Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
A Sequel
by
Joel
Seq 11:
Some of the Characters Appearing or Mentioned: Mark Henry Foster The story-teller: Pennefather Organ Scholar Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams His well-proportioned boyfriend. At College of Law. Francis Michael Foster Alias Toad/Gobbo Mark's younger brother Shelley Price-Williams Tris's sister Adam Benjamin Carr Mark's cousin: chunky and cheeky with it Ivo Richie Carr Ditto, as his twin, safely married diplomat Sophia Carr Their mother in Dorset George Carr Their father: A farmer Nathaniel Tempest Adam's boyfriend: a church historian Raphael Pack An Aussie blond bombshell Oliver Jensen A musical undergraduate
Sunday Evening
After Charles left us Oliver and I sat and chatted. He said Dude had been at the McKenzie's for lunch and had sent his best wishes. Also, the news was that Dude had hitched up with another policeman who had just been promoted at Scotland Yard and they were thinking about taking a flat together. I told him about lunch with the Master and the tastings I had of the two College liquid golds. He was intrigued to hear that the Master was Curt's Godfather and the family connection with Rothenia. I said I was waiting for Curt's father to send me some scanned photos and told him as much as I knew about Curt's family and the possible connection with the mystery man.
"You watch it," Oliver said. "Don't get too involved. If that bod's been found dead it sounds if there's something dangerous about what's being looked for."
I said Jerzy was going to tell me more about the country so I might get some inkling into what might be happening. Also I was plant hunting as well so had an excuse to go house- hunting for the Wildenstejns. Anyway, Tris was going to be with me and Ivo was already there.
"But you said yourself he's some sort of snoop in the Legation."
"I don't think he's a spying snoop," I said, "He told me his main job is sorting out businessmen who go over, get off with some girl, get drunk and then are robbed, but I suppose he has to keep an eye on other things."
Oliver laughed. "That's probably true but Dad's had plenty of experiences in the various countries he'd worked in. Most of them think the British Council is a cover for spying and he's been followed by secret police all over the place. He says you can always tell them as they all smoke, wear tatty clothes and stink of garlic. He got quite pally with the pair who followed him in Romania. He used to leave them packs of cigarettes on park benches or walls he'd leaned on. He said he always knew then where they were because English cigarettes smelt quite different from the usual local brands they smoked. When they knew he was leaving they told him they'd had to tell lies about him but he wasn't to worry as they gave some of the cigarettes to their boss so the files would go missing."
We went to my study and fired up my laptop. The new broadband connection was first class and our staircase had been the guineapig so Jak and Max were always checking if everything was OK. I sent the usual reply first to their server and then opened the e-mail from Dr Stein. There were seven pictures attached. The first was of the house in Rothenia with a man and woman outside, then five of the others were of singles, pairs or groups and were copies of the loose photos according to the notes in the e-mail. He thought the couple were his grandparents, the Baron and Baroness. He listed the initials from the backs of three of the others. One of a smiling pair of men had 'JS' and 'DH' on the back, another of three men had 'JS', 'DH' and 'PR'. The final one with initials was of three men and a woman, 'JS', 'CR-K' 'DH' and 'PR'. Dr Stein identified 'JS' as his father 'Dr Julius Stein' and the woman as his mother 'Constance Reynolds-Kuhn'. He said he assumed they had been taken during the War or just after as his father and mother had married in 1946. The final picture was of a scan of the word inscribed inside the cover of the album. Very clearly it read 'Veschuttzegen'.
There was a further note. 'On looking carefully at the other pages I noticed an arrow pointing to the smaller building next to the house in one and faintly in pencil I read 'der vormundschaft'. This is straightforward German and means 'guardianship'. This ties in with my interpretation of the other word as being cognate with the German word 'Beschutzer' meaning 'guardian'. Part of that building is on the left in the Rothenian photo. It may have an inscription above the door but the photo there is rather faint. I will be most interested to know who 'DH' and 'PR' are and also where in Rothenia the house might be. Also, if you solve the mystery of what my father may have deposited in a college!'
I printed all the pictures out and we studied them intently. The older one showed a fairly elderly man in knee breeches and boots with a sort of Tyrolean jacket and broad-brimmed hat with what looked like a couple of eagle feathers in it. He had a luxuriant moustache and held a cigar in the hand furthest from the very stately lady next to him. Though severely dressed in some dark-looking costume of jacket and long skirt she had a calm and serene look.
Oliver laughed. "So these are Curt's great-grandparents. Come to think of it he does look surprisingly like that lady. The nose, eyes and forehead..."
"...But he hasn't got the moustache from the other." I picked up one of the others. "He resembles his grandfather too, though. Look, I'll enlarge the screen picture."
Yes, it was quite evident. The family likeness was there. Baron Stewpot of that Ilk in line!!
"I'll print out a set for him as well and give them to him tomorrow."
I put the two sets in folders, one for him and the other to take to James. I hoped he would remember to bring the book. I also put my two notebooks, plus various other sheets on which I'd jotted ideas, together with two clean pads of A4 paper and three sharpened pencils, in my shoulder bag.
"If he lets me out in time I'll join you," I said as we went to the bedroom.
I was in bed and almost off when he came back from the bathroom. "Goodnight," he said quietly and the next thing I knew it was morning.
Monday
I was awakened by a slight shake of my shoulder followed by the aroma of freshly made coffee.
"Mrs Mac gave me a pack of coffee she'd just ground," Oliver explained as I woke, sat up, accepted the mug from him and took a grateful sip of the fragrant liquid.
"Just what I needed," I said, "Funny dreams." I laughed. "I used to run in straight lines but the best way to describe the route this time is a Riemann surface! I did end up in Piers' room as usual, though."
He snorted. "You stupid bugger! I have no idea what you're talking about. At least my dreams are musical."
"That's interesting. Can you remember and write it down?"
"Yep. I often have an idea which I can use. What about you? What's this surface?"
I laughed. "That was just last night, something like a rather complicated Mobius Strip, but I've woken up several times knowing an answer to a problem."
"Like Kekule and the benzene ring?"
"Wow! I didn't know you knew any science!"
He grinned at me. "Light under a bushel. I took four A Levels including Chemistry. I got a B in that which pissed off the master as he thought I would fail. I only took it to spite the old bastard as he wouldn't let me have time off in the GCSE Year for extra oboe lessons. Anyway, it's time you got up if you're seeing the Prof at nine."
Yowks! It was just after eight. Quick shower and shave, breakfast here, all in a rush. I jumped out of bed. Rather, slithered out, careful not to spill the last of the coffee I put the mug on the side table, then stretched, arms above my head.
"You must be thinking of other things," Oliver said staring downwards.
No morning hard-on. "Don't be personal," I said with mock severity as I let my arms drop, "I have to think of higher things today." I wrinkled my nose at him. My sneering gene never let me reach Frankie's level of proficiency. "I have to prepare high-grade seminars on arcane topics well above the intellectual reaches of even the better than average Chemistry student...."
"...Bollocks!" he said, to which my only answer could be 'Ouch!' as he reached down and grasped my limp, but let me say boastfully, lanky cock. "Not even a flicker," he said lifting it, "Bet Tris has never had this problem!" His sneer almost matched Frankie's best. "Can't say I have either and you should see Zack in the morning. He's a big boy now!"
"You hold it much longer and you'll find out I'm a big boy, too"
He snickered and let go. I flopped. "We know that. Guess what I've usually seen most mornings over the past year!"
"And look who's talking! 'Priapic Polly' Adam called you."
He laughed. "Yes. He whispered that name one day after we'd been running at school and I'd just had a shower." He sniggered. "Fourteen-year-olds can't control what happens, especially under hot water." He gave me a two-fingered salute. "At least at that age I had something to show."
"Are you implying I was under-developed at that age?" I stopped and thought. "Actually, truthfully, the big surge for me came when I was just sixteen. I shot up and was taller than Tris then and that Christmas we matched, at least in length."
"It's funny, isn't it. Kids are scared to talk about things like this. We all knew what the others were doing in the dorm but nobody talked about it."
"I was lucky. Tris and I used to discuss everything... ..Well, mostly everything. I had to tell him in the end I'd been tossing off a friend but all he did was laugh and confessed the same."
I was ready for a shower and as I walked through to the bathroom Oliver followed.
"I'll miss our chats," he said. "It's strange how fast these three years have flown. This last especially. But, we'll still be around next year. You and Tris and me and Zack."
"All being well, three weeks in Italy in August."
"I hope so. Anyway while you're tarting yourself up I'll do a couple of boiled eggs, OK?"
Breakfast over we went our separate ways. Me to seminar planning; Oliver to practising his oboe in the stillness of the Chapel.
Sean was just leaving James' room as I climbed the stair. He was clutching a very official-looking large brown envelope. "Exam papers," he mouthed as he held the door open with his bum. He scurried off down the stairs as I knocked politely and waited for the command to enter.
James never seemed to waste a moment. As soon as he saw me he held up a hard-back book with a dustcover boldly showing the title 'Who Shall True Valour See' and a picture of a group of people in nondescript uniforms.
"Found it. I knew we had a copy as one of Paul's uncles is mentioned in it. Everyone apparently thought he was a spiv as he wasn't called up and used to disappear for days on end. Turned out he was making all sorts of devices for the guys who were being sent over to France. Anyway, what have you got?"
I sat on the chair beside him at the desk and showed him the photos and the initials on each of the snaps. He looked at each carefully. "Michaelhouse is mentioned in the index. Page 88 and 97 and there are photos as well but I don't think they resemble any of these. Let's have a look."
He turned the pages and placed the book so we could both see the pages.
"There!" I exclaimed as on page 88 I read the name 'David Harding' and in the same paragraph there was 'Julius Stone'.
"Bingo!" James said, "That's two down, two to go."
We scanned the pages rapidly. Gold again on page 97 - 'Peter Rowlands'. No mention though of 'Constance Reynolds-Kuhn'.
"Now," he said after he'd scribbled down the full names on a scrap of paper, "We have to see what they did at Michaelhouse." He laughed. "Never throw anything away is my rule." He waved a hand at the accumulated debris, as I surmised, of an academic lifetime. Two academic lifetimes I found. "I inherited this room and all his books and other things from Dr Bell." He pointed to a crammed bookcase on the other side of the room. "Have a look and see if you can find the University Registers for 1938 or 1939. They're there somewhere I'm sure."
I went over to the bookcase. It certainly was crammed. Mostly it seemed to be full of obscure journals going back yonks, maths text books with recondite titles, plus several novels scattered in between. A title caught my eye. It was an early Ellery Queen I hadn't got but I'd seen it listed. I pulled it out.
"Is that it?" James asked, "I would have thought the Registers were on the bottom shelf."
I shook my head but held on to the book as I scanned the lowest layer. A grubby folder looked promising as I could read '1938' on the back edge. Yes, just what we wanted. I took both over to James.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the book.
"May I borrow it, it's one I haven't read?"
He grinned. "Have it as a legacy from Dr Bell. He was detective story mad. In fact, I think I probably gave him that one."
I opened it. 'With best wishes for Christmas. James' "May I have it? I could add it to my collection."
He just waved a hand and then opened the folder. He turned the pages of a yellowed booklet. "Aha! Michaelhouse. Academic Staff. What have we here? 'David Harding MA Fellow in Moral Sciences' and..." He paused as his finger went down the page. "...Here we are 'Peter Rowlands MA FSA Fellow in Classical Studies (Librarian)'." He looked up and grinned. "Well we've identified them. So what happened to them? Where's my phone?"
I'd never realised that he even had a phone in the room. He pulled open a drawer in the desk and there was the most ancient looking object. It was one of the old black bakelite type with a very prominent dial. He smiled as he looked at my expression of wonderment. "I think this is pre-War, too. Dr Bell couldn't bear it on the desk so had it secreted away and I've kept it like that." The front of the drawer dropped down and he dialled a number. "Mr Tomkins will put me through to Michaelhouse. I don't know how but it always seems to work."
I heard a tinny voice and James then asked for the Michaelhouse Library. Moments later he was connected, introduced himself, and asked if the Librarian could give him some information about past Members of the college. He gave the two names and very soon was saying 'Yes, yes' as he scribbled down things on another scrap of paper as he asked further questions. He then asked if they had any records of 'Julius Stein'. I could hear a rapid tirade of some sort as James listened holding the phone slightly away from his ear. Whoever was speaking stopped, James thanked them and put the handset back on its rest and sat back looking rather stupefied.
"Well I did hit a raw nerve there and no mistake. I've been told on no account must I mention that name as they've had a madman clamouring for entry to the closed stacks of the library and threatening all sorts of reprisals if he wasn't allowed in." He shook his head. "Apparently, under their Statutes of fourteen hundred and something only accredited Members of the College or senior members of the University are allowed entry and only under stringent conditions. He seemed quite worked up over it. He did say he'd been Librarian for thirty-four years and the last time anyone wanted to consult the closed stacks was three years ago and that person complained as there was no lighting and he was certain the place was infested with rats. He certainly wasn't going into any rat-infested hole in the ground." He laughed. "I did rather get the impression that not much goes on in that Library and he's only Librarian between sherries in the Senior Common Room."
"Anyway you are a senior member of the University so if we want to have a look you would be entitled. And he did seem to be in the Library then," I said, probably rather sharply. "And what did he say about the two names?"
He looked at me and grinned. "You Batman, me Robin?"
"Sorry," I said, "I'm getting above myself..."
"...Don't worry, I'm as intrigued as you are," he laughed. "And before you accuse me of dereliction of duty I did phone the Abbot before I came in this morning!"
Charles' hand gestures come in useful. I held up both in an indication of abject surrender. "I can't help it," I said, "There's a lot more I'm sure. He obviously doesn't know that his 'madman' is dead and that there is something in the closed stacks other than rats." I shook my head. "And I'm supposed to be preparing seminars and...."
"....OK, seminar preparation will come soon. But first, those two names." He looked at the scrap of paper. "Firstly, David Harding. He was their first Psychology Fellow, apparently that was the Moral Sciences bit, but what is moral about psychology is anyone's guess! Poor chap got killed in a motorcycle accident in Yorkshire in 1948. The other one was the previous Librarian to this one and died two years ago at the age of ninety-two. He said he didn't know about their SOE background until the book came out and was puzzled as Harding's death wasn't mentioned."
At that moment the phone rang. I thought James was going to fall off his chair.
"That's the first time that's rung for years. Strict instructions downstairs 'no calls in'!"
He picked up the handset and listened intently said 'Thank you so much' and put the handset down.
"That was our prickly Librarian apologising for his outburst and saying he would welcome any enquiries whenever. I wonder what caused that change?"
I couldn't resist it. "Robin always gets his man in the end!" Oh. Er! No problem. James just flicked his hand.
"Let's get some of your stuff out of the way and look at my schedule and then we can try Mr Luffman and his house of mystery! Stacks of kryptonite I expect!" He stared at the ceiling for a moment or two. "Can't do anything until Thursday morning. Part One Examiners' Board this afternoon and..." He looked down at me and almost did a Toad twitch of the nostrils. "...Part Two Board tomorrow afternoon and I'm examining in London on Wednesday which will keep me out of the reach of disgruntled students. Right! We've got two mornings now to wrap your stuff up."
I came out just on twelve with a clear idea of what could be said in one hour's worth of seminar without awkward questions and a substantial amount of a second sketched out. I was told to rest my poor brain for a couple of hours and then think of what might be talked about from my notes on Hilbert Spaces. He said he'd had a note about the punting but would I convey his apologies or some poor souls might not get the results they deserved if he missed the meeting.
Oliver was just about to leave as I got to the set. He waited patiently as I dumped my stuff, put on cargoes and a tee-shirt, admired myself in the bedroom mirror and then he shouted that I should hurry up. On the way he said there would be a good dozen of us and the punts were ordered for twelve-thirty so we had to get a move on. We almost ran along the last bit to the landing stage at the end of Mill Lane so presented the group already waiting with the impression of two healthy, athletic young men. Corroborated by Fiona's comment as we joined, "A pair of handsome lads, pity they're both spoken for!"
"On yer bike, duckie!" I said in her ear in as best a camp voice I could muster as I gave her a sloppy kiss.
It wasn't long before the numbers swelled to well over a dozen and three laden punts set off upstream on a perfect English summer's day - just a few clouds and rain forecast for the evening! Luckily I was not chosen, nor volunteered, for punt pole duty. Pete Padmore, showing off his hairy legs, well-muscled thighs and upper arms, plus more than a hint of a bulge in his tight shorts, did duty for us. What with the gentle heat and the sight of a perfectly delectable body and the sandwiches plus the bottles of beer handed to me from the next boat, I was getting more than a little aroused. I was sitting next to Oliver in the back of the punt opposite Fiona and Dina and as they exchanged some comment with a parallel punt Oliver nudged me. "Keep your eyes off the goodies," he whispered, "It's having the same effect on me!" I'm afraid we had the giggles for the rest of the journey and only covered it by Oliver telling a couple of jokes he maintained Zack had told him over the weekend - one involving a blind man who went into a pub and asking the barmaid if she liked blonde jokes. She pointed out, realising he couldn't see, it was an all-girl bar and she was blonde and an ex-mudwrestler, the manager was blonde and weighed twenty-stone, the two blondes playing pool did kick-boxing and the blonde on the stool next to him drove a goods lorry. "OK, then, forget it," he said, "I certainly don't want to explain it five times!"
"My little brother will feel the flat of my hand when I next see him," said Fiona archly, shaking her almost blonde locks, then grinned. She looked at me. "I think you should tell Tris that one and see if he gets it."
"Too thick," I said, thinking I might feel the flat of his hand if I told him it.
"Too true," said Oliver sotto voce and gave me another nudge. I knew which thickness he was referring to!
Our trek back to College after a pub lunch and more beer was not uneventful. Firstly, we'd been roundly told off by an irate manager of the punting company when we returned to the landing-stage a good hour and a half after our allotted two hours. He was only mollified by a demure Dina pointing to the comatose, soaking wet Pete lying in the base of the punt - actually pissed as a newt - and maintaining the poor boy had slipped off the end of the punt because it was too slippery and needed attention and she had had to apply artificial respiration when he was dragged from the weed infested depths of the Cam. As he'd rather drunkenly kissed all the girls after lunch and, to hoots of laughter, had given both Oliver and myself lip-tingling smackers as well, we supposed the artificial respiration might be construed as that, as he and Dina had tangled for more than a chaste kiss. Louie would not be informed!
Then Oliver and I had volunteered to get him back in his wet, bedraggled, drunken state. Everyone else seemed pleased about this so Oliver and I took an arm each and started to frogmarch him back. He seemed to sober up a bit and placidly let us lead him all the way and into College by the side entrance away from the glare of the Porter on duty. Luckily his set was at the bottom of Stair C so we got him to the door.
"Where are your keys?" Oliver asked. Why ask? I could put a hand into the pockets of his tight, still damp shorts and have a search. Perhaps not finding the keys at first go!
"Under the mat," came almost the first words he'd spoken on the journey. So, no little feel.
"Need bed," was the next thing he said. We hoicked him into the bedroom and bundled him on the bed.
"Can't leave him wet," said a kind Oliver, "He's only got shorts and tee-shirt and whatever's underneath." Plus sandals which I unbuckled and dropped on the floor.
I went to the bathroom and got a towel. In the meantime Oliver had managed to get his tee-shirt half over his head. Bloody hell! It was like wrestling with a jelly fish. At last we had the tee-shirt off and I towelled his back as he was now lying face down.
"Nothing for it," said Oliver slipping a hand under him and undoing the top of his shorts and pulling down the zip. A couple of tugs and shorts plus the pale blue slip underneath joined the sandals and tee-shirt on the floor. I took a careful look at the very muscular back, buttocks and thighs spreadeagled on the bed. Oliver must have been doing the same as several seconds passed.
"Wow! Never been stripped by two gorgeous gay lads before!" The hunk, no longer feigning drunkenness rolled over, grinning and displaying a fat four-inch flaccid cock and a respectable pair of balls.
Oliver and I were standing either side of the bed. Nothing was said. I leaned over and held his arms while Oliver slid over his legs. Pete was already laughing so was pretty helpless and became even more so as we tickled him unmercifully while he shouted and hollered. I put my head down and licked his nipples in turn while tickling him just by his armpits. Oliver was giving his stomach and right-hand side the treatment. He looked at me and grinned and nodded his head indicating downwards. The four inches had swollen and stiffened and was now a healthy six inches of hardness flopping up and down and from side to side on Pete's hairy belly. This only set our tickling off more. Suddenly, his whole body tensed under our onslaught, his midriff lifted off the bed and the three of us were sprayed with a good half-dozen spurts of warm spunk flying in all directions. His mid section dropped and we stopped. He was breathing stertorously and his eyes were tightly shut.
"Fuck! Shit! Arseholes! Damn!" he gasped out as we moved away from him and he lay floppily on the bed. He slowly opened his eyes and looked from one of us to the other. "Christ Almighty, I've never had that happen to me before!" He exhaled loudly. He smiled. "God, the number of times I've wondered what it would be like with you." He took a couple of breaths. "You don't know, but most of the girls fancy the pair of you rotten." He snickered. "And half the blokes as well, I'm sure. I've seen them looking." He looked a bit contrite. "Sorry I put on a bit of an act. Quite unplanned but I couldn't resist it. Friends?"
Both Oliver and I were heaving with laughter. Little did Pete know I'd fancied him rotten, especially when all arrayed in red cassock and white surplice and singing his heart out in the choir. But then, I'd also seen him playing basket-ball in Tris's team last year when he'd just joined the College and drooled over the muscly legs and chest whenever he jumped high to place the ball in the ring. Two minds with but a single thought again. We grabbed him and turned him over on his spunk-spattered torso and each gave him half a dozen resounding slaps on his taut buttocks. He was heaving with laughter, too.
"Thanks, our au pair used to slap me like that if I cheeked her." He rolled over. "But she used to kiss me better down there afterwards." He pointed at his limp prick lolling now towards his thigh.
"Well, you're not getting what you got at the age of four from us," said Oliver quite sternly.
"I wasn't four," the cheeky bugger said with a real snigger, "I was fourteen-and-a-half!"
Bloody hell! was the only response to that!
"My young brothers blamed me when she got the push. Mum found her knickers under my pillow when I was sixteen. Happy days! I dipped my wick more times in those two years than I've ever done since!"
"And since?" asked Oliver.
"Not much. All boys school, then here and all the tottie spoken for. Had to beg a bit but a drop of the old giggle juice lets the barriers down sometimes."
"A good-looking lad like you shouldn't have a problem," Oliver said with a smile.
Wow! I think I would have succumbed if he'd bought me an alcopop. Confess evil thoughts to Tris!
Pete sat up and slid his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the towel and mopped himself down. I was letting the spots of cum on my tee-shirt dry naturally. "Trouble is I've got the reputation of being a bit of a loud-mouth. True. I can't really hold my drink and some of my pals like more than a pint or two. I've had two run-ins with the Dean and he's been very kind but I've been given more or less a final warning. Then Old Albert found me pissing up the side of the bike-shed last Friday night and was none too pleased I can tell you. That young lad, Sean isn't it, told me I'm in Old Albert's book! If he tells the Dean..." He made a throat-cutting movement.
'Old Albert's Book' was a real bit of student folk-lore. More likely his elephantine memory. I would ask Sean. Anyway, who were his pals. Probably the rowdier end of the rugger-buggers and boaties whose joint efforts at seeing who could piss furthest across the College fountain was the culmination often of a 'good Saturday night out'. The bike-shed showed a certain lack of courage!
"Sorry I'm burdening you with all this..," he grinned, "...especially after just now." He paused, the grin gone. "You noticed nobody offered to help you bring me back. Fucking 'Jack- the-lad'! I've got the label!"
I reached out and put an arm round him and Oliver came from the other side of the bed and did the same. "Finals year next year so you can't fuck that up. Ditch the drinkers and say you're too busy working." Oliver's advice sounded good.
"Thanks," he said nestling his head against our arms - a closet gay or a questing bi I wondered.
"I know it sounds a bit naff perhaps," I said, "But here's a gay club with all sorts of clientele, plenty I'm sure not gay. It's clean and well run..."
He was nodding against our grip. "..I know. I've been both Freshers' Evenings. Saw you there. Scared to go by myself and scared to ask."
I knew Zack would no doubt be going next year and I bet my het brother would frequent the place as well. Logan and Curt would be regulars helping out.
"Next Freshers' Night make a stand and join in. We've made some very good friends there and you don't have to worry you'll be expected to give somebody your au pair's treatment," I said, but thinking he'd probably get a few proposals with others playing the au pair's role. "And, ...If you want a job they can always use good-lookers like you..." Lay it on with trowel! No. He was a handsome young man - and those hairy legs!!
"Might give it a try. Bloody hell, I don't want to fuck up my chances any more."
I knew very little about him. What was he reading? Oliver was a step ahead.
"You're doing Archaeology, aren't you? I saw you at that talk about Linear B."
He nodded. "Yeah. Been interested in it since I was a kid. Dad's at the British Museum and got me into digs he's been on up at Hadrian's Wall and last summer I helped on one in London. Bit of a fanatic really."
"Well, you know what you want to do, so go for it and leave the other out." Oliver hugged him. "And don't get me wrong, but the gay club might be quite an answer."
"You've guessed?" he said quietly.
"Bit of both I would say."
"Not sure. Probably." He relaxed and we let go and stood either side of him. He looked up and smiled. Wow. Pete, you would make any gay boy, or non-gay girl, very happy! "Thanks for listening to me," he said, "And for what happened." He shook his head. "I don't feel a bit embarrassed but I'm sorry for swearing when it happened. I really thought I'd made a complete arse of myself and you'd be out of here like a shot." He grinned. "Couldn't help it. I'm fucking randy all the time..."
Oliver laughed. "...And thoughts of that will help you wile away a few lonely hours,"
"Bastard!" he said and laughed, too, "More like three minutes at my rate!" He looked down. "Daren't stand up!"
Big Pete's not-so-little Pete was standing to attention anyway.
"Better leave you on a happy note," I said. I bent down and kissed his cheek. Oliver did the same and we left him. As I followed Oliver from the bedroom I glanced back. Pete had leaned back slightly and was gazing down at his erection with a happy smile on his face. One hand caressing the side of his face that had received Oliver's kiss. His other hand slowly reaching downwards... Three minutes? Slow down and make it last, I thought.
We left his set quietly and shut both doors carefully. Neither of us spoke until Oliver followed me into our set.
"That was a turn up for the boy to coin a much-needed cliche," he said as we both giggled uncontrollably.
"I wonder which hunky lads have been eyeing your delectable body?" I said after calming down a bit, "He's obviously been sizing up the talent and has spotted others doing the same."
Oliver looked a bit thoughtful. "I've wondered about it sometimes myself. It was different at school. Some of the older ones had conks as we called them." He giggled again. "You know, King Solomon had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines." He laughed. "Even Havisham in the Sixth didn't have that many but he was reputed to have had at least seventeen to bed before some kid blabbed and he was booted out. The kid went too as some of the others were pissed off because Shag-Hav was giving them a quid a week to share for the blow-jobs..."
"...And you?"
A look of supreme innocence. He shook his head. "The only thing I sucked were my oboe reeds." He grinned. "Plenty of, shall we say, offers. Generally someone asking if help was needed during Prep. Two in my form were noted suckers after truth and often treated some of us to extra tuck bought with their well-gotten gains. When I was in the Sixth Form the general topic of conversation was which newbie had the nicest bum, or had to be told to keep his lips over his teeth. Really though it was all talk for most, though I knew a couple who were getting their needs serviced regularly."
"Huh!" I said, "In our Sixth Form it was how many birds were shagged over the weekend. Nil was my usual guess and I never had to say anything as I had Tris and he had me.."
"'Had' being the operative word," said Oliver who made a hasty dash to the other side of my beloved harpsichord.
No good any retaliation. I just did a Charles-type dismissive gesture. True, we 'had' each other on every possible occasion. Anyway, I think now that most of our lot knew. And this afternoon we'd had quite an experience. I thought I would tell Oliver sometime of other occasions as it was almost a re-run of Toad's use of the bathroom door as a shooting-gallery, or Raph also being tickled. Three randy teenagers with hair-trigger response times. Better not tell Frankie though as he, like Shag-Hav's suck-buddy, might open his big mouth to Pete next year. Oh dear! Not quite what might be construed! I looked at my watch.
"Nearly seven. I'm hungry after all that. We might just get in Hall if we hurry and then I must do some work for tomorrow."
He nodded. "OK, me too." He held up both hands. "No reprisals!"
We hurried across the quadrangle and all was well. There were a few still eating and two being served in front of us and I let Oliver go in front of me. As I stood I idly looked at the servers and realised these must be the two new kids as they weren't the usual Curt, Sean or Gingerlocks. I'd never found out the true name of that third one as no one ever referred to him other than by 'Oi, you!', 'Kiddo' or 'Ginge'. Both looked a bit hot - I mean because of the warmth of the servery tables they were standing behind - but neat and tidy in their cooks' whites. I thought of the term I'd come across in stories, 'eye-candy'. I was contemplating whether they matched possible criteria for that tag when I thought I recognised one, then the other. What had Sean said? Big Steve's nephew and his friend. No, Big Steve had a rather vacant face. Not saying he was daft, just a few pence short of a pound, and what I could see were two quite alert youngsters. The nearest kid turned his head towards me. It was my turn to be served. Yes, I knew. No ironwork in the ears or brow now. I could see there were faint marks on the top of his ear. I couldn't resist it.
"Big Steve's nephew?" I asked as I pointed to the remains of the meat pie in the tray in front of him as my choice. Luckily he didn't think I was referring to the lumps in the gravy.
"Uh", was the response. I didn't know if that was confirmation or interrogative.
"Curt told me Big Steve's nephew and his friend were joining the Servery staff."
He nodded. "Steve's my Uncle." He ladled out a good helping onto the warmed plate by the side.
OK. Now for it. "Welcome," I said brightly, then lowered my voice, "And I'm one of the poufs who go to that club and Whacker's a friend."
If his pal had had a shock with a warm sausage in his bum crack, this one's face was a picture. He stared and looked really scared. Poor kid. He nearly dropped his ladle and, I think, another moment and he might have done a runner.
"It's OK," I said quietly, "Our secret." I winked. "You'll like it here even if Curt does take the piss."
He visibly relaxed but his eyes were still fixed on mine to see that I wasn't going to call out the mob to annihilate him.
"Sorry," he looked now quite abject, "Please don't tell Uncle Steve, he'll murder me!"
His pal was listening intently, too. He'd put two and two together and realised who I was. That night must have had quite an effect on their nervous systems and memory. I wondered if this one's dad had been told and the lad had had his arse leathered?
"We didn't mean it, really," he said quietly.
"You his friend?" I asked, just as quietly.
He coloured a bit more than the heat-reddened cheeks he already had. Bingo!
"Next year get Curt to bring you there when you're eighteen. It's quite harmless and very happy."
They exchanged glances. I pointed at the mashed potato tray near the second lad. "I'll have a bit of that and a few peas, please." He smiled. Yes, he was a bit better looking than his pal and merited the label, 'eye-candy'.
I found where Oliver was already seated and as I sat noted the two lads were having a quick conversation while two large students waited patiently to be served.
"What was all that about?" Oliver asked as he forked a lump of battered sausage and dipped it into the pool of gravy on his plate.
I told him about the altercation outside the club. That held his interest until I finished up by telling him about Curt's prank with the sausage. "Hope that's not the one," I said, pointing to the third one left on his plate that he was ready to devour.
He wasn't fazed. He looked to see that the nearest neighbours were ten feet away. "Nothing like a nice bum to keep a sausage warm," he said sticking his fork into that plump specimen and slicing the end off it very neatly.
No answer to that!
To be continued: