Date: Mon, 31 Jul 2017 08:13:05 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Fourteen Again Chapter 66 Fourteen again by badboi666 =============================================================================== This is the final Chapter of Fourteen Again. We've come a long way together. =============================================================================== Chapter 66 The sun rose long before we did. We were both exhausted by a night of love-making: some frenzied, some long and slow. The fourth time was what had become our usual 'good-morning' ritual of my going down the bed and greeting Ace's cock with my lips. As usual he rose quickly to the occasion, but this time, no doubt because of our earlier adventures, it was a good ten minutes before I received my breakfast treat. "Come on, big boy, time to get up! We don't want the tourists to get the wrong idea," I said, licking my lips. It was almost 8 o'clock. The night to remember was over. Today was my last day, and I must do nothing to spoil it, or to take anything away from the joy we both felt with each other. We had to be in Oxford for 'luncheon' and we both needed time in a shower before presenting ourselves to the professor. What could he want that was so urgent? And why was my presence required? We packed up our things and, with regret, left Stonehenge with the happiest of memories. There was no way I was going to sit behind Ace trussed up again, so we debated what to do with the sleeping bag and mattress. It would have been wicked just to dump them. In the end we hunted around Amesbury until we found a church which ran a Scout Troop. The verger, or whatever he was, was only too happy to accept a gift of nearly-new, only-used-once (four times, actually) camping equipment. If only he knew. In return for the kit he allowed us to use the shower in the scout hut next to the church. It had only cold water, but we survived the ordeal. Unencumbered we set off for Oxford. It was unbearably hot: there would surely be a storm soon. We got there shortly after 11. Ace parked the bike in the city centre and we spent a happy hour being tourists. I'd never been to Oxford since I was an undergraduate, so it was especially interesting to see the place almost exactly as it had been when I was last there almost 50 years earlier. Mind you, if you ignored the traffic it would have been much the same in 1857. It was time to meet the professor. When we got there King's bike was already parked. Ace rang the bell. "Come in, dear boy, your brother's only just ahead of you. And your delightful assistant too!" This was going to be very strange: it was nothing like our earlier visit when there had been a clear client-tradesman social divide. One thing you did not do in Oxford in 1957 was invite the tradesmen to luncheon. Never mind the catamite. I was all ears. The good professor, however, was in no hurry to explain what all this was about. All he would say was that the matter he wished to raise had nothing to do with the 'most excellent agreement' into which he had entered with regard to certain building improvements, and that - what were your names again? - ah, yes, Ace and King (such interesting appellations!) need have no fears on that account. Pompous ass, I thought, not for the first time. "Let's to table, gentlemen!" Classier, somehow, than 'grub up', but the message was the same. The grub, however, was certainly worth the classier call to arms. A side of poached salmon, beautifully garnished, real mayonnaise (something of a rarity in those days when Heinz Salad Cream was the height of sauce-related luxury), a range of salads and dressings, crusty bread, butter - everything a hungry lad could wish for, especially one of damn nearly 100. We were bidden to help ourselves from the buffet and 'bear your plates to the table'. The four of us sat down rather cosily at the four sides of a small table. Lots of cutlery. I caught Ace's eye (he was opposite me) and quickly picked up my butter knife and then the fish irons. A tiny smile flickered and I noticed that King had picked up on this too. No solecism would occur at this table if I had anything to do with it. Our host made a great fuss with a decanter of white wine, pouring a generous glassful for Ace and King before half-filling his own glass. I wasn't having that. "Professor," I said, "will you humour me. My late parents" (no harm in putting that marker down) "often took me to France, and they taught me to appreciate wine as French children are taught. Would you allow me a small amount of the wine?" and I smiled fetchingly, as good catamites do. He twinkled, seeking both to amuse himself at my expected gaucherie, and to show Ace and King that he was not above a bit of mischief. "Here you are, my boy." I was going to enjoy this. I went through the proper ritual this time, swirl, look, sniff (although that's too vulgar a word for gently-allow-the subtle-fragrance-to exert-its-influence-on-the-palate, but we're friends here, so 'sniff' will do), and only then taste. But not guzzle: oh, no. Take into the mouth; allow the air gently to be sucked over the liquid, and then - and only then - swallow. The professor was, as I had expected, entranced. Better was to come. "Chablis, of course, '52 or '53. I can never separate them." "Bravo! bravo!" cried our host, "Ace, you've got a real stunner!" The professor immediately realized that his enthusiasm had been expressed perhaps a touch too vulgarly, and he contented himself with beaming mightily at Ace. King, who had watched all this with his usual amused detachment, grinned. Ace didn't know what to make of it but - bless him - he merely took the professor's bait and said quietly, "Yes, professor, I'm the luckiest man in England." "Do I merit a proper glassful now, sir" I asked, all meekness. "My dear boy, you shall have a glass and more," he cried, producing the second bottle from the ice cooler at his side. Lunch - sorry, luncheon - was going rather well, I thought. It was time for me to recede into the background: I'd got my wine, and I could see raspberries (far more to my taste than strawberries) on the sideboard. However there was the serious matter of seconds of salmon to be dealt with first. "I expect you have a big appetite, my boy." King's choking at this point was the source of concern to our host. "Not a fishbone, I hope? No? There's a mercy." I glared at King, who smiled serenely back. Raspberries soon went the way of all desserts (the word 'pudding' could not even be thought about in this room). Coffee appeared - had there been a servant just waiting in the wings for a signal to shimmer in Jeeves-like? "Now then," said the professor, "come into my study; bring your cups. Yes, you too, my boy." When the three of us had been settled in the study the professor explained. "My field is genetics - the study of inheritance. For many years I have been researching the genetic make-up of identical twins. I have to tell you that in over 20 years I have never met adult male identical twins so indistinguishable from each other as you two. Most twins have small variations - a facial mark, or a difference in the hands: both places visible in ordinary life - but I can detect no difference in you at all." He turned to me. "Jack, you may speak freely in this room. Nothing you say will be repeated outside. Do you understand?" I nodded. "Let me ask you this. Ace and King know that I am homosexual, as they are. Are you involved with them sexually?" I had to think fast. "Yes," I said, "I have had sex with both of them. I live with them, and ..." Before I could go on Ace interrupted me. "Professor," he said, "I don't see the relevance of this. To save Jack's blushes I will tell you that I love him, and that he loves me, and that nothing will change that. We both know that what we do is illegal, and neither of us cares. We are careful and discreet, and I expect you to respect that." The professor made a small bow. "Indeed I respect that, and you confirm what I already suspected." He turned to me. "In that case, Jack, only you can tell me what I want to know. Are you able to tell which twin you are with when you are in bed? I don't mean while you are doing whatever you do, but while you are with him in bed. Can you tell which is Ace and which is King?" My immediate answer would have been 'of course', but I paused to think. If he wasn't saying anything and I was in bed blindfold, would I know which twin was beside me? My heart thought 'yes', but was I certain? As soon as he touched me I would know. King's touch was quite different from Ace's. His smell was different too. I decided to be totally frank. "If neither of them is touching me the only difference would be smell. They're not the same. Ace's smell has an effect on me that King's doesn't, and I assume that's because I love Ace. As soon as I open my eyes it's obvious." The professor was alert. "Why? What is the difference?" I laughed. "When they come and start building work you'll see that they are quite different without their shirts on." Ace explained that they each had an erotic tattoo, but that they were different. The professor pressed me. "That apart, Jack, are their bodies different? Forget the tattoos." There was no way of avoiding it any longer. I looked at King and mouthed 'sorry'. "Professor, Ace is two inches longer than King. Apart from that they are completely identical. No moles, nothing." The professor was delighted. "I am so glad our paths have crossed. I want you to agree to be part of my research project. As I said, I've never encountered such a high degree of matching in twins, and I want to understand what it is in your shared genes that makes this happen. You must do the building conversion of course, but my department will pay you a fee for your contribution to our research. What do you say?" He was like a dog with two tails (or perhaps a twin with two inches). Ace and King looked at each other, and nodded. It was agreed that once the conversion was done they would stay in Oxford and do whatever the research team needed them to do. "I will make sure that appropriate accommodation is arranged for you - for all three of you," he said, smiling at the three of us. "There may be aspects of the research that only I will be able to carry out, given the nature of our understanding. You may be sure that no-one outside this room will know of our little secret." He got up. The matter was clearly settled. "Are you returning to Harlow directly?" he asked. Ace said that we should be setting off shortly, but that we would like a few minutes in private before we did so. "Of course, of course," said the professor, "stay in here as long as you wish. I will be in the dining room, and you will find me there when you are ready." "What do you think?" asked King, "is he genuine?" Ace was in no doubt. "Oh yes, I'm sure of it. And he knows that we know that he's queer too, so no-one is going to let that secret out. He's got more to lose than we have." "That's not true any more," said King, "you've got far more to lose. Jack makes a big difference. If anyone cottons on to the fact that we're buggering a 14-year-old, however keen he is, we're for the high jump. I don't mind one bit, and I don't suppose you do, but what does Jack think?" Jack said that he didn't mind a bit either, and that he reckoned the professor was to be trusted. "After all, it's his big research area, and he's not going to fuck that up." "Elegantly put, dear boy, as our employer would put it," chuckled King, "so be it then. Do we go now?" "No, not yet," said Ace, "I want a few moments with Jack. Go and ask him where the bog is, and come back when you've been." King smiled, stroked my face, kissed me gently and went out of the room. Ace took me in his arms. "This has been a really strange couple of days," he said, "I haven't had as much joy for years as you've given me in the last 10 days, and yesterday and today were wonderful. The last couple of hours have been very weird, with all his questions. I was proud of you in the way you answered him so straightforwardly. And that bit about the wine was priceless. I daren't look at King in case we both burst out laughing." "Ah, Ace," I said, " when you're as old and wise as I am you'll be able to bullshit just like me. Mind you, I think it was the '53, but the '52's better and I didn't want to show that we were getting second best." "You cheeky bugger, that's what I love about you - I never know what's coming." We embraced and kissed passionately. There were only a handful of hours left. I wondered how it would happen. I broke off to look my darling Ace in the eyes. I kissed his lips gently. "I love you, Ace, never forget that." King came back and the moment was past. He told us where the bog was and soon we were ready to go. The professor waved us away. "See you soon, gentlemen!" We set off for home just as the clouds gathered. We were going to get wet long before we reached Harlow. It was almost 6 when we left Oxford. We stopped off somewhere after 9 for a bite to eat. By 10 it was time to go on. I climbed onto Ace's bike and clung to him tightly. We rode quickly away and King followed behind us. The rain really started in earnest then. We sped away along the road back to Harlow as Ace wanted to get back before midnight. He gunned the throttle and we were soon doing over 90 mph. It was thrilling. I clung on even more tightly as we leant into the many bends on the road. Then, just as we were nearly home a car pulled out in front of Ace and he swerv ***** Extract from Essex Constabulary files. Officers attended a road traffic accident near Harlow on 1 September at 0008. A motor-bike swerved to avoid a car and the rider lost control on the wet road. His vehicle toppled over and hit a wall. The rider, Mr Adam Perry, 28, was unconscious when the Ambulance Service arrived. He was pronounced dead by medical staff at 0025. The deceased's twin brother, Mr Rex Perry, who was riding some 70 yards behind, witnessed the accident and ran to his brother's aid. The motorist, Mr Peter Brown, 70, who was unhurt, called the police and ambulance services. Witness reported that his brother, severely wounded but conscious, said "where's the boy?", but lapsed into unconsciousness without saying more. Officers thoroughly searched the surrounding area for a boy, but no boy was found. By chance nearby they found the body of a extremely old man, but he appeared to have no connection with the accident. He had massive head injuries, almost certainly immediately fatal. He had no means of identification on him. The only possible clue to his identity was a folded piece of paper on which were written the words "Remember Emmett Brown" and the number 310717. Mr Brown, when questioned, had no knowledge of an Emmett Brown, and could shed no light on the identity of the deceased. ============================================================================== badboi666@btinternet.com is where you should send any comments. I hope you've enjoyed this fantasy. It's certainly been fun to write. Make sure you drop something Nifty's way at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html