The final part of the story of a surgeon's son and a punk rock star.
"Good morning, Sir. There is an envelope for you, delivered by hand this morning."
Mr. Jackson's voice stirred Kalvin from his very comfortable sleep. Relaxing the grip he'd had on the pillow clutched to his chest, he mumbled "Sorry, Mr. Jackson, what was that?"
"An envelope, Sir. Delivered by a young man on a motorcycle."
"A courier, Mr. Jackson. They're called couriers."
He looked up at the butler's face, remembering the third time that week his servant had provided him with what he called `Bedtime relaxation', the previous night. The man's face remained emotionless, but Kalvin remembered the satisfaction those lips had brought him.
The envelope, plain white, had his name, Kalvin Hutchkinson, handwritten in neat flowing letters on its front. He also spotted a very small `x' in the bottom right hand corner, so small it could easily have been overlooked. Inside were two tickets for the `Hardcore' concert at the Albert Hall the following evening, another card bearing the words `Backstage Pass' and Hardcore's emblem, two leather coated guitarists standing with the frets of their instruments crossed, as if in swordfight, and a small notelet with `Hope you can come!' written in the same neat, flowing, almost copperplate handwriting as his name on the envelope, with the signature `Darren P.'.
"Yay! I'm going to the Hardcore gig at the Albert Hall tomorrow night!" Kalvin shrieked excitedly.
"Indeed, Sir. I shall arrange suitable attire for you to change into. May I suggest five o'clock as a suitable bathtime, Sir?"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Jackson, whatever. He's invited me backstage as well. That's ace!" Kalvin chirped. This was better than his birthday and Christmas rolled into one!
After dinner that evening, when Kalvin's father, Sir Robert Hutchkinson, the world renowned heart surgeon (who had been knighted after his secret work on the then Prime Minister, whose death had it happened from the heart attack he suffered one evening at home at No 10 Downing Street would have plunged the country into political turmoil), had retired to his rooms, Jackson had said to Kalvin, "Sir, may I request that you take an early bath and allow me to complete your, er, education? I am taking this step a little earlier than I had planned to, but in view of your engagement tomorrow night, I feel that there are several important items that you, er, need to aware of, should the need arise."
Kalvin's penis began to harden with the thought that Mr. Jackson was going to allow him more sexual pleasure, especially as he always insisted that Kalvin imagined that Darren Pointer was the other person involved. He hurried quietly to his room, and gasped when he opened the door. The lights, small bright spotlights he had had fitted to the ceiling to highlight different areas of the room were off, and in their place dozens of small stubby candles in dish-like holders on every surface of desk, table, bedside cabinets and windowsills flickered warmly, giving the room a nice warm glow. His bathroom was the same, candles placed along the bathside by the wall, on the washbasin back and the windowsill. His white silk dressing gown was draped over the back of a chair in there as well, and a white bathtowel hung over the towel rail which was plumbed into the house's central heating system. The candles gave off scents of flower petals as they burnt, overall a very relaxing effect.
Kalvin undressed quickly and slid into the bath, already filled with warm, almost hot, water which was covered by the foam from a copious amount of bubblebath which had been added as it was filled.
"Mmmm!" Kalvin sighed as he relaxed, the warm water and the aromatic perfumes soothing him gently. He washed his body slowly, feeling his skin tingle from the touch of his hands, then submerged his head and swilled the fragrant sudsy water through his shoulder length dirty blond hair.
As he stood to leave the bath, Mr. Jackson was there holding the hot white towel and wrapped him in it as he stepped out. The towel had a very deep pile, and absorbed the water from his skin almost without the need to rub it. As soon as he was dry, Mr. Jackson allowed the towel to slip from Kalvin's shoulders and held the silk robe while Kalvin slid his arms into it. It was only then that he noticed Mr. Jackson was wearing a robe as well, a light tan cotton one, instead of his normal black pin-striped suit. Mr. Jackson led him gently by the shoulders to his bed, which had been turned down ready for him to enter. The butler eased the robe from his shoulders as he lowered himself onto the crisp, clean sheets and then, dropping his own robe, slipped in beside him.
Kalvin felt the older mans hands lightly massaging his skin, relaxing him still further, then gently fondling his penis to arousal. He sensed Jackson's body move gently across the bed, between his now-spread legs, and wondered what pleasures his `pedagogue' would bestow on him tonight. He felt the now-familiar warm wet lips surround his erection, and relaxed back to enjoy the exercise, imagining once again that Darren Pointer was giving it.
Jackson's fingers caressing and intruding the cleft between his buttocks was a new experience, and Kalvin allowed himself to feel the erotic pleasure of it. Gently one of the fingers traced a circle around his anal ring, and Kalvin sighed with genuine excitement. The finger pushed, and gradually invaded the orifice, relaxing the sphincter muscle and allowing further entry. After about five minutes, Kalvin realised that the finger was now two, stretching ever so gently a part of his body he never ordinarily acknowledged, save for wiping or washing it, awakening its further function as an erogenous zone. Over the next fifteen to twenty minutes the two fingers became three, and when one of them wiped casually over an extremely sensitive lump inside the cavity they had made their temporary home, combined with the excruciatingly slow oral masturbation he was receiving, Kalvin began writhing on the bed desperate for his orgasm to flood over him.
Suddenly, Mr. Jackson had moved, lifted Kalvin's legs up high, resting them on his shoulders, and his anus was invaded by something much larger, much harder, much hotter and much more forceful than the fingers. Kalvin's eyes flashed open, and he saw Mr. Jackson kneeling upright between his knees, his hands on Kalvin's thighs keeping his legs on the man's shoulders, and thrusting his hips forcefully against his buttocks. The assault was sudden, hard and painful, but before he could resist, Jackson's spear had rammed hard several times into that sensitive lump, causing Kalvin's emotions to explode in a spectacular multi-coloured firework display in his vision, his body to tense hard in ecstatic rigor, and his penis to pump a staccato flood of semen high into the air. As the initial cramp of his muscles abated, Kalvin felt Jackson lunge one last time into him, hold himself impaled, shudder and fill his bowel with warmth.
Kalvin collapsed physically and mentally exhausted onto the bed, understanding at last the height orgasmic pleasure could reach. He opened his eyes only when Mr. Jackson moved and stood up from the bed, displaying for the briefest moment his erection, glistening in the dim candlelight with a droplet of viscous fluid hanging by a gossamer thread from the tip, before covering himself with his tan robe.
"I will run another bath for you, Sir, and change your bed linen whilst you take it." Jackson said in his normal calm voice. "You seem to have perspired greatly during your final lesson."
Five minutes later, Mr. Jackson aided Kalvin from his bed to the bath, the bathroom now lit normally and plain hot water replacing the scented foam he had enjoyed earlier. When he had completed the ablution, Kalvin walked naked back into his room, also normally lit now and with all trace of the candles gone. The bed was remade, clean fresh sheets awaited him. Mr. Jackson stood, emotionless but in his robe, on the far side of it.
As Kalvin slid between the sheets, Mr. Jackson asked "Will there be anything else, Sir? If not, I'll bid you goodnight. Your education is complete."
Kalvin sat up. "Complete? What do you mean?" he said, still glowing with post-coital warmth, but wide awake.
"If it felt like that for me, then what about -- I mean, I've gotta know how it feels to do that!" he said.
"As I inferred earlier, Sir, I have taught you all I can." Mr. Jackson said as he walked sedately towards the door. "Higher education is a dish better tasted on, er, distant horizons, Sir. Goodnight!" and he was gone, the lights extinguished and the door closing softly behind him.
"Pheeew!" Kalvin sighed as his head fell back onto his pillows and tried to analyse the evening's events. Sleep claimed him within seconds.
The following evening Mr. Jackson drew Kalvin's bath at six, which he took dutifully, and laid out `suitable attire' for his young master's excursion to the `Hardcore' concert. Kalvin smiled as he surveyed the clothing: blue satin boxers, a ripped t-shirt, a pair of well-worn Levi's with the knees ripped open, and a grubby-looking (but clean smelling) matching denim jacket. £30 in banknotes and £5 in loose change accompanied them, as well as the two tickets and backstage pass.
"That's great, I didn't know I'd got this stuff!" Kalvin said as Mr. Jackson tidied the bathroom after him.
"You didn't have, Sir. I visited a charity shop on your behalf yesterday. However, I have taken the precaution of having the items dry cleaned, Sir." Jackson's voice came from the bathroom.
"Oh. Right. And why the loose money, Mr. Jackson?"
"I think it wise not to take your wallet, Sir. I think you'll find there's enough to meet your needs tonight." came the polite reply.
Kalvin pulled the jeans on over his boxers, then the ripped t-shirt and finally the denim jacket. He was very pleased with the clothes, and when he asked "How do I look?", Jackson replied "I believe the expression is `Radical', Sir."
Kalvin looked back at his reflection in the full-height mirror and smiled. `Yeah, `Radical'!" he thought.
A taxi had been booked to take him to the Albert Hall, and Kalvin walked down the stairs just as the driver blew the horn outside.
Sir Robert Hutchkinson, Kalvin's father, appeared at the dining room door just as his son came towards the front door. Seeing him father shake his head in apparent disapproval, Kalvin held his arms out in display and said, "It's me, Dad, it's who I am."
"I suppose it is, my boy, I suppose it is." His father said, and turned to go upstairs to his living room.
The concert was all and more that Kalvin expected, and he was up there by the stage dancing, gyrating and shaking his head with the rest of the fans, one of whom he had given the spare ticket to. He saw Darren Pointer look down at him once, and nod his head in acknowledgement, but didn't realise the punk star was watching him for most of the performance. After the show, when most of the crowd were jostling to get through the exits, Kalvin made his way to the door alongside the stage, showed the backstage pass and was allowed through.
Backstage was just as crowded as the auditorium, but with stagehands carrying the dismantled equipment out to a large van, to be carried away to the next evening's performance, wherever that was to be. Kalvin walked along the curved corridor which followed the building's exterior shape and back until one of the stagehands asked "Whadder yer want? How've yer got here?" thinking he was a fan looking for the group.
Kalvin showed him the pass, and said "Darren Pointer invited me backstage. Do you know where he is?"
The man looked Kalvin up and down, checking him out a little too obviously, then said "Yeah, you look his type. That door there, dressing room number three." and walked away. Kalvin walked up to the dingy grey door and knocked it. "Yeah? who is it?" Darren called from the other side.
"It's Kalvin -- Kalvin Hutchkinson!" he shouted. The door opened and Darren Pointer smiled from his dressing room.
"Hey! Glad you could make it! Come in!" he said, and Kalvin nearly fell into the room. There were a few chairs inside, and Kalvin sat on one while Darren sat in front of a wall mirror, wiping the makeup from his face. Catching Kalvin looking round the dingy room, Darren said "Welcome to showbusiness, kid. It isn't all glamour, you know!"
Kalvin smiled weakly, in awe of the man he had dreamed about almost every night for several months.
"Let me get cleaned up and we'll go somewhere better than this and have a chat. Here, help me get these boots off!" Darren said, lifting a foot onto Kalvin's lap. The laces were already undone, and Kalvin held the heavy black leather boots one at a time while Darren heaved his feet from them.
The rock guitarist stood and peeled off the black figure-hugging t-shirt he was wearing, then peeled open the waist and fly of the skin-tight black jeans he was wearing. Kalvin noticed that there was no underwear showing and averted his eyes.
"Gimme a hand to get these off!" Darren said, dropping the jeans to his thighs and sitting, lifting his feet towards Kalvin. "I'm sure they shrink up with the sweat when I'm onstage!" he added.
Kalvin took hold of the bottom hem of one leg and pulled it towards him.
"Hope I'm not embarrassing you too much," Darren said, "but hey! We're all men together, aren't we?"
Kalvin looked up at the star's face and smiled weakly again. But this time he took in the sight, the toned hairy chest, the six-pack abdomen, the size of the flaccid penis. The size of it! He felt his own grow to full erection, trapped in his jeans.
"And the other!" Darren said, waving the remaining covered leg at Kalvin. Once that was removed, Darren stood and turned toward the other door in the room. "'Scuse me while I take a shower." he said. "I smell like a Turkish wrestler's jockstrap!" and entered the shower room, pushing the door almost shut behind him.
Kalvin kept the thought of Darren's smell in his mind, and as he was holding the jeans the rocker had worn onstage, he lifted the material to his face and sniffed it. He didn't see Darren watch him through the crack of the unclosed door because his eyes were closed, but after sniffing again, he threw the jeans on another chair.
At least Darren was wearing boxers when he emerged from the shower a few moments later. "Sorry about that!" he said, "But I hate to feel riffy in front of a guest!"
"Oh, that's all right!" Kalvin croaked.
Darren pulled a clean pair of jeans from a bag and started to put them on. They were the ones they'd met over at Selfridges the other day, Kalvin noticed.
"I didn't wear them on stage after all!" Darren said. "Decided to keep them for best. For special occasions."
Kalvin watched him pull them up and button the fly. They fitted him perfectly, clung to his hips yet were comfortably loose on his legs, he thought. Darren pulled on a dark blue sweatshirt with the band's emblem, two guitarists apparently duelling, on the front. "Need all the advertising we can get!" he said. Kalvin laughed quietly.
"Well, what do you think of the old Hall? Fabulous place to perform in!" Darren said.
"Er -- yes, it's great" Kalvin replied, "I've been a few times -- classical concerts with my Dad, you know."
"Yeah, I've been to a few classical shows here myself." Darren told him while gathering his stage gear up and stuffing it in the bag. That surprised Kalvin, that this punk rock star was interested in the classics. Darren noticed the look of surprise. "It's all music. And music's the best, ain't it!" he said, thinking `except boys like you'. But Kalvin wasn't to know that.
"The acoustics are fantastic, you know. There's a gallery up in the roof dome, and you can hear people whispering on the stage!" Darren added. "Come on, I'll show you!" he said suddenly, and grabbing the boy by his hand dragged him off out of the room, along the corridor and into an entry with a stone staircase which led up to balcony level. "After you!" he said politely, bowing to Kalvin and extending his arm to the entry. Darren followed the teenager up the stairs, watching how the boy's faded Levi's hugged his cheeks as he climbed. "Up two more levels!" he called when they reached the first corridor, and followed behind capturing the sight to memory.
once on the top gallery, they peered from the darkness over the railings. Stagehands were still moving the last of the band's equipment away, and when Kalvin complied with Darren's "Shhh!", they could hear the conversations taking place onstage clearly.
"That's fantastic!" Kalvin said, turning to his new friend.
"Just like you are." Darren said quietly, moving slowly closer to the boy.
For a split second, Kalvin was terrified. Then he closed his eyes and let it happen.
Darren's lips brushed against Kalvin's lightly, then, sensing no objection, harder. Two seconds later their lips were locked together, their tongues duelling in each mouth alternately, Darren's hands were behind Kalvin, one at his head, the other behind his back, and Kalvin's were wrapped round his dreamstar.
Darren moved his hand from behind Kalvin's back to the front of the boy's jeans, and as he did, felt the rod inside jerk as it spewed semen into the satin boxers.
"That's just how you make me feel, Kalvin." Darren said, pulling slightly away from the breathless teenager, still massaging the damp jeans. "Come on, let's go somewhere more -- private." he said.
Kalvin's mind was in a whirl. The man he'd fawned over ever since he first saw him on television, and imagined all the time his manservant had been teaching him that sexual pleasure was more than a five-fingered shuffle, was coming on to him -- in the strongest way!
"Where can we go?" he asked as they ran down the last staircase.
"I don't know," Darren said when they reached the ground floor, "not my hotel -- the rest of the band are there, and they'll be pissed out of their brains by now. I'm the only one who doesn't drink, you know."
"Really?" Kalvin said, slightly disbelievingly. He didn't like alcohol either, even the wine that they had occasionally at dinner revolted him.
"Straight edge!" Darren told him. "No drink, drugs or tobacco."
Kalvin had heard of `Straight edge', a growing cult among teenagers who wished to keep their bodies -- and minds -- clean. He knew that in some cases, it included other abstentions, too. "What about sex?" he asked.
"Are you asking, or inviting?" Darren asked, gazing into the boy's eyes.
It only took Kalvin one second to decide. "Inviting." he said.
They slipped out of the loading bay door to avoid any fans who might be hanging about, straight into a waiting taxi.
"Eaton Square, North side." Kalvin told the taxi driver as they sat back in the seat.
"Are you sure?" Darren asked, knowing by now that was Kalvin's home address, as the taxi sped away and turned onto Kensington Road, receiving blares from a few car horns for the sudden movement.
"Dad's fast asleep by now, and Mr. Jackson, our butler, knows when to keep out of the way." Kalvin said, almost drunk with the excitement of what was happening. "So long as we keep quiet, everything'll be OK."
The couple sat close to each other holding hands for the short journey through Knightsbridge, until the cab pulled up just round the corner from Belgrave place, a few doors from Kalvin's home. Kalvin gave the driver £20 for the fare, who assumed the excess was a tip and drove off as soon as they climbed out. "Greedy bastard!" Kalvin shouted after the accelerating cab.
"Love it when you're angry!" Darren joked, and taking Kalvin's hand they took the few steps to his front door.
Silently, Kalvin opened the door. "Leave your shoes here." he said, kicking the grubby trainers from his feet. Darren kicked his to the same corner. Carefully, Kalvin opened the inner door and closed it silently once they were inside. "This way!" he whispered, and led Darren by the hand up to his room. When he opened the door, he gasped at the sight. More candles than last time, on every surface that would take them, were burning and filling the room with a rich aromatic scent.
"Wow!" Darren said as he gently pushed Kalvin into the room and followed him. "I couldn't have wished for better, even if I'd thought of it!" he added. "Whoever did this really cares for you!"
"Really cares that I'm happy!" Kalvin said half to himself, turning to the man he'd grown to love in such a short time. "And I am, now!"
The two young men held each other tightly for ages, kissing and whispering secrets between themselves. Eventually, after slowly removing each other's clothes, they lay down on the bed together.
"Are you ready for this?" Darren asked.
"Never more so!" Kalvin replied confidently, pushing his fingers through the hair on Darren's chest.
"I'll be gentle." Darren whispered as their legs twined together.
"Don't be, be yourself." Kalvin replied.
"I'm a gentle person, really!" Darren said. And he was.
Darren left early the next morning before, he thought, anyone else was up. Only Mr. Jackson saw him go, from the basement kitchen window. He allowed himself an uncharacteristic smile.
Kalvin and Darren continued to meet each other as often as Darren's touring allowed, but initially agreed to keep their feelings for each other hidden. Kalvin sometimes went to concerts in other towns, managing to persuade his father to allow him to stay overnight in a nearby hotel on most occasions, and when the band recorded albums at the Abbey Road Studios, they spent all their spare time together. Within nine months, however, Darren saw that arguments between the members of Hardcore were splitting the band up, and took the decision to be the first member to leave. A few days later, just before Kalvin's seventeenth birthday, they admitted to Kalvin's father about their relationship. Kalvin was astonished that his father took it well, and when he asked Darren "Do you intend to continue this liason with my son?" Kalvin was astonished to hear Darren reply "Yes Sir, and I'd like to beg your permission to ask Kalvin to marry me."
Kalvin gasped, his eyes wide as he heard Darren ask that, then he turned his face to his father fearing the response.
Sir Robert turned to his son and said "I suppose I'm going to have to agree. After all, Kalvin, you did tell me nearly a year or so ago, it's who you are."
At seventeen years and four months of age, Kalvin was at the time the youngest man to enter into a gay civil partnership in England. The press had a field day, and the picture which appeared on the front page of nearly every newspaper in the land showed them leaving Kensington Registry office hand in hand, with Kalvin's father and their best man, Mr. Jackson, following them.
When Hardcore split up, Kalvin and Darren set up their own artistic design business, their other shared interest beside music. Darren's income from Hardcore's performances and record sales, invested shrewdly over the years, funded not only the business set up but also Kalvin's fees at an independent sixth form college, where he studied art and design. They have an apartment in a converted house in Pimlico, not as grand as Eaton Square, but sufficient for them and the friends they entertain there, including a few names from the popular music world, from where the design company gets most of it's most lucrative work. Study the small print on the covers of your records and CD's, if it says `DK design' on the cover credits, you know who made it look so good, and how they got together.