This is the first installment of a new story - begun after rather a long break. I had the by- pass and am now fitter than before! Thank you to all the readers of my other stories here on Nifty, or on Awesomedude.com ,and especially to the many who wrote such kind messages of approval and with best wishes. [See for a listing: High School: May 20 2004 Aladdin's Awakening; Revised version on Awesomedude.com]
This story is based in a contemporary fictional - but maybe recognisable - Cambridge College here in England and does feature some characters who have appeared in previous stories - now generally much older and filling in some detail of future happenings in their lives. This story was sparked off by reading another story - by Michael Arram - on Nifty where one of Michael's characters was denied a place at the College. In retaliation for that injustice I have made some recompense as readers will see. However, I must add, none of the characters should be equated with anyone living or dead! Also, events described should not be taken other than with the customary pinch of salt. As is usual, if any of the customs, words, etc. need any explication just drop me an e-mail. There is also the customary warning that anyone who is not of an age, or in the wrong State/Country, or of any persuasion which makes their mental processes such that rational discourse of a sexual nature is anathema to them, should desist from reading any further. To all other readers - greetings. My e-mail - coded to prevent spam! - is joad130 (at) hotmail.com.
Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
by
Joel
Some of the Characters Appearing: [Year 2000] Mark Henry Foster 16 rising 17, 5ft 11in and still growing
Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams 17 just about 18, 6ft and well-proportioned
Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster Almost 14 just growing and wondering
Shelley Price-Williams 13 horse-mad and blonde
Ivo Richie Carr 19 5ft 10in, chunky and cheeky with it
Adam Benjamin Carr 19 ditto as his twin
Jack Goldman 14 Francis's friend, growing and slightly knowledgeable
Laurent de Villiers 14 French, growing and full of knowledge
Gordon Foster Father of Mark and Francis Fiddles for a living
Maria (Angelica Matteoli) Foster Mother of Mark and Francis Teaches singing
Nicholas Price-Williams QC Father of Tristan and Shelley Lawyer and opera lover
Dilys Price-Williams Mother of Tristan and Shelley A poetess manque
George Carr Farmer and father of the twins
Sophia Carr Gordon's sister and mother of the twins
Francesco Matteoli Designer and Uncle of Mark and Francis
Aldo Leopardi Companion of Uncle Francesco with a surprise in store
- Decisions: Easter Vacation [May] 2000
"For fuck's sake, Mark, make your bloody mind up! Apply for it! It'll be a cinch! All you've got to do is to go for the interview, play..."
"....And pass all the bloody A levels 'at the required level'...," I interrupted Tris in full flow putting on a fair imitation of old Kenny Cardew our Careers Master for the admonition.
"...which will be a doddle for you, brainbox," Tris continued, unhindered by my interjection. "Look what you got last year. GCSE with ten bloody A's with six of them starred. Better than me, nerd!"
That was accompanied by a thump to my naked side. I wriggled away a bit.
"Bloody hell!" he continued, "You've already got three lots of Grade Eight music. Piano, organ and clarinet and Mr Prentice says you'd get your Associateship quite easily at Christmas if you put your mind to it. You've had all those extra lessons at the RCM Juniors on Saturdays, dammit!" He drew breath. "I don't know why I bother. You're just too fucking stubborn!"
I lay silent. This was continual harassment on Tris's part. All this Easter vac he'd been at me. He wasn't finished.
"Good God! Mark, I know it'll make your head swell even further, but last Sunday everyone sat and listened while you played that Karg-Elert at the end of the service and even Reggie Prentice doesn't get that when he plays."
"..All bombast and bluster...." I tried again to avert the flow.
"...Yeah, we know. But, it's all those lovely chords and fancy footwork...." He leaned over and kissed my cheek. He managed a vestige of a chuckle. "...But it's the way you play. You're good and I'll say that only once." He paused to let the 'Ello, Ello' reference sink in. "Hell's bells, I'll repeat it once more. The fucking College wants an Organ Scholar, there's family connections, you're dear departed grandfather was there, your twin cousins are there, you're named after the bloody place and, last but not least, I'll be fucking there next year, don't forget that!"
I spoke up at last as he'd exhausted his frequently repeated diatribe.
"I hope you won't be fucking there," I said in measured tones, " I sincerely hope I'm the only one being fucked by you."
"Oh God! You pedantic little prick. You know what I mean." He sighed.
"And my prick is not little as you so often comment favourably on its general dimensions."
I rolled over him and put my arms round him as he shifted towards me.
"Tris, let's get this straight. I do not want to do music as a profession. There's a lot of it around at home and I like it too much.... ...I don't know what I want to do. I am only sweet sixteen..."
"....Seventeen in a fortnight's time...."
"...OK, OK, seventeen in a fortnight's time... ....but you know you want to be a lawyer like your Dad. My family's all music and I'd rather keep it as a hobby ."
"Yeah, so you keep saying, so why not do bloody Maths or fucking Physics? You're doing those for A's as well as manky-arsed Music. Make up your tiny mind, please!"
I nuzzled his ear. "I will make up my mind all in good time and it won't be helped by your foul tongue. A well brought up young man of your standing shouldn't have to resort to peppering his arguments with such unseemly adjectives... Ouch, you fucking bastard!!"
I was caught. A hand had encircled my pendant testes and had squeezed them, none too gently.
"Whose adjectives are unseemly, young Mark?" came a throaty chuckle, "Make your mind up quickly or you'll be back to singing treble in the choir again."
I had made my mind up. Actually at the beginning of the Easter vac but I'd decided I wasn't going to let on so easily. We always had these friendly battles of wills and this one had gone on long enough. I thought I'd better tell Tris now before irreparable damage might ensue, not to our friendship but to my precious bollocks. I knew there wouldn't be damage but he was getting desperate with my procrastination.
"If I tell you you'll let go?" I asked in as stern a tone as I could muster, but giggling internally.
His hand relaxed then gripped my rather sturdy young erection.
"Tell," he said and squeezed my rigidity.
"I am applying," I said, "In fact, I sent the letter to the Dean the week before we broke up. I had a reply yesterday." I stroked his back. "If you can spare the time you may accompany me to Cambridge on Friday to St Mark's College where I am to play three pieces and have two interviews." I paused for effect. "I have to play Bach's BWV 534 and two pieces of my own choosing, as you know, but I am also to see some Maths don later in the day."
He sighed deeply. "You bastard," he whispered, "You mangy, weasly, mingy, scabby little article! So that's why I've been turning the pages of that Bach while you practice every blasted phrase ninety-nine times." He laughed. "You bastard! You've had me on a string for weeks! And that's why you've had your bloody nose in that Pure Maths book when I've suggested we go up to town!"
He rolled us over so he was now on top of me and kissed me fiercely.
"We've got an hour before your Mum gets back and Frankie's not likely to tear himself away from his pal's Playstation for ages so I'm going to give you the loveliest and hardest fuck you've had in the last fortnight....... ....I love you so much, I forgive you....."
.............................................
Tristan and I had been pals from the time our families moved almost simultaneously into adjacent rather large houses in this leafy South London suburb. Admittedly he was a year older than me, but we joined the same local Junior School, me aged seven, he aged eight, on the same day and had defended ourselves against all the slings and arrows of adversity showered on newbies by all the old hands. We had survived. We had been friends ever since. In due time both of us had won substantial scholarships to the fee-paying independent school a mile away. We had both been well-scrubbed, fresh-faced young choirboys in the rather High Anglican church at the end of the road. With voices broken we had carried on into the ranks of the men's section of the choir and I had become assistant to the organist, Reginald Prentice FRCO, at the ripe old age of fourteen.
I suppose that was inevitable on my part given my heritage. My grandmother on Dad's side had been to the Royal Academy and was a notable piano teacher. She had started me off on my musical path at the age of six. Dad had gone to the Royal College and was one of the first violins in a big London symphony orchestra. He'd met Mum when she came over from Italy to continue her singing studies and her father was the late Signor Alberto Matteoli who had been a conductor at the opera house in Palermo. So, I liked music - in fact, I loved it - but I didn't want it as a career and that was why I'd been rather hesitant when Mum had seen the announcement about the Augustus Pennefather Organ Scholar position which would become vacant at St Mark's College, Cambridge, in October 2001. But, then of course, grandfather Foster had been at the choir school there and had graduated from the College before becoming one of Her Majesty's loyal Civil Servants before being mown down by an errant taxi driver while posted as Third Secretary at the Embassy in Paris.
I suppose it was also inevitable Tris and I would become friends. With a name like Tristan it was patently obvious that at least Mr Price-Williams was an opera fan - and Wagner to boot. As Mum was often in the extra chorus at the Royal Opera House there were always tickets available and Mr P-W, always accepted the offers with a grin on his face. And we were always welcome next door especially for Sunday lunches as Mrs P-W was a superb cook.
But, actually Tris and I were more than just pals. My Aunt Sophie had remarked years ago we were joined at the hip, we were always together. We were joined - as true boyfriends now, one to the other. We both knew we wanted to be together and we had professed our love for each other exactly two years ago.
It was just two years ago in 1998, almost to the week as I had just celebrated my fifteenth birthday, when Mum came home early from her teaching job at the RCM and found two sexually satiated boys asleep in each other's arms in my bed. Tris and I had that afternoon fully consummated our love for each other and had promised to be faithful to each other for as long as we lived. A daunting promise for two highly sexed young teenagers but we were adamant in our protestations of fidelity to each other.
Mum, apparently, looked in on us and quietly closed the door and went downstairs and put the kettle on. We didn't realise she was home until at least half an hour later when we woke up, rather groggily got out of bed, clasped each other once again with Tris remarking I stunk like a polecat. I kissed his nose and said even polecats probably did what we'd just done and led him to the bathroom where we showered, separately, and then doused ourselves liberally with Dad's expensive Dior body lotion. Only then were we aware that someone was home. I suppose rather guiltily, we went downstairs. Mum was waiting, sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of sandwiches and buns and a big pot of tea in front of her. She smiled. She pointed at the food. Our guilt vanished.
"Anything to tell me?" she asked as hands retracted, bearing a sandwich each. "But then, I know. You're more than friends?"
Tris and I looked at each other. We both smiled. We both nodded.
"Yes, Mum," I said, with not a quiver in my adolescent tenor. "I think we know."
Tris's rather deeper voice cut in with authority. "We do most certainly know. I love Mark and I know he loves me."
Quite a statement for a sixteen-year-old to impart to his lover's Mum.
"It's true, Mum," I added, "We certainly know."
"I thought so," she said, "The evidence was building up." She smiled again. "The way you look at each other. I've seen it before."
I knew what she meant. My Uncle Francesco, her older brother, was gay and lived with his long-term partner, Aldo, in a magnificent villa in Southern Italy. He was a well- known designer, clothes, accessories and so on, and was always in the glossies and celeb mags and the Sunday supplements. Not that Tris nor I would be seen dead in some of his creations for highly trendy young males. We had ogled the last lot of hunky models pictured but had giggled over the so-tight shirts with transparent panels showing off super-sized nipple rings and be-jewelled navels. Tris had said that the lads must have stuffed at least three pairs of football socks down their undies to get those bulges because the strutting hunks we'd seen on the beach in Italy last summer didn't seem to have a lot in their Speedos!
I went over to her and kissed her. "Mum, I love you, too. Thanks."
She beckoned Tris over and he kissed her as well. His eyes were shining when he came back to me. Two tears rolled down his cheek.
"I'm so happy, but what about my Mum and Dad?" he whispered.
"I think that'll be OK," Mum said. "They've noticed, too." She laughed, then looked serious. "It's a good job we've got Francis to carry on the line but there's only your sister Shelley and she'll change the name when she gets married."
Tris looked suddenly worried. "But what will Mum and Dad really say? Would you come in tonight when I tell them?"
"I think you and Mark should tell them together. I think they're expecting something and it's something your Dad has had to deal with."
True. Mr Price-Williams was a QC who had led on the defence side in two particular cases where well-known gays in public life had been scurrilously attacked in the tabloids. From discussions at the dinner-table I knew he'd won both cases and was very sympathetic towards the victims of gutter-press journalism. So that was a minor hurdle to be crossed. But what about my Dad?
"What about Dad?" I asked. I must have sounded rather plaintive as Tris put an arm round me.
Mum shook her head. "What about Dad?" She laughed. "I should think he bumps into more than his fair share of both males and females who only like others of the same sex."
Yeah, I'd been to a couple of rehearsals when he was playing in the orchestra for a ballet company and a couple of the young males at one were arm in arm off-stage and grinned and winked at me when I stared rather too long.
Mum became serious again. "But you've got to be careful. School, for example. I should keep quiet about yourselves there at present." She looked at Tris. "It'll be quite different when you both go to college. You'll just have to be patient. And I wouldn't say anything just yet to Francis or to Shelley."
So that was that. Mum knew. Major hurdle. That evening I went next door and we stood together and said our piece to Tris's Mum and Dad. His Dad put on a stern face and said he didn't like people in court who he knew were guilty but wouldn't confess so he was glad we had come clean and the sentence would be light he was sure. He then came and hugged us together so tightly I thought I would suffocate and Tris's Mum cried and said she hoped we were happy.
Dad next day at breakfast had obviously been primed by Mum. His only comment was that he didn't know if he was the father of the bride or of the groom and Mum told him not to be facetious, it was their son he was talking about.
I told Francis over a year later when he was twelve and all he did was sneer and say he was quite aware of our relationship and if we thought the rest of the school didn't know we were much mistaken and as far as he knew they couldn't care less and as long as he and his friend Jack didn't have to be bridesmaids it didn't worry them, either. Being six foot to his four feet ten I grabbed him and tickled him and all he did was screech and said he loved me anyway. Shelley was informed at about the same time, but at eleven she was much more interested in horses and whether she liked her bedroom being painted in that shade of pink and the whole thing just washed over her.
...........................................................
...I was panting heavily as Tris plunged his very familiar six inches fully in for those last half-dozen thrusts before he shot his usual capacious load of boy-cream as far as possible into me. I looked up at his face as he leaned back from me. He was panting heavily too but that didn't prevent him grabbing my equal six inches and bringing me to a squirting, spluttering conclusion. He flopped down onto me. My arms went round his back. I pulled him to me as tightly as possible. It was as if I wanted him to be part of me. I was motionless, impaled on his still rigid prick, I wanted to remain like that for ever. I felt we were one. I nuzzled his cheek.
"I want you, always," I murmured.
He moved his head and his dry lips met mine. We wetted each other with our darting tongues and I tasted the saltiness of the sweat above his lip. I wanted more so licked up all I could from his cheeks, his chin and down on his chest where a sweaty little river drained between his well-defined pecs. I thought 'This hunk is mine. My Tris!'. I raised my head and sought his lips again. We kissed and then lay still again.
"Oh, Marky, you're so beautiful," he whispered, "I want you in me tomorrow. I want you to fuck me so slowly that all time stops and all I see are your wonderful eyes looking down on me. Please love me. Please love me."
All I could do was to whisper 'Please love me' in canon with him. My big, hunky Tristan, still slightly golden from last summer's sun. No tan line as we had made full use of Uncle Franceso's roof terrace while the grownups had their afternoon siestas. Even young Francis had stripped and lain naked.
He had followed us up the first afternoon and watched as we pulled off our swimsuits. He stared a bit at the nakedness of his brother and his friend, then rather hesitantly had pulled off the baggy shorts he wore. Yes, he was just like me at the same age. A curled young prick with just a hint of blackness of the hair which I now had in abundance at almost seventeen. He would grow and develop just as I had. I thought back to the time I had been initiated into the mysteries of developing adolescent sexuality....
- Flashback - How it began
"....Geroff, stop it, that tickles.."
I could hear Tris. It was the first evening of our visit to Disneyland Paris. It was the summer holiday when I was twelve and a bit and it was all because my young brother had wanted to go and it was his birthday present. Tris had looked a bit dejected when told so his parents had stumped up for him to be included. Then Dad's older sister Sophie had come to visit. She and her husband, Uncle George, had a farm down in Dorset. They had twin sons, Adam and Ivo, who were two years older than me. Aunt Sophie said they would come as well. Mum asked was it really for boys of fourteen? Aunt Sophie asserted that she wanted to go and they were coming as well, full stop!
I had been down to the farm a couple of times, the second time with Tris, and the boys were real toughies. I was their townie cousin with his townie friend and we had to be introduced to country ways. The ways were various and devious. We had been introduced to the milking parlour, washing udders, the churn steriliser, tractor driving, slurry pits, and most intriguing, the artificial inseminator. I had no real idea about his function other than watching the cows being lined up ready for his ministrations and I don't think Tris was any the wiser. All we could get from the lads, eleven at the time, was that whatever he poked into the cows' rears provided the farm with calves a few months later.
My greater education on the mechanics of reproduction had occurred only a few months before that visit to Disneyland when Mr Melhuish our Biology teacher had provided us with all the knowledge we would need to increase the rabbit population and, as a corollary, the human population. As none of us seemed to be at the stage of development to provide the essential sperm for this latter expansion to happen it was of little interest. We dutifully looked at the exhibits in the Human Biology section of the Natural History Museum on our class visit there and giggled over the illustrations of the male and female forms and Jodie Fletcher had pointed out in great detail the process of 'fucking' as he called it when he and I had stood in front of the exhibit showing a cut-away engorged penis stuffed into a similar illustration of the female parts. We were gobsmacked at the sight of the developing foetus in the womb and if, like me, never having had sight of a female 'down there', were left in wonderment at these most graphic representations until Lee Besant informed us that was why girls had to sit down to pee as they didn't have a dick. A bit later he commented on the portrayal of a fully developed youth. "Huhn, that's my brother Tony, he's eighteen and looks just like that, bloody wanker!" That evening Tris wasn't any help either as he said he'd been the year before and couldn't imagine crawling out of that hole and he'd heard all the boys in Year 9 called everyone else 'Wanker'.
Anyway, now we had arrived in the late afternoon in two cars, through the Channel Tunnel, and were meeting up in the arrival lounge of Sequoia Lodge. Mum, Dad, with we three lads in the back of the Volvo, had arrived first and we three had been sent off to the swimming pool even before we saw our room. An hour later we strolled back, hair wet, swinging damp cozzies, but feeling more than alive after the long journey, to find Aunt, Uncle, Adam and Ivo just coming through the door.
"Bloody kids," Uncle George was good-naturedly grumbling to Dad. "Had to stop twice because boys with pint bladders drink quarts. And then they wanted more Coke!"
"And who couldn't find the change for the toll road..." began the one I recognised as Adam. He had a gap between his front teeth and a little mole by his left ear.
"...Peage. Get it right. We're in Frogland now!" countered Ivo.
"Shut up, you two," said Uncle George, "Watch your language and say hello to everyone."
Francis and I got kissed by Aunt Sophie who whispered about how much I'd grown. Bloody hell, I was still a shrimp in relation to Tris who had started his growth spurt early, and was minuscule against the hulking brutes of fourteen who were my cousins. Still they bashed me on my back in greeting then picked up my bag as well as their own and said 'Lead on, MacDuff' as soon as Dad came up and handed Ivo the plastic card which was the key to our room.
"Dinner at seven. Downstairs in the Hunter's Grill. Choose what you want buffet. Don't be late. Just be clean and tidy," he announced. "And don't lose that." Ivo nodded and pocketed the card carefully.
'Our room!' We four older ones were going to share. Ivo as the elder twin by twenty minutes was in charge. The room was on the third level. Easy to remember, 3330. I don't think Francis minded being in with Mum and Dad as he wasn't too used to the rambunctiousness of lads like Ivo and Adam and he had his favourite books and puzzles to keep him occupied.
The room seemed huge. Two big double beds. Then there was another smaller room with washbasin, and a loo, and a shower. I needed to pee so scurried into the loo while the others were sorting out which bed each pair would have. I had a full pint-bladder so was at least a minute draining off the accumulated residue of my own consumption of Coke. I had been for a pee before getting into the swimming pool but somehow I had refilled my tank. I washed my hands like a good little boy and was drying them when I heard the noise from the room.
"...Stop it, let me up!..."
"Keep still, we're just having a look."
It was at that moment I come out of the door of the washroom and saw Tris spreadeagled across the bed, his legs dangling, his shorts and underpants round his ankles and his dick and balls on full display. I hadn't seen him in that state of nudity for some time. At least not since Easter when we went to the local swimming pool and shared a changing room and today he had decorously kept his back to me when we'd put our bathing costumes on.
The twins were holding him down and one put out his hand and lifted Tris's penis. It was certainly a bit bigger than I remembered it. As whoever it was lifted it so it straightened and took on a new appearance I hadn't seen before. It was longer, not curled and looked quite different.
"Tristan's got a stiffy!" the other twin called out.
"Let me alone. Stop it!" said Tris in a rather exasperated tone. "I can't help it. It does it all the time."
"What does it do all the time?" I demanded, stepping forward to have a closer look.
Tris looked a bit distraught.
"Bloody hell boy, what d'you think happens to us!" said one of the twins, his back to me.
The pair let go of Tris's arms and as he tried to sit up two pairs of shorts and undies were lowered and two rampant nearly five-inch dicks were revealed. Not only that, but they had neat bushes of almost black hair at their roots.
"That's what!" said the other. He turned and I saw it was Ivo. "And you, kiddo?"
I was grabbed and upended on the bed next to Tris who seemed frozen to the spot, his dick still straight up his belly. My shorts and pants were swiftly lowered and my young cock was fingered and with a low whistle from Ivo and a 'By Christ!' from Adam my three and a half inches of boymeat rose to the occasion. First time I'd ever seen it like that.
"Boy, Oh Boy!" breathed Ivo, "The bloody child's got a dick like a young donkey.!"
"How old are you?" asked Adam.
"Twelve and a bit," I whispered.
"Bloody hell!" said Adam, "When I was that age I don't think I could even get a stiffy." He ran two fingers up my shaft. I tingled. "Are you wanking yet?" he demanded.
"What's that?" I asked rather querulously as this inquisition seemed to be getting a bit out of hand.
My question was ignored. Their attention turned to Tris. "What about you? We showed you at Easter but you said you didn't then."
Oh yes. Adam and Ivo had come up to London for a long weekend and we'd all gone to Les Miserables as a treat for their fourteenth birthday. I didn't know about what they'd shown Tris but I knew they'd gone next door when I had a piano lesson with Madame Keech. Not fair! Why wasn't I included. They must have twigged I was concerned.
"It's OK," said Adam and the pair let me go.
I squirmed around until I was sitting on the edge of the bed rather fascinated by the rampant flesh jutting from my groin. I glanced at Tris sitting by my side. He was in the same condition but a bit bigger. The twins stood in front of us and the two identical stiff, somewhere near five inch erections, were on display.
"Do you rub it like we told you?" asked Ivo. This question was directed at Tris.
"I've tried but nothing much happens," he said, sounding rather despondent and shaking his head. The twins looked at each other and nodded.
"And what about you?" asked Adam who was standing in front of me.
I shook my head, too. I was in a whirl. My dick seemed to be doing things all by itself which I couldn't control. I knew I could bend my fingers. I could turn my head. I could open my mouth. All these I could control but my dick was standing up, straight and stiff, and I couldn't think how to make it lie down. I must have looked a bit puzzled.
"It's OK, Marky," Ivo said, nudging his brother. "It'll do that by itself, anytime, anywhere. You just have to live with it."
There was an audible sigh of relief from Tris. "Gosh, I was scared," he said. "It kept doing that in PE and even when we were doing Maths. Is that true?"
Words of great wisdom from the older boys. "You can't control it," said Adam. "Look," said Ivo, "We're like this ninety times a day." "Hundred and ten times on a good day," said Adam with a chuckle. He looked at Ivo. "I think we have much knowledge to impart to this pair of virginal townies after supper."
Tris was not to be outflanked. "We townies call it 'dinner' in the evening. It's the lower classes and country bumpkins who have 'dinner' at midday and 'supper' in the evening."
He disappeared under two larger boys and emerged red-faced and cackling after having endured a good two minutes of serious tickling.
I was ready for my food. "You two had better have a shower and get tidy. We had showers after our swim this afternoon so we've only got to change. And Dad said not to be late and I'm hungry."
Ivo and Adam sprang to attention. "Bloody hell," said Ivo, "I thought we'd left School Prefects behind. Yes sir!" He saluted smartly, his now floppy cock jiggling from side to side as he did so.
We hadn't even unpacked our bags in all the excitement. Ivo decided he would shower first and stripped off completely. I contemplated his sturdy body. He was beginning to show the muscles he would have later when he was a valued member of the St Mark's Rugby XV. I didn't quite lust after his body then, that would come later!
But first, that which all young adolescent males lust for. As much food as you can eat! We four lined up outside the next door room and Ivo politely knocked. Unfortunately he had chosen the wrong room! A boy of Francis's age opened the door and looked at us. A neatly dressed boy and I guessed, correctly, he was French. Ivo must have guessed correctly, too.
"Pardon, j'ai frappe sur la porte fausse. J'ai pense que c'etait la chambre de ses parents." Ivo said without hesitation, pointing at me.
Crikey, I was impressed! The boy smiled and I was impressed more.
"No, zis is my parents' room," he said in slightly accented English. He looked at me. "You were wiz your brudder and that boy...," He pointed at Tris. "...at the...." He hesitated. "...piscine..."
I knew that. "The swimming-pool..." I said.
"Yes, ....swimming-pool... We were arrived and he come... ...came with you... I have no friend here..." He wrinkled his nose.
Good. Someone to keep Francis occupied.
"I will tell him to come here after dinner," I said slowly and carefully.
The lad smiled again. "I would like that. We go to dinner, too." He put out a hand. "I am Laurent."
We all shook hands and we all repeated our names and I told him my brother was Francis.
So began another friendship. Not in the same vein as Tris and me but Francis and Laurent became great buddies and during holidays they travelled back and forth between Lille and London - the handiness of Eurostar being the key!
But, to food. We located the right two rooms for our two sets of parents and were soon sated with the open buffet in the Hunter's Grill. It was odd though, Tris didn't have much to say to the other two and I wondered why. This was revealed when we said goodnight to my parents and the twins' parents and just about flopped down on the beds when we got back to our room.
Tris was lying next to me but sat up and turned to where Ivo and Adam were lying side by side on the other bed.
"I don't think you should have done that to Mark. It was like attacking him." The boys sat up, too. "I didn't mind. We'd done that showing each other at Easter and you did ask if I wanted to then." He paused and the usual smiles had disappeared from the twins' faces. "You just did it to Mark without asking and I think that was wrong."
The boys looked absolutely contrite.
"Oh, Marky," said Ivo, "I am really sorry if you're upset."
"We never thought," said Adam. He shook his head. "We shouldn't have done that. We're too impulsive and they say that about us at school."
"I'm alright," I said. "I was a bit scared, but I'm OK now."
Tris hadn't finished. "I still think you ought to apologise to him. He's your cousin and he's my best friend and I don't want any harm to come to him."
The twins slid off their bed. One took my right hand and the other my left. "Sorry." "Truly sorry."
I smiled at them. As far as I was concerned they were forgiven. Tris looked at me. "I'm sorry, too, Marky. I should have stopped them. They should have asked but all's forgiven, eh?"
I smiled and gripped the twins' hands. "Forgiven. But you will tell me more."
I think it was that interchange which showed me what a firm friend I had in Tristan. He'd stood up and defended me before two older boys who might have reacted quite differently. But Ivo and Adam were honest and forthright boys. They accepted the rebuke and they saw I wasn't harmed. They let go of my hands and simultaneously hugged me.
"Little cuz, we would never do you any harm," said Ivo.
"From what I've seen, he's not so little," said Adam.
"I second that," said Tristan. "He'll beat the lot of us before he's much older!"
The situation was defused. Both Tristan and I wanted to know everything that Ivo and Adam could tell us and initiate us fully into all the mysteries of young adolescence. Over the next three nights I learned that all boys were curious creatures and although I could not at the time produce the creamy effusions of the twins, which enthralled Tris and me the first night, I experienced the electric frisson of several dry cums. But, my dear friend Tristan won the day. On the second night, after letting both Ivo and Adam show him the practicalities of wanking, Adam brought him to that most satisfactory climax where he spurted a few drops of almost colourless liquid to the accompaniment of much loud groaning stifled by Ivo clamping his mouth with his.
From the recumbent position he was in all we heard for the next five minutes were the contented mews and whimpers of a greatly satisfied young lad confident in the knowledge that he was now 'growing up' and had accomplished an all-important 'rite de passage'. All this was accompanied by grins, giggles and chuckles from three, also highly satisfied, young lads who had witnessed, firsthand, such a momentous occasion for a friend.
"Shouldn't be long for you now, cuz," said Adam, putting an arm round my shoulder. "We've seen six first-times now, with our dorm, and us and him. Great, isn't it?"
"Bloody hell," breathed Tristan when he'd recovered some vestige of calmness, "When can I have that again?"
"That again" happened next morning when Tris demanded that Ivo should raise him to that indubitable pinnacle of enjoyment for his second time. It was my turn to give him his third experience that evening which I have been happy to repeat on countless occasions since then!
We heard about their boarding-school just outside Blandford, not too far from their home in Dorset, and the fact that all their dorm were certainly ardent wankers if only dealing mainly with their own needs. Both had independently at some time tossed off the other three in their small dorm but they pointed out one had to be careful or you might get labelled 'pouf' or 'perve' and as they were in the Under 15's XV that was not wanted in the 'manly' circles they inhabited. "Doesn't mean the lot of don't do it to themselves," averred Adam, "And we know the older ones do as well 'cause we've seen their spunk in the showers." "They just do it and leave it to boast, we think," said Ivo, "'Bloody wankers' they call us but they're just the same."
'Bloody wankers.' I told them about Lee Besant's description of his brother. Ivo nodded sagely. "All boys wank," he said authoratively, "And the ones who say they don't are bloody liars!" He looked Adam. "That big lad Crossthwaite in the First XV told me that, and he should know, he said he's got five brothers and said they were all doing it regularly."
"I didn't know that," said Adam, "You never told me."
"You were asleep on the coach coming back from those games in Cornwall and he and his young brother in our team were on the back seat with us. Bobby Crossthwaite blushed liked hell when his brother asked him if he'd got a hard-on as he wouldn't stop wriggling. His brother said he'd have to wait to take care of it until he got back to school as he didn't want his juice squirting all over the seat and if he did he'd make him lick it up 'cause he was a Prefect. He then said to me 'The kid's like the rest of the six of us. Can't keep his hands off it. And the rest of you!' Then he winked." Ivo laughed. "Bobby Crossthwaite hasn't spoken to me since and I have to pack down with him in the scrum!"
Adam giggled. "Bloody wankers, and so say all of us!"
I joined the ranks of teenage wankers earlier in age than Tris. I was twelve years, nine months and four days when I thought I would try again. Success. Four drops of faintly pearlescent liquid shot to just further than my navel. I didn't see it happen. My eyes were tightly shut as the stupendous subterranean sensations took over. I gasped and I knew. I was there. Tris was ecstatic as well when I told him next day. Our dual endeavours from then on cemented our friendship even further.
To be continued: