he didn't think it was too much like James Bond.
"Khaled told me in Italy you were his guardian. So you're responsible for him?"
"Yes and Safar, too. It's a bit difficult at times. Please say nothing to them as they don't know but they are being watched all the time. I'm only telling you because you saw what happened in Prato and I had to act quickly. I trust you. You know that, don't you?"
He nodded. "Dr Thomson," he started again, "There's something else. It's about last Friday. Francis told me...." He smiled. "...We're just boys!"
I laughed. "Oh, Grunty, I know you are. I'm glad Francis told you. I hope the weekend was successful, too! Don't worry, I'm happy for Francis... And you!""
Poor Grunty. He blushed, but he smiled that lopsided smile.
Term for the boys ended and there was also the welcome home for Stephen. Over the term we'd had several short letters from him extolling his training and the friends he was making. There had been two complimentary letters from two of his tutors saying he was progressing well, both in his school subjects as well as in his ballet training. Anne and Ina were going to London to collect Stephen and Lisa - who was doing equally well - and James insisted he wanted to go, too. There was a reception committee waiting for them outside the houses as they got out of the taxi from Cambridge station. As well as Mr McIntyre and Caroline waiting for Lisa there was a row of Francis, Grunty, Khaled, Safar, as well as Lucius, with me in the background.
It was incredible. A very self-possessed eleven-and a half-year-old had left in September. An even more self-possessed eleven-years and ten-month-old young man stepped from the cab. His back was straighter, he walked differently, he had a posture which showed even in that short time what excellent training he was having. He held the door for Lisa and she, too, had changed. She looked every inch the superb young ballerina she would become. Then things went wild. Both were kissed, hugged, kissed and hugged again. A grinning James and the cabbie unloaded the luggage. We all went indoors and had tea. Poor Stephen and Lisa were somewhat overwhelmed by the welcome home they got. Tea over and the McIntyres departed. Stephen recovered a bit except everyone was still asking questions. I suggested he, Safar and James took his bags up to the bedroom and get him unpacked in a bit of peace and quiet. The others complained until I said there was more food. Sam had been earlier in the day and had prepared a casserole which had been cooking all afternoon. Stephen was forgotten as they set to and devoured the steaming nosh.
Anne had already gone upstairs to see all was well. The smell of the food brought them all down and two large casserole dishes soon emptied. Stephen had to tell them how his days had been spent. School study, exercises at the barre, exercises in the dance studio, more study. His was a new world. An ordered, organised, an exacting world.
It was one he would have to live with if he was to become the professional he had set his heart on. From his way of speaking about his new life I knew he would succeed.
A bit later that evening I was in my study when he tapped on the door. As he came in he smiled.
"Oh, Dad, I haven't had a chance to talk to you." He rushed forward and put his arms round me as I leaned forward. "Thanks for everything," he whispered, "I miss being home but I think it'll be worth it. I told Mum that on the train."
A second figure tapped on the door and looked in. It was James.
"Oh Dad, isn't it lovely having him home. I've missed him and so has Safar. He looks a bit different but he's still my brother." He came up behind him, all six feet of him, and picked a laughing just under five foot Stephen up. "Crumbs you've lost weight but you feel all muscly," he said admiringly, "You must tell me what you do."
"I think he'd better come back with you next term," I said to Stephen. "Thinking about it he'd make a good Ugly Sister in Cinderella."
"Dad! I can be graceful when I want."
"What, with two left feet, arms that never know where they are and knuckles that drag on the ground!"
"Oh, Dad, I never meant to break that vase. Mrs Pring must have moved it from where it usually was!"
The vase was only the last in the long line of items brushed into, tripped over, accidentally pushed, or merely blundered into, which any household has to put up with when it contains two gangling six-footers, with one, especially, slightly more prone to sudden lurches and waving of arms. Mrs Pring, our admirable cleaning lady, had two large sons of her own and she and Anne commiserated together almost weekly over objects destroyed by over-large-boy action.
James put Stephen down without dropping him, or crushing an arm or leg in the process. He changed the subject.
"Cor, Dad, I wouldn't mind going to that school. You should see some of those girls. Actually, all of them," he grinned, truly lasciviously. "I've asked Stephen for some names but the toad says they're all too good for me." He made a mock grab at Stephen. "How much is it worth not to twist one of your legs off tonight? Three names?"
A third figure appeared at the door. It was Safar. My study was getting a little crowded. Safar at thirteen was the same height as Stephen. He looked up at James a good foot higher.
"I heard what you said. You will do no such thing," he said, his voice now changing a bit with his onset of puberty, "You'll have me to answer for if you lay a finger on him!" He laughed. "He's going to tell me the names first, aren't you, Stephen?"
"No, you're much too young.... Ouch, Stephen, why did you do that?" Stephen had nipped the flesh just above James's hip-bone.
"Gosh, you're fat, none of the girls would look at you. Anyway you've got spots and who'd want...."
He wasn't allowed to finish. "That's not fat, that's muscle and I can't help the spots. You wait till you get them!"
Stephen was in a real teasing mood. He wrinkled his face up. "Ugh, spotty gob...., ...who'd want to kiss that?"
"Come here, I'll get you! I'll give you spots!"
The pair rushed off along the corridor. Safar was left. I shook my head at the retreating figures. He came and stood by me.
"I've got to tell you. You know, what we talked about in Italy." I nodded. "I can. I tried it again on Thursday night after school broke up and it happened and I told Khaled and James and they said 'Good show, I was growing up'." He smiled at me. "I thought I'd better tell you in case you were worried about me as I hadn't said anything."
What could I say. Another generation growing up. That scrap of a child not so long ago. "Congratulations," I said, "I'm not worried. I knew it would happen before long. But, is there anything else you want to know?"
"Khaled and James have told me things. I suppose they're right. If I think of anything else I'll ask you." Very straightforward. "Oh, yes," he went on, "Can you do Italian?"
I said my Italian was very scanty. What did he want to know?
"I want to send a Christmas card to Giovanni to tell him and I don't know how to write it."
Supreme innocence! But straightforward, too. I was reminded of the slight code Alun and I had used - emphasizing 'come'. But, I didn't know if there was an euphemism in Italian. Anne's Italian was quite fluent but whether it stretched to boys' habits I didn't know. She would be amused when I told her. I had an idea.
"I know, why don't you write 'Si, certo' and put a ring round it. He's an intelligent boy, he'll guess. It means, 'yes, certainly'."
I wrote the two words down for him. "You could add 'di tutti di giorni' - that's 'every day' but you hadn't better....."
He smiled at me. Pure innocence. "... It's true. But, he'll guess from the other. His mum might ask him what I meant if I put the rest. Thanks." He folded the paper and put it in his trousers pocket. "I'd better go and see James isn't tormenting Stephen too much. I haven't told Stephen, yet."
I wondered if, when I was nearly thirteen and, if I'd found I could come then and not a year later as I had, and I was also then masturbating daily, I could have been so forthcoming with an adult. I suppose Safar being brought up in the company of so many 'older brothers', who also told him they'd talked to Dad, it was just a natural thing for him to do.
That night the three of them were adamant they were sharing a bed there was too much to talk about. So, Khaled and Safar were staying over and Khaled was going in with Francis. Long after the five of them had retreated to bed I went to my study to find a book and could hear talk going on in the room with the three of them in it. I tapped on the door and went in. Two were in bed and James was still half-dressed sitting on the bed and they were chattering away from boyish treble, pubescent alto to adolescent tenor, nineteen to the dozen.
"Come on now, you've got all the Christmas holidays to talk. In bed! And if you don't shut up Stephen can have the bed and you two will be in the bunks."
"Dad!" From an aggrieved James. "We're only going over what we've done this term. They wanted to hear about me rowing. Stephen doesn't believe it." He grinned. "And he said we should all go to the show they're putting on before Easter because he'll be dancing. And he'll probably be in the ballet at the Opera House next Christmas....a mouse or something...."
"...It's not a show," said Stephen archly, "...It's a performance of work in progress. Our first year group are going to demonstrate training and the older ones will do proper dances..."
"...And can Lucius...," interrupted James, "...come and alter the height of the barre as Stephen has to do his exercises every day."
"....I told you earlier," said Stephen, "...They're not called exercises, they're called 'class'."
"Shut up, you two, I need to go to sleep," said Safar, giving me a huge conspiratorial wink, "And anyway I know about boaties like James. I asked him the other day if he wanted his pizza cut in four or eight pieces and he said he didn't think he could eat eight!"
Safar rolled out of the way as James pulled the pillow from behind Stephen's head and tried to swipe him.
I left them to it. Once downstairs I made a note to 'phone Lucius.
A couple of days later Stephen came to my study. "Dad," he started, looking a bit hesitant, "Can I talk to you?"
I said of course he could. He shut the door and sat on the chair by my own at the desk.
"Safar told me what he can do. I know James and the others do it and my friend Jody at school does it too, he's fourteen. When will I be able to do it? James says I'm too young and I'd better talk to you. He said I might be nearly fourteen when I could like he was but Safar's much younger than that."
I explained as carefully as possible that boys grew up at different rates and he'd notice certain things happening when he was twelve or so. He might start to notice hair and then he would begin to grow down below, like James. He nodded. I knew he'd seen James pass from boyhood to being a young man as he'd shared a room and a bed with him for some time and James was no slouch in wandering about naked in the mornings, especially. I said he knew about Giovanni and he nodded. I said he was another example of a boy who developed early, but he wasn't to be in any hurry, it would all happen quite naturally.
"Can I ask you something else?" he said.
"Stephen, you know you can always ask anything. I expect James and the others have told you that."
He nodded. "It's only that two of the boys always sleep together. We're not supposed to, but they do. Are they like Francis?"
A difficult one. Was I being told something I should really pass back to the school? No. This was all in confidence. I wondered how Mike managed to maintain the seal of the confessional when told of much more heinous happenings? I said if they slept together that was up to them as long as they confined it to themselves. I said that when boys developed they often did things with friends. "Like James and Khaled do?" he asked. I didn't ask whether he meant helping each other manually or in any other way. I rather chickened out and just said,'Yes' which he probably interpreted as a fact I knew what they did together. I didn't know, but from all the accumulating evidence they were at least wank-buddies. Not surprisingly. If I was their age they would have been prime wank-buddies for me. I said the boys at school might be just being best of friends or they might only want to be with another boy like Francis.
I asked him to tell me, in confidence, if any of the boys had suggested he join in anything. He nodded.
"I said I didn't want to and they left me alone. There's quite a few who go off together, though."
I said he might feel like that when he was older. Boys often experimented with each other. He nodded again. "James says I've got to be careful. If I wanted to do anything it's only with someone I like. Like him. Is that right?"
I did have a most sensible son. James might be a pickle but he was very level-headed.
"Stephen, as I told the others. You are your own master. You do what you want to do. You must become what you want to be. But, never harm anyone else and don't let anyone harm you. Understand?"
He seemed satisfied about all this. There was a lot for a nearly-twelve-year-old to digest. In many ways he was old for his years. I had never had a thought about what boys did or how they developed at his age. I suppose being an only child, although having played 'doctors and nurses', I was really innocent. It was only with Alun's visit when I was thirteen that I became attuned somewhat to the changes which were happening in me. Safar and Stephen had the benefit of constant interplay between their older brothers and their friends. There was an openness between the main six of them which could only be for the good. The natural way they had interacted with the six Amati brothers and the way they had become friends - even poor Silvio from under the domination of his father - showed their characters.
One further question. "James said you said Silvio and Bruno could come to stay. Could Domenico come as well?"
I said we'd have to think about it. We couldn't just have three of them and Safar was friendly with Giovanni. I said they couldn't come at Easter because Francis and Grunty had their A Levels to prepare for. But, there was all the summer. We'd arrange things for that.
The great news was that both Francis and Grunty were successful in their applications to read medicine. Both had applied to Pembroke College and both were accepted subject to horrendously high A Level results. Both families made the stipulation that if successful they were to live in college and were not to be seen hanging around home hoping for extra sustenance and comfort. Tiger had made the decision to train at St Georges in London and I just wondered if the boys would have been better a bit further away from home. Still it was done and there was the option for them to do some of the training in London after the first couple of years.
Two other things happened just before Christmas. Firstly, Ma and Pa moved back to the flat by the Albert Hall. Pin Mill House was just too big for the pair of them, now. It needed lots of repairs so Aunt Della was going to sell it as there were plans to develop the sailing facilities at Pinmill and it would be ideal for a developer. Also, Ma was missing her concerts and theatre. Tim and Maureen had a couple of rooms and Ma and Pa got on so well with them it was no problem. Anyway, they were coming to stay for Christmas so we would hear more then.
The second thing was a real bombshell. Flea announced he was retiring from the Air Force. He loved flying but was more and more involved in training schedules and dealing with cutbacks so he wanted out. I also found out he was also at the end of a rather torrid affair with a lady, still married, who had suddenly ditched him for someone ten years younger and five inches taller. It wasn't so much the five inches taller but the ten years younger that annoyed him most. He was at a loose end. He had nowhere to stay and was just about to start his accrued final leave. He'd been promised a job, managing a small engineering works down near Brighton, but that wouldn't start until the week after Easter. He moved in, much to the delight of the boys, three days before Christmas. We also had another visitor. Titty Temple-Tempest. He was being seconded from the Marines to oversee an exploration of parts of Papua New Guinea with a couple of Australians. He was quite the celebrity as the papers had all the details. Mainly wrong he said. All speculative. He had to be primed about the known area and the only person was a retired missionary who, of course, lived in Cambridge.
With the pair of them in the house it was Bedlam. I would think every boy in each of the forms Francis, James, Khaled and Safar were in came to ask questions and meet them, especially the intrepid explorer. The household expenditure on buns and cake rose alarmingly and I told Francis and James their allowances would be docked to pay for it all. All I got was the usual, "Dad!".
So, Christmas came and went. Hilarity was caused when the presents under the tree were opened. None more than when James unwrapped a large package with layers and layers of paper until he reached an inner layer surrounding a further wrapped package. The inner layer was a small well-used and well-washed dance-belt. Even smaller than Stephen's. There were hoots as a blushing James was made to hold it up to cries of 'Too big, too big! He needs two sizes smaller!'. His blushes turned to smiles as he opened the inner package. It was a jock-strap. Just his size. Of course, that night when the lads went to bed James disturbed the peace by thumping loudly on his bedroom door as he'd been locked out by a tormented Stephen and Safar. Naturally he was clad only in his new garment.
A well-filled new garment.
- January 1966 - Easter 1966
I went with Francis and Mrs McIntyre to deliver Lisa and Stephen back to the ballet school. James moaned but was mollified as Flea and Titty took him, Grunty and the brothers up to London for a day visiting unknown bits of Whitehall and having lunch with Lachs.
Quite a few of the students had already returned when we got there and I could see why James had been so enthusiastic. Every one of the girls was elegant and had a deportment and carriage which caught the eye. Not to say the boys didn't, either. While I was getting Stephen settled into his room Francis wandered off. We found him in a nearby room talking to two very presentable lads, about the same age as him. They were already dressed in tights to below the knee and floppy tops and were starting 'class' in front of the mirror and chatting as they went through the sequences. Francis was almost drooling. His eyes were darting back and forth, most of the time on the two quite prominent bulges. I nearly had to drag him away as we had a train to catch.
Mrs M left us at the station as she was going on to stay a few days with her sister in the other direction. Francis was very quiet on the first part of the journey.
"Penny for your thoughts, Francis," I said as the faraway look continued.
He looked at me and smiled. "I wouldn't last long there," he said.
"Why?" I asked, "The exercise schedule too much for you?"
He grinned. "I think I would be much exercised to concentrate on what I should be doing. Too many distractions, so to speak."
"I noticed. I can see why James wanted to come with us today. I could imagine a horde of those young ladies in tutus. All on tiptoe."
"Dad," he said grinning even more, "Stop pulling my leg, you know exactly what I mean."
"I told you I'd noticed. Your eyes were nearly out like chapel hat pegs, as your great- aunt Faye would say. Comely youths, weren't they?"
He shut his eyes and nodded. I could imagine his wank-fantasies in the near future. As it was, as term progressed, I got the distinct impression Francis and Grunty were supplying each other with regular relief from boyish needs in between doing some serious work towards their A Levels. James and Khaled spent hours together as he said he was making sure Khaled wouldn't fail his O levels and this meant numerous sleepover nights either at ours or the Wilkinsons. Safar dogged Lucius and had a flute lesson almost every day. So things were quiet and peaceful, for once. Oh, and Flea was there keeping everyone cheerful and harrying the boys to work and play with little rest for anyone.
Grunty had persuaded Francis to play rugger again so what with four of them rowing and all five playing rugby it was a combination of blood, sweat, toil, bruises, sore limbs but few tears as Flea said paraphrasing the late lamented Mr Churchill.
We all made the trek to see the 'show' at the end of the Easter term. It was superb. The artistry of the young dancers was supreme. Stephen and four of his fellow pupils, all about the same age, showed how disciplined they could be in all the exercises in 'class'. It was interesting watching the set pieces. James's eyes flickered over all the young girls in regulation tutus or Greek tunics in one graceful dance, their every movement perfection. Francis had eyes only for the boys whose figures, slim and well-proportioned, were set off by their tight-fitting doublets and tights as they danced, leapt and supported their partners. Afterwards, he disappeared again and re-appeared from the dressing room with the two lads he'd met after Christmas. One was American, one was French. Both were seventeen, elegant, beautifully mannered. Anne took to them immediately. We were to have two visitors over the Easter holidays, they couldn't be abandoned to a stay in school. The smile on Francis's face on the return journey was beatific.
I never enquired about Buck (his nickname) and Fabien, their relationship, and any relationship with Francis. The two shared the room that Flea had vacated just before Easter as he was going to stay with Georgie and his wife while he sorted out accommodation for his new job. They took Stephen under their wing and the three did 'class' together every morning and exercises also later. Francis haunted them and from the looks they all gave each other I could guess that more than conversation went on late into the night and Francis's bed didn't seem to be slept in much. All I hoped was that he wasn't too tired out to study. The arrangement was for him and Grunty to spend every morning together at his and then they would entertain the visitors with help from the others in the afternoons. We saw nothing of Safar and Khaled who went down to Dorset with Miles Bastable to his brother's farm for the holidays. Safe and sound.
As soon as Francis and Grunty had finished their exams at the end of May they were despatched to Switzerland. They were going to stay with Johann and his wife in Neuchatel as they were living in Johann's grandfather's chalet now he had died. Their son, Johann the Third, was five and soon commandeered the pair as willing servants when they weren't out exploring the countryside. Francis said later it must have been like the occasion when I'd taken him to Garforth Hall and he had been reminded about that many times.
Actually, I'd made a fleeting visit earlier to Neuchatel just after Easter to interview Dr Walter Suess, my cousin Johann's friend's younger brother. That shy young lad of twelve or so, as I remembered him from my first meeting, was now a self-assured, well-reputed academic. Harvey Levine had recommended him as a replacement for two years as he was off to America for a working sabbatical. Harvey at the time hadn't known I knew Walter. No problem. He would be delighted, he was looking for another job and two years in Cambridge would be a fine recommendation.
What I didn't know until then were the results of Johann's grandfather's Will. Well, I knew bits. He'd left Johann the chalet, plus a considerable sum of money. Daniel and I had also been remembered as had our sons, even Stephen. Thirty thousand Swiss francs each for them were safely tucked away to be used later. Somewhat greater sums for the two fathers. Johann had told me there was a bit of a shemozzle going on about the old boy's valuable collection of Swiss art. All those dreary paintings which covered the walls of the old mausoleum and were a bit less conspicuous on the brighter walls of the new chalet he'd moved to. Apparently he'd bequeathed that lot to 'the State'. The argy-bargy was over the distribution of the paintings to various squabbling galleries. What no-one in government had noticed was the sentence further on in the Will, 'That painting admired by my young English visitor, Jacques Thomson, is his. Let him treasure it with the memory of the Brahms as I have done.' That is, no-one noticed but Johann, the observant lawyer, who had immediately removed the painting and secreted it in his bedroom before the representatives of 'the State' came gloatingly to collect their God-awful spoils.
As Walter had no further commitments at the University he said he could come to England straight away. A man, a plan - not the palindromic, a canal, Panama - but, he wanted to bring his car to England. What better. I cancelled my homeward flight. We packed his car with his belongings, plus three boxes of old books and a loosely wrapped flat package and my travel bag. Between us we drove all the way back. We talked and talked through Switzerland, France, on the ferry from Calais to Dover, stopping only once at a Campanile motel for the night. He was a most delightful companion. Erudite, witty, with the driest of dry senses of humour. Only on the English side did the ever vigilant Customs ask to look in the car with two oh-so suspicious-looking academics in it. After rooting through seventeen old books in one carton and three in the second and a cursory look in the third, and checking on the four hundred Gauloises for Tony - sorry, for our own consumption, we were waved on. Tired, hungry and thirsty we arrived in Cambridge where, after suitable sustenance and a bottle of champagne placed in the fridge for later we unpacked the car. The Manet was hung on the drawing-room wall to the sound of a popping champagne cork.
- Summer 1966
The Amati boys had been invited. What was planned?. Not to worry, their mother, Signora Francesca Amati, was going to accompany them. I wondered if she was like her strict husband. No, no, by far the opposite. A minibus appeared at the due time hot foot, or hot-wheeled, from Heathrow Airport. Six grinning lads stumbled out and lined up. All dressed identically in their dark blue ensembles, all a year taller, bigger and in the case of at least four, hairier.
Our six were lined up, too. There was a general stampede of hugs, greetings and general mayhem. Then all fell silent. A beautiful, elegant lady was helped from the front seat by the driver. Anne stepped forward and with smiles they embraced. I, as general spare prick at the wedding, was introduced and the holiday began.
With twelve boys sleeping over, Grunty had insisted he was included though twenty feet separated his bedroom from Francis's, and Khaled and Safar were certainly not being left out, it might be construed a tight squeeze. Boys' desires and pragmatism was the answer. Of course, the Signora, complete with five large suitcases, had the best spare room with en suite bathroom. I had the feeling she would have packed a maid or three if she'd remembered. Grunty, Francis and Khaled had Silvio and Bruno in Francis's room. How the five were going to share one double-bed and a single put-you-up, there for decency's sake, was up to them. There was a spare mattress somewhere. Stephen and James's room accommodated four, including the now almost post-pubescent deep-voiced Giovanni and a beginning to be hairy twelve-year-old Antonio. Safar was delighted because he had young Domenico and slightly elder brother Julio in our small spare room.
We had given some thought to help in the house and Sam with his helper, Nick the red- haired young man from the Buttery, were volunteered by ever efficient Willy. Jem and Davy had to be involved, too, so our kitchen resembled the assembly line of the Savoy Grill or Joe's Greasy Spoon, depending on one's feeling at the time. So, meals were prepared, beds made, rooms cleaned, all with super-efficiency - plus a certain injection of cash.
Food over that night the boys invaded the drawing room amidst chatter in a mixture of languages. Anne, also pragmatic, had made her study into a cosy sitting room for us three. Signora had perfect English as well as good French and broken German so we chatted away drinking a goodly amount of rather fine Italian white wine suggested by the self-appointed wine connoisseur of our Senior Common Room. It was good and we talked until at last the ladies retired to their beds.
I looked in on the drawing-room. Safar had retreated with his pair and Antonio looked half-asleep. I had sent a bottle of the wine in so, with the glass the elder ones had quaffed at supper time, they'd had another glass each. I said it was time for bed to the younger four as the bathroom would get clogged. They went off without any grumbles leaving the elder five smiling like Cheshire cats. Fifteen minutes later they were upstairs and when I went up I caught a glimpse of Francis and Silvio, both in the nude just going into the bathroom. Francis might beat Silvio in one aspect but Silvio at nearly eighteen had developed so much hair in the last year it was difficult to see where hair ended and boy began. At least at the front - the layer of chest hair had not yet curled round to his back but he did have a black patch just above the crack of his buttocks.
Who wanked, sucked or fucked who I never enquired but over four weeks five teenagers became inseparable and Bruno did keep wriggling his backside when sitting down on more than one occasion and Francis spent much of his time staring at Silvio and unconsciously adjusting what seemed to be the more or less permanent bulge in his shorts. I don't think any of the next roomful reached the final stage but there were suspicious stains on the sheets and plenty of self-satisfied grins. Although the trio in the third room slept together Stephen joined in their group for most of their activities leaving James with arch-prankster Giovanni and his side-kick Antonio. If there were any tricks those three got the immediate blame. From a snippet of conversation I overheard, Antonio was at the same stage Giovanni had been the year before.
The favourite activity, other than bed-time, was punting on the river, especially along to the Grantchester meadows, with Lucius in general charge. Vast hampers were packed for picnics. Six a side football also proved popular on the field near the house. This generally attracted other kids and there was much enthusiastic rivalry. On the very few wet days the local swimming-pool was over-run by the twelve. The Prato swim-trunks had to accommodate further-grown equipment and the sight of a succession of well-packed minuscule pouches caused a good few eyes to pop. I thought none more than for the elegant, blond, white-suited Stephen.
Anne and Signora, Maria as we learned, got on very well. They had their own itinerary of galleries and stately homes to visit in and around Cambridge and spent a couple of days in London staying at the flat with Ma and Pa. Ma, of course, took them to a Promenade Concert in the adjacent Albert Hall and I think Maria was suitably impressed. Actually, she was very down-to-earth. Big families of daughters were difficult to marry off in Italy and she had been lucky to have met Alberto, ten years her senior, at a cocktail party when she was twenty and on an Art course in Milan. He worked for a well-known car company which had expanded greatly and he was now just below being on the board of directors. Hence, plenty of money, large cars and the wherewithal to send six sons to an exclusive school. She had high hopes for them and now Alberto had loosened his demands on Silvio things were less tense. She told Anne that all that was due to our crowd of ruffians. No, she didn't call them that, but against the six immaculately clad youngsters last year on that fateful first day our lot had looked like extras from the Pirates of Penzance.
We saw nothing of Tony as he was back in the States for four months, earning a fabulous amount re-writing the screenplay for some epic which had started to go sadly wrong with the original compiled by a team of others. Lachs came for the day on a couple of occasions - bringing stuff for me to translate but joining in as there was a fair on Midsummer Common and he loved roundabouts! So did the boys. Flea came and stayed over a weekend and slept in my study. He was full of his new job. A good little engineering company let to go to rack and ruin through poor management. He had sacked three of the senior staff and had enticed in a couple of his ex-aircraft engine fitters and things were turning round. Of course, he led the boys a merry dance. Even young Domenico was shouting out 'Uncle Flea, Uncle Flea' within hours of his arrival.
Great news again in August. Khaled got his eleven A's and Francis and Grunty got the grades required for entry to the pre-clinical course. Signora Amati was so pleased how the holiday was going she took the whole lot of us to an Italian restaurant she'd discovered in one of the side-streets in Cambridge. And we never heard another word about Signor Amati!
- Winter Term 1966 - New Year 1967
There was silence in the house when they went. In fact, we would be even more depleted in number in the space of a few weeks. Firstly, I, with Francis and James, went this time with Ina McIntyre, to take Stephen and Lisa back. Stephen had, even with all the distractions, religiously done his 'class' each day and immediately we arrived and unpacked his bags he began to change into his working clothes. I noticed as he stood, nude, ready to pick up his precious dance-belt that there were a few faint blond hairs just appearing above the snail. His balls were just beginning to sag, too. He saw me look, then winked at me. He knew I knew he was beginning to develop. Both James and Francis had sloped off as soon as the bags were opened. One to see if any girls might be interested in a chat with a handsome, spotty youth and the other to see if his two friends were back from their homes to start their final year.
"Thanks, Dad, for a lovely summer," Stephen said with that smile of his as he pulled on his below the knee tights over his belt and then pulled the shoulder straps tight. "I've got to work very hard this year Madame said and I intend to. I'll look after myself, don't worry, and Buck and Fabien are going to work with me and Jody."
I had met Jody, briefly, at the Easter 'show' but, speak of the devil, the red-haired lad of about fifteen rapped on the door.
"Hi," he said, "Hello Dr Thomson, I've come to collect Stevie."
We shook hands. He was also in dance clothes. He was all efficiency.
" Just seen Mrs McIntyre. She said she was off to catch the earlier train. Lisa's in the studio already. We don't believe in wasting time here, do we Stevie?" He turned to me. "Stevie's good."
"Shut up," retorted 'Stevie', the first time I'd ever heard him called that, "I'm only good if I practise. And I'm going to work hard this year - and so are you!"
Jody held up his hands and grinned. "Okay, Okay, we'll both practise hard. Come on, Stevie, we'd better get off, Madame will be there, so don't be long." He did an elegant bow and did a leap out of he door.
"Jody's very good, bit of a show-off, though," Stephen whispered as he disappeared. "I'm glad he'll work with me." He had pulled on his long socks and encased his feet in his dancing slippers. He picked up a baggy, woolly sweater. "That other pair won't be back yet so would you like to come and watch." As we walked sedately along the corridor he was greeted cheerily by several other students, male and female, either just arriving or already kitted for activity. "You'll give my love to Mum, won't you. I'm going to do my very best for both of you and Uncle Lachs." Although he knew Lachs was his true father he always called him Uncle. "I shall miss you but I'm happy here." He put out a hand and gripped mine for a moment.
As we entered the studio the other two materialised. James was chatting to three very graceful young ladies. Francis was standing, head and shoulders taller than, with a laughing pair of Fabien and Buck. Both were in formal dance-wear ready. There was a sharp 'crack'. I turned to see the most imperiously elegant, quite elderly, lady with a silver-topped cane. She 'cracked' the tip of the cane on the floor once more. Someone started to play the piano in the corner of the room and all the pupils moved to the barre, all were mirrored. On the next 'crack' all started a perfect sequence of movements. I watched Stephen, now concentrating entirely on what he was doing. Jody was beside him with Fabien and Buck a few paces on. Madame paced up and down. Her stick gently touching an ill-bent leg here or a not steady arm there. The onlookers gradually dwindled away. We three were the last. It was fascinating. Boys and girls of all these ages all with one ambition. Others came in and joined the sequence. Madame was imperturbable. As if by magic her touches seemed to heal the imperfections. I motioned the boys to leave. Both were starry-eyed as we walked back down the corridor to the Porter's desk.
As we walked out of the main door James let out a deep breath. "Gosh, I nearly shot a load in there!" He immediately realised what he'd said. He turned to me as his face went red. "I shouldn't have said that. It's James and his open mouth again! Stand in the corner, James!"
Francis was in stitches, almost bent double with laughter. I couldn't resist it. "It's alright James, I think your brother already has!"
A second red face and a concerted "Dad!" from both of them.
It wasn't until we'd crossed London on the Tube and were sitting on the Cambridge train that Francis said anything. "Dad, they haven't got anywhere to go. Can Fabien and Buck come and stay at Christmas? And we'll all be invited to the Nutcracker at the Opera House anyway."
It was James' turn to chortle. "You were right, Dad!"
"You wait, Squirt!" was Francis's retort.
The second departure, even if it was more or less down the road, was that of Francis and Grunty, now both eighteen, at the beginning of October when term started. James was now busy in the Upper Sixth. His A levels to come next year. For a reason known only to himself he had decided he wanted to read Law and, off his own bat, had applied to his Great- Uncle Edward's college, Gonville and Caius. I had suggested he went further afield. King's College London, Durham, or even that other place, Oxford, where 'Auntie' Julia and Roger had successfully completed their degrees and were now in pupillage in Lincoln's Inn. But no, he was adamant. He went for an interview, and I can honestly say there was no family influence, and was offered a place. He said the old don who had interviewed him was so deaf he used an ear trumpet, looked like Beethoven and thought his name was Jimpson. I did know the don in question. He was forty-five, was one of the youngest QCs ever, and a stickler for exact wording on University Committees. James got in with his usual gift - that of the gab!
Although he was working hard and keeping up with his rowing and Second XV rugger he was also developing into a party animal. Most Saturday nights he alone or often in the company of Khaled would be at some adolescent rave-up in some poor unsuspecting parents' house. Rules were a) don't get drunk and b) be in by midnight. Anne said the third rule was unspoken but she thought it was understood as she had found an unopened 'packet of three', obviously forgotten about, tucked under a volume of collected poems on his dressing-table.
However, things did come to a head the week before breaking up for the Christmas holidays. One girl, among a number he'd been pursuing with little success if the anguished telephone calls were any indication, invited him and Khaled to her house for a party. What we didn't know was that her parents were away for the weekend and there was plenty of drink available. On asking, I found out from Ludo that Khaled had arrived back home just before twelve and seemed a bit upset about something. My interest was that James did not arrive home until three a.m. and he was more than slightly drunk. I had a few words with him late on Sunday morning when he came downstairs. He said he was sorry but the party had 'been a hoot' and it was nearly end of term. I could see he wasn't at all sorry and he had a silly grin on his face for the rest of the day and when Khaled came round late in the afternoon he was nodding and grinning until Khaled pointedly said he needed some help with an essay he'd been set to give in before the end of term and they went upstairs.
A couple of days later Anne said she'd been in with Mrs Pring to change his bed and put the accumulated clothes and jumble away. She said the 'packet of three' in his slacks pocket was now a 'packet of two' and the prominent piece of paper he'd had on his dressing table all that term with an increasing list of names, all in capital letters, had an addition. The second name, 'ANGIE NOAKES' now had a big red tick by the side. Oh yes, the party had been held at the Noakes' house. He was a physics don, I was pretty sure, at Downing.
Anne didn't think our second son was a virgin any longer from the circumstantial evidence. I was well aware neither of our elder sons were virgins in one sense and had indicated this to Anne who had been a little amused at what certain boyish habits led to. In any case, we both thought it was perfectly natural for a young male to loose his usual virginity at some time. We had to assume in this case this loss was accompanied by one act of intercourse only and they'd used the missing contraceptive. Anne looked at me. I held up my hands in defence. "I was eighteen. And I didn't. And look what happened! Francis! Then I was nineteen. And I didn't.... and HE happened!" We had to laugh and just sit and wait.
There was a slight state of euphoria around James and all he did for the next few weeks. Christmas came. We didn't have to fetch Lisa and Stephen as they were escorted by Fabien and Buck. They with Stephen and Lisa were in the second group of pupils appearing as 'children' or 'mice' in the performances after Christmas. Pa and Ma came and Fabien and Buck were invited to stay at the flat any time they were at a loose end. I looked at Francis when Ma said that. As his bed had not been slept in for three nights I guessed where his loose end had been.
The three lads and Lisa were taken to London by Mr McIntyre by car late on Christmas Day. There were in for intensive rehearsals in the morning for the Boxing Day performance and were highly excited. If we had seen the mouse fight once from Stephen over Christmas, we'd seen it a hundred times. Front seats in the balcony for that first performance were ours and a whole crowd of the family plus Jem, Sam, Lucius, etc., clapped like mad at the end of that show of magical expertise. We were then ushered round backstage and with the excited horde of mums, dads, small ballet dancers, larger ballet dancers, grown-up ballet dancers, stage-hands, everyone was there. I hadn't recognised Buck and Fabien, all made-up and dressed as young adults but we'd spotted Lisa who was one of the girls around at the giving out of presents. We had been instructed to look out for the fourth mouse from the back. Stephen was still in his costume, carrying his mouse's head in one hand and holding on to the long mouse-tail with the other.
James took the head from him. "Good likeness. Small beady eyes, sharp teeth and that bulbous nose." Stephen made a grab for the head and dropped the tail which flopped down. He made a grab for that, too, and drew it up between his legs. "Gosh, Stephen, that must be over a yard long. Don't let Francis see it or he'll be jealous. Whoops, James! Not the thing to say here."
I was standing behind him. He turned. "Sorry Dad, it slipped out." He grinned. "I'd better go and talk to Rachel over there." He rushed off in the direction of one of the girls in a long muslin skirt and blue coat. One of the girls, I assumed, he'd chatted to in September.
"Did you like it, Dad?" asked Stephen. "I did my best and I think I died quite convincingly!"
I'd noticed the poor fourth mouse from the back curl up when falling from the attack and then dragged unceremoniously from the stage. Two minutes of glory!
He looked at me and smiled. "Lot of work for that, but Madame says I can do a solo at Easter." The letter from his main tutor at Christmas was so full of praise I didn't dare show him.
One of the opposing soldiers came up, his hat in his hand. It was Jody. "Just seen your brother. He's talking to Phillip Ross." Oh, the Nutcracker himself. A very accomplished dancer. "Wouldn't just go up and talk to him myself, wouldn't dare. They say he's got a temper and hates being pestered."
Stephen was on the defence. "I don't think Francis would pester him."
Pester or not I saw the tall figure of Francis approaching across the vast expanse of the stage with a much smaller figure in the costume of Hans-Peter, the Nutcracker. Hans- Peter/Phillip Ross smiled at me and stuck out his hand. "Your son tells me you are Hans- Peter in real life."
"Yes," I said, smiling, "I'm Jacques Pierre but I have a good friend in Germany who is really Hans Peter. Thank you for your performance."
He bowed slightly, then turned and smiled at Stephen. "Your brother said you were fourth mouse from the back." He laughed. "I started in that important position," he looked at Jody, "then I was Sergeant next time." He shrugged his shoulders. "And look at me now. A block of broken wood - still I did get mended." He turned to Francis and shook his hand. "You keep that brother of yours at it. He's like the rest here tonight. He's got potential." He waved at us, bowed slightly again and was off to another group who surrounded him.
"Wow," was a starry-eyed Jody's only comment.
I gathered our contingent together. We had to find the cars, mine, Mr McIntyre's and Jem's, ready for the return to Cambridge. I bent down and hugged the fourth mouse from the back. "Keep at it!"
"I will, Dad!"
The rest of that first term seemed to be fairly quiet. That was, unless one discounted the fact that for the first couple of weeks James seemed to be out in the evenings more than in. New Year parties was the excuse. The third week of term he arrived back from school with a horrendous black eye and swollen lip which he said was due to a rather vicious tackle and a scrum at rugger. He didn't go out much after that, except at weekends. It was also noticeable that until the weekend after the black eye Khaled hadn't been round much. When I saw him he said he was very busy. For most, the First Year Sixth is a bit of respite between the two sets of exams. Alright, I knew that the work in the Sixth Form takes everything more than a notch higher but the first couple of terms is a breather for many. Actually, when I checked, James was working steadily as he should be if he wanted to get the grades needed to begin the course in October.
Actually, I was pretty busy and so was Anne. We had both decided to write another book each the previous Easter and I was going to analyse the other type of forbidden book of my period of French studies. I'd been apprised by several correspondents who had read my articles mentioning the 'secret' book of a small corpus of 'Boys' Only' literature. I'd had a week in Paris the previous term and had found my librarian at the Bib Nat to be very helpful. So a review of some of the sources, comparison with the mainstream publications, ten of which I had, plus substantial bits of the 'secret' book would be sent off to Kanga for consideration under the title 'Audacity in the Age of the Enlightenment'.
There were niggles though. By some fluke of misunderstanding on my part I found myself to be a permanent member of the committee I had been on when Francis and Grunty were observed. As with that meeting, the old don who was Chairman arranged meetings and then cancelled them at the last moment due to 'pressure of other business'. Sleeping off the effects of the previous night's bibulous dinner was my opinion. I couldn't refuse to be on the Committee as it controlled certain purse-strings. Another niggle was the rising tide of student unrest. Although low key at the moment we were having other meetings to make sure we didn't upset the 'scratchers after the truth' too much. What we ever did to upset them I never knew.
About two weeks before the end of term on the Friday afternoon another committee meeting was cancelled so I had lunch in Hall and decided to pack up and go home. I could get on typing up the last couple of chapters of the book. Willy had no news other than Jem and Sam had their eyes on yet another house. He shook his head lugubriously and averred he didn't know when they found time to do any college work. As I'd never seen any evidence of slacking as Lucius was a more than competent housekeeper and general factotum, I assumed dear Willy was suffering from a bout of sour grapes. I knew, and he knew I knew, he had an interest in at least three of the houses the lads were running as he'd lent them some of the finance, so why the long face?
I left college and cycled up to the market to get the rest of the veggies for the weekend. Anne had given me the list and I managed to get all on it. So, I was in a reasonably good mood as I cycled along the Barton Road and into our road. As I approached our house, having waved to old Mrs Kiddle a few doors down, a girl cycled past me, wrong side of the road, and going like the merry clappers.
Having parked my bike against the garage I noticed the backdoor was open. I also heard voices having an argument. There were two broken plates on the floor of the kitchen so I went through and listened at the bottom of the stairs. Khaled was shouting at James.
"I've told you, you should be bloody ashamed bringing that slut into the house! There's no excuse. If you want to fuck something like that take it on the common with the rest of them!"
"I'll fucking bring whoever I want in the house. Why the hell did you come up here yelling at her. You bloody nearly kicked her down the stairs! And what was that fucking crash? Anyway, you're not my bloody keeper!"
"I'm not your keeper, no, but I do know you're not bringing shit like that in this house! Christ, she's been shagged by every poxed-up bastard in the town!"
"God, Cally, you're jealous," he taunted, "I suppose you wanted a bit too?"
"Fuck you, James, I wouldn't touch that whore with a barge-pole let alone put my dick anywhere near it." He must have taken a breath, his voice rose. "That girl's dynamite! Your name would have been round the town before nightfall. I suppose it was Dirk Callan who put you up to it. He's a bastard if ever there was one. He's no friend of yours. Huh, I suppose he said 'Come on James, I know just the hole you can stick your cock in'. He's all wind and piss...."
"....Shut your mouth, Cally, just because you're still a bloody virgin!"
I strained to hear Khaled's much quieter answer. "God, James, you got lucky once. Last year. And you were both too drunk to know much about it and what a disaster it was for you from start to finish. You were spewing your guts out when I left so whatever you did must have been delightful for the pair of you. You're all mouth. I despair of you sometimes."
James began to shout out loud, "Shut your mouth, shut your mouth!"
Khaled wasn't deterred. His raised voice was full of anger but it was a concerned anger. "Shut up yourself, James, and listen! We all know you've got the biggest prick in the school, everybody's seen it enough times and we've all heard your tales about where it's been and you can't keep it in your pants at weekends, but you know the truth and I know the truth. Yeah, you may have the biggest prick but you don't have to act like the biggest prick you are as well!"
"Why, you little fuck, I'll have you for that!"
I thought I'd better intervene before blows were struck. I went up the stairs two at a time just reaching the door as Khaled was stepping towards a red-faced James who was advancing on him, fists clenched. James had just a tee-shirt on and, thank God, had a condom dangling from his long, limp cock.
"OK, break it up!" I said, "Come on Khaled, come downstairs with me. You!" I said to James, "Get dressed!" His face went even redder as I looked down at him.
"...And is that your thirteenth A? For being a prize Arsehole?"
I turned and led a now silent but shaking Khaled downstairs. We went into the kitchen where I lit the gas and put the kettle on. He started to pick up the pieces of china. He was calming down but was still in a very tense state.
"Sorry, Dad," he said, quietly. "James is a fool, but I shouldn't have sworn at him like that."
"Not to worry, Khaled, you've quite a range, but, I added my penn'orth at the end." I sighed. "I suppose we'll have to pick up the pieces, like the plates."
He looked up at me with a wry smile. "James?" He shook his head. "I can't get over it. Rowing was cancelled this afternoon and he'd disappeared so I came here to look for him. They were on the bed but they hadn't started and I shouted and she screamed...." He snickered. "...She pushed James off and he fell on the floor swearing and shouting and then she grabbed her slacks and rushed off out and shoved me and called me a....." He shook his head again. "...It doesn't matter... ...She must have broken the plates when she was dressing in the kitchen. She left these behind." He put his hand in his blazer pocket and pulled out a pair of flimsy knickers. "I found them when I rushed down to see what had happened in here. James was yelling at me so I went back upstairs. Did you hear us?"
I nodded. Thinking about it, I recognised the girl on the bicycle. She was early twenties or so, bottle-blonde, plenty of lipstick and eye make-up, and I'd seen her and a few of her mates hanging around Kings Parade ogling students as they passed. I had heard that little crowd were known as the town bikes. Successors to the girls that hung around in my days as an undergraduate. But James? Was he that desperate?
We sat at the table in silence drinking the tea I'd made. Tea, the great British panacea for all ills and for all occasions, pleasant or unpleasant.
"You knew about the girl last year?" he asked. I nodded. "She was OK, really. I thought they might have hooked up permanently after that but she moved on." He paused. "Upper Sixth, First XV full-back." He laughed. "Bit more prestige than a Second Fifteen flanker. Poor James, fumbles too much." So spoke a First XV fly half! "And he didn't get that black eye playing rugger. He challenged Pete and fumbled again." I had wondered at the time about the eye and the lip. "Must say he tries, though. He's been the rounds even if he's got nowhere with any of them. I've tried to lighten it a bit for him. I tell him who'd want to kiss a faceful of zits." He smiled, "The girl last year was the first and only one. And I bet he doesn't know a lot about what happened. I must admit I'd had a bit to drink that night as well. Uncle Ludo guessed. But James' been bragging a bit but I know the truth. That's James. But today?" He shook his head. "And with her? Why?"
A stumbling, humbled, now-dressed figure appeared at the door.
"...Because I'm a bloody great fool, that's why!" He stood just inside the room. "I don't know why, but I'm a fool." He looked at me. I could see he was near tears. "Dad, can you ever forgive me?" He shook his head disconsolately. "It's the last thing I ever wanted you to know." He burst into tears. "You won't tell Mum. Please, don't tell Mum!"
Khaled jumped up and put his arms round him. They hugged each other and Khaled led him to a chair at the table.
"I'm sorry Cally. I didn't mean you to find us. I'm sorry I brought her here. I don't know why I did. I didn't mean to shout at you like that. You were right. I'm a real prick!"
He sniffed and looked at me. "I'm sorry, Dad, I just let things get out of hand. I thought I was just being a big boy. I'm not! Please don't tell Mum. I'll do anything for you not to tell her!"
"And what happens when she finds these in the wash?" I held up the knickers Khaled had placed on the chair by me. "Would they have been a trophy of the chase?"
Poor James. He just stared open-mouthed. Khaled leaned over and took his hand.
"James," he said, "I know why you did it. I saw you talking to Dirk after school this morning and he was laughing. I bet he suggested it. I can tell you this he's just idle boast as well. You think he's fucked every girl in town and you've got to copy, eh?"
Khaled looked at me. I knew I had to keep quiet. "His brother Jake knows him better. He says the only thing he's ever fucked is his right hand and he should know because he has to share a room with him in the House. He also says he's more than jealous because he thinks you've had lots of other girls and anyway, you've got a bigger prick than him. You're always waving it in the changing room and saying what you've done with it. He set you up with that cow."
I had come across Dirk Callan, a rather large, South African boarder in James' class at school. He was some six months or so older than James and, when I'd attended inter-school games, seemed to do more rushing about and shouting than being a useful player even in the Second XV. His brother, Jake, was in the First Year Sixth with Khaled and was quite different. A quiet, unassuming lad, he and Khaled often worked together as both were doing Economics and had been here on several occasions when they had urgent work to complete.
Khaled squeezed James' hand. "James, you have been a real prick! It comes of being boastful. But, I know you better than that. We're still friends and I'm forgiven, eh?"
James burst into tears again and flung his arms round Khaled. "You are my keeper," he sniffed, "I couldn't do without you, Cally!..... ....But Mum.... and Safar.... and Stephen? And what about Francis? What shall I do?"
"James," I said, "I'll talk to your Mum, she'll know something's happened and it's best if I talk to her first. Don't be surprised, though, if you're on bread and water for a month. Confined to the galley for spud peeling, I expect, too. I shouldn't wonder if you'll end up like that character in Under Milk Wood with his flies sown up. No more boasts and flag waving, either. But, Safar and the others needn't know. It's up to you."
James raised his head from Khaled's shoulder and shook it slowly. "Thanks, Dad, I'm sorry." He rubbed his eyes. "Cally, would you stay over with me tonight? I need a friend. I need to talk."
"Why ask? And we'll have to do something about those spots. No girl'll want to come within a hundred miles of that face. I've told you that before." He slapped James on the back
"Oh, come on upstairs I've enough stuff up there but they keeping coming up. Stephen calls me a spotty-faced git and its true." He stood up and as they walked out he put his arm round Khaled's shoulders. "But, I'm told they have some advantages as you might learn when you get some!" He turned and looked at me. "Dad, I wish it had never happened." He shook his head. "Tell me you forgive me, please?"
After that, what else could I say. A seventeen-year-old with a rush of hormones and the offer of a good shag? He and my cousin Rhys shared in superabundance that scourge of the adolescent, acne. If it was hormonal then the advantages, as I knew from Rhys's daily prowess, were a compensation for the looks in one way. But, I suppose his lack of recent success with girl-friends might be put down to those crops of red angry-looking pustules which adorned his chin and cheeks. But today. The set-up. I expect Dirk had told the girl of a horny, long-cocked lad who'd give her the fuck of a lifetime and had probably slipped her a fiver as well. She had probably lurked on the green at the end of Barton Road where the cycle path crossed from Fen Causeway. A few words. Encouragement. No thought to consequences. His boastfulness had come home to roost. But then..., an eighteen-year-old had succumbed all those years ago. Then. I hoped, it was love. Today with this pair it was lust pure and simple. At least today she, or he, insisted on a condom.
Anne said she had suspected he was getting rather frustrated over things because she'd noticed he had been more tetchy and bad-tempered than usual over the past few weeks. She'd bought him several concoctions from Boots in the past for his spots but whether they were any use, who knows. All in all, not the usual James.
She commented, a couple of weeks later, that he seemed much more composed now that Khaled had started to stay over a bit more often and they'd been to a couple of parties together. There was no talk of any conquests, the list had disappeared and a single contraceptive seemed to remain permanently in his possession.
But, this Dirk needed dealing with. No worry. I heard shortly after that from Jem, who, as usual, full of gossip, came to brew up coffee in my room at college between tutorials, and informed me that a certain boy from James' school had been found on the roof of the school boathouse lashed to the flagpole with his genitalia on full view and painted red for port and green for starboard. What were these youngsters coming too? I laughed to myself. James had told me nothing ever happened at his school!
At the end of his term he came along to my study. I was just reading through the final bit of my labouriously typed up manuscript of the end few pages of 'L'Audace'. He sat on the chair by my desk as I noted a missing acute accent. I looked up and smiled.
He was looking serious.
"Dad, we're going down to see Stephen. Please don't tell him about me.
Khaled says I'm reformed, but I won't feel I am 'cause I've still got things to confess." Ouch, I wondered what he'd done now? But, no, it was a cleansing of the soul of the past. "You guessed about that girl last term?" I nodded. "I've got to tell you we were both drunk. I don't remember much about it. She said I did it and I suppose I did. I did, 'cause that thing had my stuff in it." He burst into tears and knelt beside me. I put my arm around his shoulder. He sobbed. "I gave away something I should have enjoyed. I told Francis last night. I went to see him. He said perhaps when I find someone I really love I would be able to enjoy it properly just like that time with him." He looked up at me through tear-stained eyes. "I gave away something precious and for nothing. She didn't want me after that...." He sniffed back his tears. "I've got something else to confess. I told you a lie. I didn't get that black eye playing rugger. She laughed at me and said I might be well-hung but I didn't last very long and hadn't a clue and after Christmas she went off with Phil Mann and I got in a fight with him. I was so mad about what she'd said about me and she'd told him and he was sneering at me. I thumped him. He got a black eye too, but I got the worst and she's with him now."
I helped him up and he sat on the edge of the chair. I held his arm. He looked so downcast but he looked straight at me. "Cally's right. I get carried away and boast. But you'll forgive me. Francis said I had to tell you everything. I couldn't let him down, too. That other was precious for both of us."
I waited a moment. I had to compose my feelings. My heart was going out to my poor dejected, rejected, son.
"James, try to forget what happened. It may not be much consolation but there is a little phrase in German, Einmal ist Keinmal, once is not at all. For lots of minor things that works, where no real harm is done. It's only if there are longer term major consequences you can't use it. You say you did it, but you don't really remember, then that little phrase will probably help. Just think, the most precious time will be when you and whoever you want to share yourself are both free to do that act without any encumbrances." I squeezed his arm. I had to be truthful with him. "Francis was conceived when I lost my virginity. The first time with a girl, not a case of Einmal ist Keinmal then. We loved each other and that act made our love precious to us. It was a bit of a shock when we found your mother was pregnant but we loved each other and got married. Yes, I know you and that oaf have giggled about dates and that's the reason. One year later you were conceived." I grinned at him. "An accident. Not sufficient of the necessary to tide us over the holiday. But, James, I know you were no accident. I couldn't imagine my life without you as my son. Your mother never had the privilege to see you grow up." I stood and flung my arms around him. "You're my son and even if you are a pickle, or a little Newark, or a big boy waving that seven and a half inch possession of yours around, you're my James."
We were both in tears. We let them flow. My psychological friends spoke in terms of trauma and catharsis. Just as Francis had faced up to his orientation so my second son was now experiencing the trauma of a 'rite de passage' and the catharsis of its healing.
"Oh Dad," were his first words as he composed himself. "I don't know what I'd do without you, and Mum and Francis and Cally and Safar and lovely Stephen. I'm sorry I'm such a bad son. I never meant to be....."
"James, you're a boy. You have to believe me, we've all been through it. My realisation came after I'd shouted at a small lad who was late for school because his mother was in a wheelchair and a very wise boy, not much older than I was, said there were often two 'mes'. I knew what he meant. I'd sworn at your Grandpa. I'd punished myself for my feelings. It was like Jekyll and Hyde. I said to myself there was Jacko and Jackoff. I got through it. You know Francis has been through it. It's your turn. We all do something different but it adds up to the same."
"I know. There've been two of me inside. Me and someone else. Just the same. This last thing. I didn't want it to be like that. That bitch got me into it because she said she'd heard I had a big'un and did I want to try it out because she was willing. That other bit of me said yes! Oh, God, I'm sorry, Dad!" He shook his head against me as I held him tight. After at least a minute I let go and we sat again. He sat in silence. Then he looked at me quizzically. A thought had struck him. "You said I was a big boy with seven and a half inches. How did you know?"
I smiled at him. "You shouldn't leave your graph around for Mrs Pring to discover."
"Mrs Pring. Oh, NO!"
"Actually it was your Mum who found it when they were turning your mattress. I must admit I had a look at it as your Mum wanted to know what it was. Simple. You, Khaled and dear Francis. Red, blue and green. Month by month, eh? And you beat Francis by four tenths of an inch but Kaled isn't far behind. Congratulations!"
The toad smirked. "I can't help that. Francis says he thinks it runs in the family and he doesn't know about Khaled but he's heard of Arab stallions."
"Well, all I can say is you want to keep that thing of yours to yourself unless you know what you are doing! And don't tell Khaled I've seen the chart! Pact!"
He smirked again. "Don't you worry, Dad, I will, and I won't tell Khaled unless...." I held up a finger. "OK, I know. I've learned my lesson." He smiled again. "I'd hate to be in Khaled's shoes when it's his turn!"
"Don't be flippant or you might hear more home truths." I paused. "...And what about Dirk being tied to the flagpole. What part did you play in that?"
He laughed and held his hands up. "I swear I didn't have anything to do with that. He'd pissed off... Sorry, ...I mean he'd upset some of the other boarders and they did it. It's shut him up, too. Keeps his ugly mouth shut now."
"And you promise you'll work hard during the holiday?"
He nodded. "Too true! I'm going to Caius!"
He stood up to go. A much relieved young man. "James," I said, "I'm always here."
He smiled. My old James, the foot in mouth, open-hearted, carefree James was back.
He looked at my desk. At the piles of typescripts.
"What are you doing, Dad? Is this another book?" His eyes lit up.
I knew the sections at the ends of the previous ones had been well-read and probably well-wanked over.
"Of course, we academics have to earn our keep by keeping the presses turning and the bit extra helps to put bread into the mouths of hungry offspring."
He sneered. Then, "Dad, what's it about?" He was getting impatient. Cogs were turning. Wow, more to read one-handed!
"Well, you have read the original translation. There's bits of that in the appendix but the main part is an analysis of what some Frenchmen wrote for the delectation of gentlemen who really only liked comely youths. And if a certain comely youth would check over some of my typing he might get a reward. Ten pounds and a couple of clean towels?"
"Dad!"
The comely youth, plus a rather startled comely Khaled, who volunteered to help without realising the content, had self-satisfied grins on their faces over the next week and it wasn't entirely due to the two sets of ten pound notes I handed out when all deficiencies in my typing had been noted. I must say the manuscripts had been well-pawed, I mean well- perused, as every typing flaw had been noted.
To be continued:.....................