Date: Fri, 06 Feb 1998 01:07:14 +0000
From: romanticiser <romanticiser@geocities.com>
Subject: New Story: Forge Friend - Parts 1-4 (M/M)

     This story is complete a fictional account of love
between two men of consenting age and contains sex
descriptions of a gratuitous nature. If this story, or
your reading it, is illegal or offensive then you are
directed to delete it immediately. All main characters,
environments and locations are fictitious. Any
resemblance to people alive or dead is purely
coincidental.

     I would like to thank all those who have written to
thank me for writing my previous stories - I appreciate
it tremendously.

     As I finish one story and start another I hope that
the lessons learnt from each translate into a better
story for all of us.

     I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am writing
it.

     Acknowledgements, critiques, flames or any other
email can be written directly to
romanticiser@geocities.com.

                            
                      Forge Friend
               Copyright Romanticiser 1998

Part 1 of ?

Chapter 1: Into the unknown.

     The day was miserable, overcast and spitting. A cold
February wind blew down the street, tossing litter in the
gutter. Ginger pulled his coat tighter and dug his hands
in his pockets. Walking down the street as cars passed on
their way to work. He stopped at the corner of Mill
Street and  waited for a gap in the traffic, headlight
after headlight passing almost continuously.

     Using a half running, half walking gait he crossed
as the cars paused, held at traffic lights up the road.
Less than a month ago he'd have been going to work,
Fallows' hadn't been a bad firm to work for, the hours
had been regular and the pay had been reasonable. Not
great but a hell of a lot better than the unemployment
cheque he got now.

     He'd joined at the age of sixteen, straight from
school. Only three out of his year had left at sixteen,
the rest going for `A' levels and then university. Quite
a few of his teachers had tried to talk him out of it but
when it came down to it he really didn't like the
academic life.

     Passing the chemist on the corner he turned down
Bridge Street, his feet sliding slightly on the greasy
flagstones. Passing under the broken `One Way' sign, its
florescent light flickering he crossed over nearly
tripping on one of the new rails for `Manchester Trams'
and passed in front of the old driving test centre its
windows boarded up with soaked plywood.

     He stopped at Lovatt's Newsagents and picked up a
copy of the local paper, maybe there'd be a job in there?
Waiting in the line for the till with his money ready, 35
pence. The woman behind the counter smiled as she tried
to get the bar code reader to accept the paper, passing
it repeatedly under the bright ultra thin red line
scanner and the till beeped in complaint each time.

     His thoughts registering that computers were the
bane of his existence, He'd lost his job to one, so had
all of his work mates at Fallows'. Old man Fallows' had
been sorry about closing up, Ginger couldn't really blame
him for getting out when he could. Nobody wanted printing
done like they used to do it, eight years spent learning
a trade of engraving, typesetting and printing. Wedding
invitations, letterheads, all sorts and then some bloody
desktop publishing package comes along and bang, he's out
on his ear.

     "35 pence, love."

     He passed the money and took the paper. "Thanks."
Folding the paper tight he stuffed it through the neck of
his coat, to keep it dry, pulling up his hood and
stuffing his fists back in his pockets he went back out
on to the streets.

     Now he was living hand to mouth, he'd already had to
sell the car. The monthly payments stopped with the last
paycheque. Mum and dad had been good, they had helped
tremendously but they were stretched. Six kids and only
he'd left home. Fran would be leaving next month when her
an Jim got married.

     He remembered the Sunday meal, ten people crammed
round the small table laughing and joking. Steve and
Jillian would be getting married soon, well, when they
eventually set the date. They were waiting for a house
but with the cutbacks and the extra tax it would be
another few months before they could pay the deposit on
the house they'd set their hearts on.

     The world was a shitty place, Gordon, John and
Sophie all still at school could see how things were
going and they all were going for higher education. Maybe
he should have stayed on at school, but he'd loved his
job. "Bloody computers."

     The bright orange sign over the job centre glowed in
the darkness, the glass doors illuminated by the bright
lights inside. Pulling the door open he stepped inside
and shook his hood off. Looking at the coloured racks of
little cards he decide to go left to right. He opened his
coat as he passed under the blast of hot air from heaters
above the entrance, the temperature was a balmy 70
degrees, a stark difference to the almost freezing wind
outside.

     Card after card offered a possible job but it was
always the qualifications or experience required that
crucified him. `Two years experience min.' or `HNC req.'
Even the dustbin men wanted qualifications. His thoughts
entered the vicious circle. If you can't get a job
because of lack of experience then how were you supposed
to get it.

     He normally avoided the red boards as they were only
temporary jobs but with the wedding coming and the bills
next month he'd take anything. His mortgage interest was
at least was being paid, he wasn't going to lose his
house but that would only last for six months.

     Clerking jobs, removal firms, all paying the
absolute minimum. He didn't dare take any of them, his
unemployment cheque and his mortgage relief combined was
greater than these wages.

     One card at the bottom attracted his attention, the
money was pitiful but it said `live in - accommodation
supplied'. Telford, he tried to dredge his memory, where
the hell was Telford. Pulling the card he went to stand
in the queue of people waiting for assistance.

     Standing between the poles that marked the queue
line he waited looking around. Too far away from the
walls to read any of the posters his eyes rested on the
silvered glass between the service cubicles. His
reflection easy to spot with his bright fire red hair,
cut short at the sides with a dangling fringe that his
hand automatically lifted back. Pale skin that hadn't
seen enough sun in years and although he couldn't see
them in the reflection he knew there were freckles across
his nose and along his cheeks. He still had arguments
trying to get served drinks, everyone looked at his thin
frame, pale skin and freckles and just assumed he was
fifteen or sixteen. Twenty four, three years older than
the twins and he still looked like the youngest in his
family.

     A tap on his arm from the person behind made him
look round.

     A red faced man in his early fifties wearing a heavy
grey overcoat said "The signs lit up, son."

     He quickly looked up at the electronic notice board
with the word `Service' lit up and an arrow pointing
towards the left. "Oh yes, sorry." Moving quickly he
followed the arrows to the bottom cubicle and entered.

     Sitting at the large round, brown painted desk he
waited for someone to come to the other side. The open
plan office behind seemed busy with people passing
between filing cabinets and computers, two women sat at
desks in the middle of the office. As they worked Ginger
could see the movement on their lips as they talked to
each other.

     A man in a white short sleeved shirt, middle
thirties sat down opposite Ginger. "What can I do for
you? Mr?" Ginger looked at his face, glasses,  dark
moustache and wavy hair that obviously had given him some
trouble that morning. The badge attached to his pocket
stated his name as Derick. Ginger agreed with the label
he did look like a Derick, dependable if not boring.

     "Masters, Geoff Masters, Uhm. It's this card." He
passed the card over and the man got up.

     "Give me a second and I'll get the details." Reading
the number, from the top left corner, out aloud he headed
off towards the filing cabinets. Pulling a drawer open he
flicked through little folders and finding the one he was
after pulled it out and returned to Ginger.

     Opening the folder he lay it on the table "Oh yes
`The Telford Living Museum'." Ginger could hear the
capital letters as the man spoke.

     "How long is the job for."

     He scanned down the page. "Short term..seasonal..Ah!
here it is. It's a nine month standard contract, training
is supplied by full time employees but for the season of
nine months they require people to live in and make the
museum look and feel like a fully functioning town of the
late 1890's."

     "It says on the card `live in - accommodation
supplied'. Do you know if the living costs are already
deducted from the wage it says or do you have to pay it
on top."

     He scanned the page again and again. "It doesn't
say, I think they have already deducted it as it's well
below the legal minimum but I'll go and check."

     He went to a computer and typed at a few keys. After
a second or two he seemed absorbed in the text that must
have appeared on the screen.

     A minute or two passed before he came back. "All
living expenses are pre-paid. The wage has no deductions
but it has a minimum age requirement - eighteen."

     Ginger sighed. "I'm twenty-four."

     "Oh! Sorry."

     "I'm interested but I need to work out if it is
worth it, will I lose my house?"

     "If your claiming then we should have your records
on the box, have you got your national insurance number?"
Ginger searched his inside coat pocket feeling for the
little plastic coated card. Pulling it out with the tips
of his fingers he passed the little credit card sized
piece of plastic.

     "OK. I'll only be a minute printing out your
records." And he was gone walking off right, out of view.

     It wasn't one minute nor two but closer to five
before he returned with a couple of sheets of paper.
"Sorry about that, the damn laser has been acting up, if
it doesn't chew the paper up then it loses the font
settings." He passed back the card and Ginger pocketed
it.

     "Right, according to our records your mortgage is
down for full relief for six months and ..." He lapsed
into silence as he ran down the page. Swapping the pages
over he ran down that. "OK. you keep the mortgage relief
for six months whilst on unemployment but it we move you
to the temporary job at 1.40 an hour then you get to keep
80 percent of the relief." Pulling a calculator out of
his pocket he started tapping at the keys. "1.40 for 8
hours a day for 6 days a week, minus 20% of 74.50 works
out at 52 pounds 30 pence.

     Ginger didn't need to hear anymore he was only on 28
pounds 50 pence now. "OK. I'll take it but do you know if
there's any holidays."

     Looking down at the folder he scanned the page and
said "Three days a month by prior agreement of at least 2
weeks notice."

     That finished it. More money, he could now buy a
wedding present and he could also go to it. "I'll take
it."

     "Well your lucky there, I reserved the last place
when I got your details. The card only went up today but
with it being live in it's all over the country."

     "Where do I go for an interview?"

     "You don't need one, they accept our assurances and
seeing as you've worked without any problems for.." His
eyes dropped to the records on the table ".. eight years.
I think we can say that you are responsible."

     "Thanks. Where do I sign then?"

     "The application will only take a moment - hold on."
He vanished again but returned in under a couple of
minutes with a multicoloured form in one hand.

     Pulling a pen from his pocket he hastily put a few
crosses on the form. Passing the pen to Ginger he said.
"Right if you just check its got your details and then
sign here and here and here." His finger held the paper
down and guided Ginger where to sign in each place.

     He then stood up slipped the pen back into his top
pocket and tearing the form across the perforations,
running down the middle of form, stripping away a green
section, "This is your record copy. Any problems and you
come straight back" Offering his hand for a shake. Ginger
shook it and took the slip of paper with his other hand.
"Bye and Good Luck."

     "Thanks."

     Walking away he read the slip of paper `The Telford
Living Museum' Telford, Shropshire on 24/02/97.
"Shropshire?" He stopped at the large map by the wall and
looked for Shropshire "God!" After rechecking the date on
the slip he looked around for a calendar but couldn't see
one anywhere. The current day and date was shown on a
large electronic clock fastened high up on one wall `8:55
Tue 18/02/97'
A little flurry of mental arithmetic and surprised his
thoughts "Shropshire? 6 days away - Next Monday. What
have I let myself in for?"

                        ...............

Part 2 of ?

     The railway carriage rocked gently and from the
rails a regular ticking sound as the train passed
overhead. Ginger looked down at the green slip in his
fingers wondering what the work was going to be like.
He'd read it at least 20 times since he had boarded the
train but he'd stupidly had gotten on without bringing
anything to read. Regretting it and feeling bored his
eyes scanned the coloured scrap of paper again. `Geoff
Masters: The Telford Living Museum' Telford, Shropshire
on 24/02/97'

     Geoff - he'd never really liked that name he much
preferred his nickname Ginger. He remembered Andy his old
best friend, a smile came to his lips as his thoughts
went back to when he was seven and just moving in to town
with his family. Andy was his new next door neighbour, a
small dark bundle of grins, arms and legs all wrapped up
in boundless enthusiasm and energy.

     Andy was never backward in going forward and decided
to introduce himself as Geoff played in the back garden
keeping an eye on his younger sister, Fran, whilst mum
and dad unpacked. "Hey you, Ginger, I'm Andy - want to be
my friend, I know where there is a pond with tadpoles."

     That had been the start of an eight year friendship,
really longer than that but Andy had stayed at school and
Ginger had gone to work. The friendship had started to
falter and finally peter out, work and school didn't mix.
They still waved and nodded but things were different
now.

     Ginger looked out of the window, trying to read the
names of the stations as they passed the concrete
platforms at high speed. His thoughts absorbed on his
friends, to be honest he didn't have many, a lot of
acquaintances and drinking partners but very few he
called friend. His past was scattered with people he had
come to know, if not well then well enough.

     Pulling a packet of mints out of his pockets his
hand searched inside for one, pushing all the empty
wrappers around as his fingers quested. Down to his last
four, a quick check of his watch - 10 more minutes to go.
The train screamed, shuddered and rattled. Ginger turned
and watched as another train passed on the nearby tracks,
flashing past in a few seconds as it sped in the opposite
direction.

     Leaning back, his head resting on the padded seat,
his mind wandered to last night's meal at mum and dad's.
The quietness, almost sombre occasion, of his leaving.
Mum didn't think of his house less than a mile away as
leaving but this was different. His Dad giving him
fatherly advice, which he intended to ignore. Not that it
wasn't good advice - it was, it just didn't seem
relevant. He'd been working eight years, he knew how you
had to behave, keep your nose clean and so on.

     After dinner he'd gone home unable to handle the
strain of his mum about to cry and his dad with just
another anecdote. He'd kissed his sisters and mum, shook
his dad's offered hand, waved to his brothers and left.
He hadn't slept well that evening, disturbed by the way
his family had treated him - as if they weren't going to
see him again.

     The 6:02 train had been right on time and if it was
still on time then he'd be there in under five minutes.
Time to get his suitcase down.

                        ...............

     At the railway station Ginger had tagged on to some
university students that were also going to the museum
and grabbed a taxi ride with them. It pulled to a halt by
a large entrance way. Two large stone pillars supporting
two large wrought iron gates. A long tall brick wall
stretched either side as far as you could see down the
road.

     One of the Museum gates was open and a collection of
about 40 to 50 people were stood around just inside it.
     
     Carrying his suitcase he climbed out of the taxi and
walked over to the group.

     A neatly dressed woman in her 30's ticked off
something on her clip board and as the group from the
taxi joined up with the rest she said "Right - now if
you'll all follow me, I'll take you to the dormitories
and you can drop off your bags."

     Marching up the slight incline the group followed.
The passed green fields sign posted as car parks and
little booths, closed up tight against the winter
weather.

     At the brow of the hill the view looked down on to a
village. Ginger tried to discern the details but at the
distance it looked a lot like other villages. As they got
closer the differences started to make itself apparent.
The main street was cobbled and rutted with tracks. The
guide turned off and started to head off to a small row
of nine, two story terraced cottages on the near side.

     Stopping outside one of the cottages the guide
waited for the stragglers to join the group before she
spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, this building will be your
home for the next nine months. Please take care as we
enter, the ground floor is identical to houses of the
period and some of the objects are irreplaceable. Your
dormitories are upstairs, cottages one, two and three are
the ladies'. Numbers four, five and six are the
entrances, communal kitchen and eating area. Finally,
seven, eight and nine are the gentlemen's quarters."

     As she opened the door she turned back to the group.
"Please follow me upstairs." She walked in and the group
followed in single file. The doorway opened out into a
small kitchen, An unlit, black iron range stood built
into one wall, the chimney breast above it. A small
dresser of crockery and a wooden table set out as if the
owners had just stepped out in the middle of cooking.

     Following the trail of people, Ginger climbed up the
narrow, steep stairway, the haversack, of the person
before him, knocking his suitcase down as he tried to
climb with it held in front. The dark tunnel of stairway
opened out into a narrow corridor running along the
length of three of the cottages.

     The windows were boxed in, blocking any view and the
only light was from a large florescent lights hanging
from the ceiling. Following the line of people he entered
the kitchen and eating area. The room was crowded with
everyone standing. Ginger moved around trying to make
room for those still coming along behind him.
     
     Although he couldn't see her through the mass of
people filling the room he heard her voice. "If you'll
take your bags through and select your beds. I'll give
you a few minutes and then I'll expect you outside Mr.
Bently the manager will be waiting to give you a tour,
and a description of your duties."

     Reversing direction, Ginger turned and followed the
last out. As he walked out he saw painted on the wall `an
arrow, pointing left, with 7 to 9 and an arrow, pointing
right, with 1 to 3.' Following the men Ginger walked down
the corridor and through a door. Passing two small rooms
of four beds, two bunks below and two above, already
taken. The third room was a communal bathroom with
gleaming while tiles. As he looked in he saw a row of
shower heads at the end.

     The fourth room only had one occupant and Ginger
stepped inside, Putting his suitcase on the first top
bunk. He looked around for cupboards but found only a
small lockable four drawer cupboard at the end of his
bed. He was quickly followed by two other men who stepped
in and took the other bunks.

     "Where am I supposed to put all my clothes?"

     "Weren't you told not to bring any? They supply them
so that you blend in with the period. You only need your
own clothes for going out of here and getting home."

     Ginger turned to face a thin faced man of about
nineteen, dark almost black wavy hair brushed back and
bushy eyebrows. His nose whilst not being too prominent
was pug like, turning up like a ski jump. "Oh! Hi, my
name's Ginger."

     The young man's eyes flicked up to Ginger's hair and
then he smiled. "Name suits you, mine's Phil." They shook
hands.

     "John"

     "Peter"

     Ginger and Phil turned to face the two men who had
also chosen their room. John was tall, well built and was
probably just eighteen, Mouse brown hair that was cut
short surrounded a strong pleasant face.

     Peter was almost the exact opposite, he was small,
wiry with blond hair that touched his shoulders, His face
was pointed, full of sharp angles and his dark eyes
glittered with intelligence, his age was hard to tell
probably twenty to twenty five.

     Whilst Peter and Ginger shook hands, Peter talked,
fast "I brought a lot of clothes as well. We'll have to
ask where we can put our cases. We'll probably look
stupid."

     John his mind faster than his body implied "Just
bung them under the bottom bunks, out of the way."

     Ginger and Peter pushed their luggage under the beds
and now that the queue of people had passed they all
walked back down the corridor to the first entrance, down
the stairs and out in front of the cottages.

     Ray Bently was a large man, late forties to early
fifties. White hair combed up and back, greased. His face
was one of those jovial red cheeked faces.

     He stood talking to the lady, with the clipboard,
waiting while the group of new recruits all piled out of
the dormitories.

     "Ladies and Gentlemen. My name is Ray Bently, I'm
the Manager of the museum and I'm responsible for
ensuring that all the facilities of this place, match the
period in which were set."

     "If you'll follow me, I'll take you on a guided tour
so that you know your way about. Keep close as I'll
explain things as we go along" He turned and started to
walk towards one end of the town. As a group the new
interns massed behind Ray, listening to his voice as he
strode towards a large grey stone building.

     "This museum is a living museum set in the early
eighteen-nineties. If any of you are wondering `why
then?' and not a later period it is because of the motor
car. The biggest change to civilisation after the
industrial revolution was the invention of the internal
combustion engine. Before the car the only way to travel
was either by foot, horse or train. The train handled all
major goods movement but people didn't generally move
around, except by foot or horse."

     "Families stayed close to each other. In the
cemeteries you'll find generations of families, hundreds
of years, and then nothing. They didn't die out, they
moved away. Whole communities were created by the
railways but with the emergence of the car the people
mixed far more freely. It was the death knell to local
accents, cultures and traditions."

     "Each and every village or group of villages had
it's own smith, printer, baker and so on. All the things
people needed were mostly made locally. The train
certainly affected all of the communities bringing in
mass produced goods but it was only with the car that the
people become mobile."

     He stopped at the large stone building. Grey slabs
of stone and gothic arched windows were his backdrop as
he turned to face the group. "This period is the only one
where you'll find the local craftsmen in their workshops
with mass produced goods available in the local store.
There were local constables, a post office, a doctor
available almost every where. That building.." he pointed
to a squat single story building covered in white stucco.
"was, is a cottage hospital. The empire was at its height
and the people lived in a fairly sophisticated style, if
you could afford it."

     "Your jobs for the next nine months is to live in
that style, when we open the gates to the public in two
weeks time this village will function as it would have in
1893. Some of you will work in the craft shops, some of
you will be working in taverns and shops. Some of you
will be in the hospital or in service in a couple of the
houses. Wherever you are you'll do the work just as they
did it then."

     "Before any of you ask apart from a few highly
skilled jobs you will all get your chance to try
different things. You may be the drunk in the tavern or
you could be the coal man. You could be serving tea to a
merchant, you could even be the merchant being waited on
hand and foot."

     As the roles he played out ran through Ginger's head
he wondered how it was going to work. The group started
to talk amongst itself. Peoples voices laughing and
joking at what would be an interesting job.

     "Right OK. OK. Cut the chatter, I'll go through the
village and show you where everything is. But I must
mention that each craft shop, pub, and so on has it's own
manager, when you are placed with that person you will
answerable to them and then to me. I won't introduce you
to everyone as it would take too long, but before the two
weeks are up you'll pretty much know everybody."

     "Behind me is the Squire's Manor, the home of the
Magistrate who was responsible for common law justice.
This is where you'll find me and Mrs Cunlif. Mrs. Cunlif
is responsible for money, payments, schedules and is my
deputy when I'm not available. She will also attire you
in clothes to suit the period, and the job you currently
hold. Work starts at nine and the gates open at nine
thirty. You will live eat and work the period until the
gates close at six. Any major infringement of the period
will result in a fine deducted from your pay. Frequent
discipline will result in dismissal."

     Walking through the group of people Ray walked
towards the cottage hospital.

     "Across here is the hospital as I've already said.
Doctor Williams is resident here all year and he will
teach and train any who will work for him. He is a real
doctor so if you have any medical problems, he's your
man."

     "Walking down the main street we now pass a couple
of houses that are kept in running order for visitors to
view. The pub on the corner is the Bull and the landlord
is Dan Shepard."

     "Over here is...." The group followed him around from
pillar to post as he walked them around the village.
Ginger listened to the words being spouted. The man was
filled up with enthusiasm for the period and his voice
carried that enthusiasm out. The group picked it up, fed
on it and got fired up with the interest. Ginger listened
as the period became clearer, his old school days had
been filled with Roman History, and the Industrial
revolution told by a teacher who no longer cared. His
thoughts returned to Ray and his words, He'd be one hell
of a teacher.

     "That's pretty much it. You'll get to see the place
better this afternoon. Now as I've said we work six days
a week and were open every single day come rain or shine.
Mrs Cunlif will post the roster in the main dormitory
kitchen so you'll know where to report. Each of you will
get 2 weeks in each position. We quite often find repeat
visitors so we don't all swap roles at the same time.
Half will change on one Sunday the remainder on the next
Sunday. I want you to look around get used to the place.
Tomorrow we start running as if the gates were open. Half
of the village will be working whilst the other half will
try to catch them out. Then we'll all swap roles and so
on until opening day."

     Ray held out his hand "Mrs Cunlif" and she passed
him a sheet of paper. "There are a couple of exceptions
to the normal routine and the highly skilled craftsmen
are those exceptions. No one can possibly work in these
trades for a couple of weeks and appear to be proficient,
so I'll just read out the names of the people who are
going to learn a trade. First Kevin Butler?"

     Ginger looked across the group and a lanky lad with
dirty blond hair in front of him raised him arm and said
"Here!"
     
     "Right your in the bakery. Next Gary Holmes?"
     
     A plain young man dressed in a dark blue anorak
said "Here!"
     
     "Your in the Forge. Tracy Dougan?"
     
     A pretty girl with dark long hair answered.
     
     "Your with Mrs Cohen, the seamstress. And lastly,
Geoff Masters."
     
     Ginger was surprised and raised his hand wondering
if he was going to be doing. "Here!"
     
     "Your with David McDonald, the printer. With that
done I think we'll call it a day and take a break. Look
at the roster and go and see Mrs Cunlif at the Squire's
house for your clothes. I don't want to see anything
modern after lunch. Look around and get yourself
familiar. You four craft people need to meet your patrons
and introduce yourselves.

                        ...............

Part 3 of ?

Chapter 2: A dog's life.

     Walking back to the dormitory surrounded by people,
Ginger ruminated on his proposed job for the next nine
months. It would only be a little different to what he'd
done for the last eight years.

     A hand landing on his shoulder made him jump and
turn around rapidly as Peter spoke. "Well if it isn't our
lucky printer. How does it feel to be picked out for
special treatment, you get to learn a job that's useful."

     "Not really, I already am a printer, it was my job
for eight years before I was made redundant last month."

     "Oh! I thought you were at university like me."

     "Nah! I didn't like school, hated it with a passion.
I got out as soon as I could."

     Peter's voice became awed and questioning "How old
are you? You look a lot younger than me and I'm only
twenty one."

     "Twenty-four, twenty-five in two months."

     "Jesus! You'd never know to look at you. Seventeen
tops."

     Ginger laughed "Don't tell me about it. You should
see the trouble I have getting a pint in a pub."

     Separating into single file they strode through the
cottage and up the stairs. Entering the communal kitchen
Ginger strode towards a group of people with mugs in
their hand. "Any coffee."

     A girl in a pink windjammer pointed at a steel tank
sat on the side. "Coffee, milk and sugar over there by
the water boiler."

     He thanked the girl and walked over to join the
short queue in front of the water boiler. Picking up a
mug he put in the instant coffee and sugar as he waited.
When the last person moved away he looked down at the
water boiler. A stainless steel cylinder two foot high by
one foot across, a small pull tap at the bottom. Ginger
filled his mug and moved aside to pour in the milk from
the plastic carton left on the side.

     Looking up he saw a cluster of people looking at a
large sheet of paper fastened to the wall. The roster he
presumed. Sitting at one of the empty tables he watched
all the people around him as his coffee cooled to
drinkable temperature.

     He saw Peter separate himself from the cluster and
walk over to the water boiler. John's tall frame walked
in through the door, looked around, briefly watched the
huddle by the roster and then walked over to his table
and sat down.

     Ginger was curious at John's lack of interest. "Not
going to look on the roster?"

     "It'll wait. I don't see any point in scrumming down
now."

     Peter joined them. "Well I'm a working at the
carpenter's." Looking at John he continued "What you
going to be?"

     "Don't know, haven't looked yet. I'll go after I get
a drink." He stood up and then sauntered off towards the
fridge.

     Peter's fast paced voice pulled Ginger away from
abstract thoughts he'd lost himself in. "Against your
name it says Printer but you get Thursdays off. I get
Saturdays. I wonder what there is to do around here"

     After the drinks and waiting for Phil to appear,
Ginger, Peter and John gave up and headed over to the
manor to get attired for the period. One Jacket and
waistcoat, two pairs of trousers and five sets of shirts,
vests, underpants, socks and a pair of boots. He was also
measured for and handed a half height top hat and told
that appearing outside without it would result in a fine.

     Lastly he was handed a pamphlet of behaviours,
manners and unacceptable practices with instructions to
read it and inwardly digest. He was also asked by Mrs
Cunlif. "Do you want to change your money into the
museums coinage, outside money wont work."

     "What money do we use?"
     
     "Librae, solidae and denarii."
     
     Ginger's mouth dropped open "Huh?"
     
     "Librae, solidae and denarii, L.S.D. Pounds,
shillings and pence." Then she stunned Ginger silent as
she rattled off the coinage. "2 farthings to the
ha'penny, 2 ha'pennies to the penny, 6 pennies to the
sixpence, 2 sixpences to the shilling, 2 shillings  to
the florin, 2 shillings and sixpence to the halfcrown, 5
shillings to the crown, 2 crowns to the sovereign and 2
sovereigns and 1 shilling to the guinea."
     
     "Am I supposed to learn that?"
     
     "Well it would be good for you to learn but as long
as you remember 4 farthings to the penny, 12 pennies to
the shilling and 10 shillings to the sovereign. Or 20
shillings to the pound with translates to 240 pennies to
the pound."  She ended smiling as Ginger struggled trying
to follow her and then laughed. "Don't worry, the last
page of your pamphlet explains it all. Most of the time
you will have to deal with less than a crown."
     
     "We would love to change peoples money back to the
proper value of the day but as most people can't
comprehend the difference in values we don't bother. For
the sake of ease we translate at 2 new pounds to the
shilling or 16 new pence to the old penny. We know it
isn't strictly correct for the period but it gives the
people a taste of what money was like."

     "OK. I'll change a tenner." Ginger held out his hand
with a ten pound note in it.

     "Right here you are. Here's a half a crown, one
shilling, two sixpences, five pennies, a ha'penny and two
farthings."

     The coins weren't heavy at all even though the
halfcrown was thick and large. He weighed his hand up and
down.

     "They aren't the real coins, the real coins are hard
to get hold of and are worth far more to a collector than
their value, so we use metal coated plastic coins
instead."

                        ...............

     Walking down the cobbled street from the dormitory
Ginger started to read the little booklet. The hat felt
odd on his head and didn't seem to fit properly. The
clothing itched and had a musty smell that seemed to
briefly appear, just to distract you and then vanish.
Ginger straightened his waistcoat again, it twisted and
tightened around him as he moved. The ankle length boots
were heavy, hard soled clod hoppers that echoed as he
walked. The interest that arose as he was measured and
then handed the clothes had evaporated quickly after
getting dressed in it.

     A glaringly soft white cotton shirt that was over
long draped over him, a round neckline without a collar.
The sleeves ended in folded back cuffs, held together
with chain cufflinks. A circle of stiffly starched cloth
and two white studs were handed to him and he'd left them
in one of the drawers in the dormitory, along with a
heavy cotton vest and underwear that had draw strings
like swimming trunks. The trousers were woollen and warm
but they weighed far more than he expected. His socks
were knee length warm and woollen and he knew his feet
would sweat like the very devil.

     At the corner of `Hunters' Lane' and the high street
was a large dark bricked, single story building,
separated into two work shops. The forge held the corner
with large wooden doors capable of taking a cart on one
street and windows lighting up the forge on the other.
The large wooden doors were painted green with a red
banner across it of `Urkland's Forge'. Written below in
smaller yellow writing `Wrought iron work, Casting and
Farrier'

     To one side on the high street was the narrow
fronted printer's workshop. "The Telford Observer"
written on the white paint work in large bold black
letters. Around the corner on `Hunters' Lane' was a small
house obviously belonging to the forge as the paint
colour scheme stretched across and highlighted the front
door and windows.

     The printers door was split in half with the top
half open, the bottom door had a shelf attached filled
with folded broadsheet newspapers. Picking one up Ginger
lifted it up into the light and looked at the fine text
in narrow columns. The line at the top said Price 2 1/2d
Date February 24th 1893. Looking down the page a small
title caught his eye.

     "Hard of Hearing"

     "Mr Gladstone yesterday confessed to being unable to
remember a conversation he had had with Lord Southbourne
on the 12th of this month. If the Prime Minister is
unable to remember conversations and agreements within
his own Liberal party it can hardly be expected to listen
or even hear the voice of the populace. It is the view..."

     "Are you buying or just going to stand their and
read without paying?"

     The gruff voice surprised Ginger, making him jump,
he looked up into the long narrow face of a grey bearded
man, his top lip hidden behind the dense grey moustache.
"Oh. I'm sorry, I was coming to see you about being
placed here by Mister Bently and I just got absorbed in
the paper." He quickly folded the paper and returned to
the pile.

     "So you are my new trainee.." He looked up and
continued as if haranguing the heavenly host  ".. Another
year of bumbling mistakes and poor spelling?"

     "Well, I wouldn't quite say trainee."

     "Don't think this place is good enough for you?
Aren't interested in doing a decent job. Want to go back
to your nice cushy university then?"

     Ginger tried to placate the man who seemed intent in
getting angry. "No, I'm sorry if I gave you that
impression. It's just that I'm already a fully qualified
printer, I have my Ordinary and Higher National
Diplomas."

     The man turned around and walked off back into the
dimly lit recesses of the shop his words echoing back
towards Ginger. "Struth! Now I get a green horn that will
be telling me how to do my job."

     Ginger called out "Mister McDonald?"

     The man's gruff voice returned hard and cold. "Just
be here at nine tomorrow. Sharp mind you, I can't stand
people who dilly-dally around."

     Ginger left the door and walked back into the street
wondering what he had done wrong.

     Turning the corner he saw that the large green doors
of the forge were open and heard the clanking sound of
metal being moved. Walking up to the doors he looked in
to the well lit work shop.

     A large man, well over six foot tall, broad
shouldered with rolled up sleeves wearing a large
scorched and pitted leather apron was sorting through
heavy metal bars and ingots by the back wall. The forge
was a neat place. Down one side a large heavy metal table
arranged with tools sat a foot away from the forge. A
large square fire pit filled level with coal was awaiting
the fire with an assortment of anvils just in front of
it. On the other side another metal table fitted with
vices and shaping tools ran away to the rear of the shop.

     At the back stood vertically against the wall,
arrangements of metal bars, sheets and ingots piled
halfway to the ceiling. The floor was flagged and had
recently been swept clean. The hole room appeared
uncluttered, everything in its place.

     The man turned to face the shadow in the doorway. He
looked to be in his late thirties. Blond short hair
almost white in colour topped a pink smiling face and
deep blue eyes that could cut you in half. The man
watched as Ginger looked around and then spoke "Morning.
My name's Joseph Urkland. I'm the smith. Find the place
interesting?" Lifting his hand and stepping into the
light he offered Ginger his hand.

     Ginger shook it, pleasantly surprised by how gently
but firmly the man shook his hand, taking care not to
inflict any pain with his large callused strong hands
whilst smiling at him as they shook.

     "Hi, my names Geoff Masters but I prefer to be
called Ginger.. And yes I do find it interesting. I didn't
expect it to be so neat and tidy."

     "That is most peoples impression but if your
carrying white hot metal around you don't want to go
tripping up on things lying about on the floor.

     "No - that wouldn't do." Ginger looked around
quickly shocked at the words leaving his mouth, why did
he say something so inane. His eyes lighting on 2 large
wooden frames  he quickly added "What are these for?"

     "What are what for?" The man stepped closer to see
what Ginger was looking for.

     "These two frames." Ginger pointed at the plain
wooden frames hanging on a hook on the wall above the
bench.

     "Those are for casting. You place it on the floor."
He picked up a frame and placed it on the floor. Like a
bottomless box. Crouching down he looked up into Ginger's
face as Ginger bent over to look.  "Then you fill it with
damp sand and pack it down very hard. Then you put the
other frame on top making it deeper. Now you add the
pattern, a wooden shape or clay shape that you want to
cast. Then you fill the top half with damp sand and pack
it down again. To remove the wooden shape you separate
the frames and the imprint is left behind it forms a
mould in the sand ready to be filled up with molten
metal."

     The man's explanation was clear and concise, not
treating Ginger like an imbecile or a child. He spoke
with knowledge and confidence but seemed to be open to
questions.

     Hoping he didn't look like a fool Ginger asked
"Doesn't it leak out?"

     "A little but not much, we call the leakage -
flashing and it can be removed afterwards when you clean
up the cast anyway." The man smiled as if happy to answer
any question.

     "Wouldn't clay or metal be better?"

     "Yes they produce better finishes but sand is
plentiful and free, reusable and it will work with any
shape, It is still done this way since it was invented by
Thomas Telford, here in 1705."

     "Telford?"

     "Don't you remember your history, The Iron Bridge,
Thomas Telford was the father of the industrial
revolution. If it wasn't for him there wouldn't be any
mass production, steam trains even the clothes on your
back." The man spoke not as if rebuking a child but as an
explanation said in a good natured way.

     "Yes I do remember, but I didn't realise the town
was called after him."

     The large man walked out into the daylight, looking
up and down the street. "I'm thirsty, fancy a drink. I
think Don's got the Bull open."

     Ginger looked at his watch or the space where his
watch used to be. It was locked up in his little drawers.
"I don't want any alcohol but I could murder a coke."

     The man laughed his head going back as he laugh
boomed out. "God! I love the start of a new year,
catching people out." He half turned to Ginger and
grinned. "|I don't think they had coke in 1893 but come
on and I'll buy you a sarsaparilla."

     "Sarsaparilla?"

     Grinning again "You're just going to have to trust
me? Come on."

     Ginger shrugged and walked up beside the man who
dwarfed him. As the walked the man put his hand on
Ginger's shoulder guiding him across the street to the
public house. "You're going to love it. I used to drink
something like it when I was a kid. Dandelion and
Burdock."

     Ginger stopped and Joseph turned to watch as Ginger
tried to think from where he knew the name. "I remember
the name, I think I used to have it but I don't remember
the taste."

     They carried on into the shadow of the open door.

     "Don, you open yet?"

     A dark haired man with peppery grey sideburns and a
flattened nose that didn't seem to point in the same
direction as the rest of his face, looked up from the
bar. A smile on his lips as he recognised the big man.
"Not really, but for friends I'm always open."

     "Great, I'm parched - I'll have two sarsaparillas."
The man walked over to a small wooden table, blackened
with use and age. Sliding behind it he sat on the large
bench seat that ran along the wall of the bar. "Pull up a
stool, Ginger."

     Ginger pulled out a stool and sat at the table as
the landlord walked over with two glasses and a brown
stone jug. He pulled the cork out and as he poured the
brown cloudy liquid into the glasses. "Joe, this your new
apprentice?"

     Joe looked at Ginger "I don't know - are you?"

     Ginger shook his head "No I'm working at the
printers."

     The landlord spoke, all humour wiped off his face
and replaced with compassion. "If you need some one to
rant and rave at, or just to talk to come and see me. OK.
The Bull will always be open to you."

     Ginger was unsure at what the landlord was meaning
said "Ur, OK. Thanks."

     As the landlord walked back to the bar Ginger leaned
over the table and whispered "What did he mean?"

     Joe's face straightened, losing his smile. "Just
what he said, David can be very acidic and quite often
we've had some young lads nearly in tears. Hopefully with
you being a qualified printer he may be lighter on you
than he has been on the others."

     That the man knew what he did before surprised
Ginger. "How did you know I was printer?"

     "Ray told me last..." at Ginger's puzzlement Joe
started again. "Ray Bently was so pleased to find a
qualified printer coming here that he arranged to place
you with David almost immediately. I was in his office
when he was arranging it."

     "Oh!"

     "You'll understand when you meet David and with good
luck he may like you."

     "I already have and I don't think it's going to
work."

                        ...............

Part 4 of ?

     "Can't you do anything right. I said to separate the
page into eighteen columns. How do you expect to carry
all of the Times' front page if you don't do it exactly
like theirs. If I've told you once, I've told you a
thousand times. Eighteen columns on page one and fifteen
columns on page two, it's simple any moron should be
capable of understanding. Go on get out. I'm going to
have to redo it all again."

     Ginger looked up into the scowling face of David
"But.." He tried to tell him that he had done what he was
asked to do.

     "Just go I'm sick and tired of lame excuses. I don't
even want to hear it. Just get up and get out." Ginger
left the seat and stretched his back before he walked to
the door. The bickering voice following him. "I don't
know why I bother trying to teach people, simple
instructions either ignored or not followed. It isn't as
if I didn't have enough to do.

     Ginger grabbed his hat and jacket from the hat stand
and closed the door behind him, shutting out the voice of
the man he wanted to strangle. He looked at the clock on
the church tower, 10:15. Don wouldn't be open yet,
putting his jacket and hat on he headed back to the
dormitory.

     Eight days of almost constant abuse and he hadn't
yet done one thing wrong. He'd tried to protest the
reasons for doing it the way he had the first couple of
days but that `arsehole' wouldn't listen to reason. His
work had never been corrected, never needed to be but
he'd never had an apology.

     Today's was a classic example. `Copy the Times of
March the fifth.' Then get berated for not doing eighteen
columns. He had copied the Times, it only had seventeen
columns. Should he be accountable for someone's mistake
83 years ago.

     He'd almost quit three times, sick and tired of that
pernickerty little bastard. He turned from the dormitory,
he didn't want to see anybody - he needed to cool down.
As Phil was on roving duty he would be most likely be in
the dormitory and maybe not even alone.

     Phil had been trying to bed every girl in the place,
probably had. Peter, John and himself had caught him with
different girls three or four times. They had nicknamed
him `Rabbit' after Phil had asked them to let him use
room for an hour on the third night.
     
     Stopping at the manor he sat on one of the bench
seats and tried to relax. He watched the people walk past
him intent on their own jobs. The coal men delivering
sacks of coal to the houses and the baker's boy riding
down the street with a basket of bread on his handle
bars. Katie somebody, he could ever get a grip on their
names was scrubbing one of the steps of a cottage and
applied the donkey stone turning the step a bright white.

     A couple of women walking away from him and wandered
in to one the shops. The rag and bone man turned on the
high street his voice calling out "Ragbone". Don was
washing the windows to the snug of the Bull and watching
the brewers dray as they rolled barrels into his cellar.

     A mans voice asked "It looks realistic doesn't it?"

     Ginger turned around to see Ray standing behind the
bench resting his hands on the back. "Yes, yes it does."

     "You know each year I take people from all across
the country and weld them together in to a village. I
find it enjoyable to see the routine settle in and the
community come to life. You wouldn't believe I used to
hate history at school but when I was offered this I
jumped at it, people are what I like, the musty books in
the library with their dry dusty words bored me but this.
This I love."

     They settled into silence as the sooty chimney sweep
passed them doffing his top hat. "Good morning." Both Ray
and Ginger replied and touched the brims of their hats,
almost second nature now. They watched Phil walk away
down the main street with his brushes and rods over one
shoulder, not going to any house, just adding to the
scene.

     "What was it today?" Rays voice broke the
comfortable silence. His voice carrying only to Ginger.

     "It doesn't matter, I really don't want to talk
about him."

     "I'm sorry about it, I though he would be easier on
you but he isn't is he. I'm getting complaints from Gary
and Joe about the noise. I've never had that before."

     "He isn't ever satisfied, I can't do right for doing
wrong. He tells me conflicting instructions and then
bollocks me for doing either of them. I don't think I can
take much more of him. Half the time I want to beat his
head in."

     "And the other times" Ray looked at him, a smile
spreading on his face.

     "I..I want to strangle him." Ginger looked back over
his shoulder at Ray and grinned.

     Ray faced forward and pulled his hat off his head.
He ran his hands back through his hair. "Do you want me
to have another word with him?"

     Ginger sighed "It isn't worth it, I just got snide
remarks last time, he doesn't change."

     "Has moving your day off to Tuesday helped?"

     "Some, I only have to put up with him four days a
week but he bitched at me about the paper I did on his
day off. Would you believe I didn't use the right font
for the price? I got that one for two days."

     Ray walked around the side of the bench and sat down
next to Ginger. "There is one option but it will mean a
lot of work."

     Ginger watched Katie move over and start scrubbing
the step next door. "I'm game I'll try anything."

     "Well you know the problems Gary has been having in
the forge?"

     "You mean his feinting."

     "Yes, well he did it again yesterday, he nearly
cracked his head open on an anvil. Joe says that although
Gary tries hard and is a nice lad, he is going to have to
release him."

     "You aren't going to fire him are you?"

     "Well I don't know, I haven't any room elsewhere,
the schedules are full. I can't keep him in the forge,
Joe says that the Health and Safety Executive will come
down on us like a ton of bricks."

     Ginger turned to face Ray a smiling. "By your voice
I can tell you're up to something. Your scheming, go on
tell me."

     Ray tried to look apologetic. "Well, I was
wondering... How about if we swap you and Gary? I know
you'll have to spend a couple of nights working to catch
up but you're quick, you should pick it up before we open
the gates on Monday."

     "What about Gary? He'd have to put up with David." I
can't ask him to take that bastard on instead of me. He's
a friend, I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye
again."

     "Well I suppose we'll just have to take the full
time position out of the printers and put it into the
schedule then nobody would have him for more than five
days."

     "Who'd do the paper on his day off."

     "You would. Joe would have to be on his own one day.
As long as he only does wrought iron or cold working it
doesn't break regulations."

     "OK. I'll give it a go if Joe and Gary don't mind.
Tell me when you've got the schedules sorted and I'll
start."

     "Good... Report to Mrs. Cunlif for your new clothes.
You start in ten minutes."

     Ginger turned sharply to see Ray grinning trying to
hold back a laugh.

     Ginger laughed "You are sneaky, do you know that?"

     "I've heard it said." Ray burst into laughter as
Ginger ran for the Dormitory.

                        ...............

     Ginger tossed his head, flicking his sweat laden
hair out of his eyes, The yellow glow of the forge
lighting up the dark workshop, one of his duties was to
keep the forge burning and that meant through the night
as well as day. He tipped the sack of charcoal on to the
forge until it domed slightly. It shouldn't be over
filled or the heat built up higher than the forge or he
could handle. Using the rake and poker he spread the new
charcoal in with the white hot fire and carefully raked
the charcoal from the sides and waited for the new
charcoal to catch.

     He'd been living in the forge for just under a
month, the bed in the little cottage next door came with
the job. It was hot, hard and grimy work but it had its
pleasures.

     On the day he'd started he'd worked seventeen hours
straight next to Joe. Casting aluminium into all sorts of
shapes, learning the skills of a caster. Packing the sand
in, putting in riser and pourer cones and finally pouring
the molten metal down one cone until it filled up the
mould and had risen up the other cone. Waiting until it
cooled and the filing the object clean.

     Joe was a patient teacher who explained well before
hand and didn't say anything if he'd made a mistake, he
let Ginger discover it and then put it right. If Ginger
needed help or advice he gave it and asked if Ginger
understood afterwards, there wasn't any bickering or
snide comments. Joe was friendly and helpful, he gave
praise to Ginger if he did well and didn't point out his
failures.

     The art of wrought iron work was a skill that he
knew was well beyond him and although Joe had often asked
for his assistance in hammering or bending the metal he'd
never tried to learn more than the basics. It seemed
almost mystifying how Joe would curl an iron bar around
the anvil, hammering away with steady hard strokes and
end up with a curve that was fluid and graceful.

     Joe's eye would see the requirements for a bracket
or a hinge and after selecting a piece of metal he would
heat it in the forge almost immediately. He rarely saw
Joe use a rule and yet the jobs would turn out spot on
every time.

     Seeing the centre of the dark forge start to glow a
dull orange, Ginger went back to bed. Joe was snoring
gently in the bed next to his. His large bulky back lit
from the bedside lamp next to Ginger's bed. The heat of
the ever lit forge permeated the cottage, never below
seventy they didn't use sheets and blankets preferring to
sleep in their underwear. Lying on his back Ginger turned
the light out. He didn't really feel sleepy, The workshop
had been hot, in the high nineties and Ginger liked to
think of all that he had learned that day as he slowly
cooled back down.

     Joe now called him the Master Caster as he now
worked on the patterns and casting alone. Joe assisted
him when it came to the pouring because it took two of
them to lift and tip the crucible from the forge but
apart from that Joe treated him as an equal.

     After spending one of his days off down at the Iron
Bridge museum looking at the casting done by Telford he'd
asked Joe how they got such shiny finishes, all of his
own were rough with the grains of the sand. Joe had told
him about destructive casting, using wax as the pattern
meant you didn't have to remove the pattern. The wax also
soaked into the sand leaving a smooth mould for the metal
to flow into.

     That was it Ginger was away, Carving and moulding
wax into intricate shapes. They now sold shiny aluminium
ashtrays at the museum shops with the museum logo cleanly
embossed in the bowl. Joe admitted that he'd never
achieved results as good and that Ginger was the best
apprentice he'd ever had.

     Joe shifted in his sleep and turned onto his back,
the bed squeaking slightly under the weight of the big
man. Ginger's thoughts turned to Joe, seeing him in his
mind's eye. The smile he gave as Ginger pulled out his
first ashtray. The quiet voice as he guided Ginger in
some new method, explaining to him the basics and then
overlaying his skill over Ginger's. The confidence and
calmness he exuded when he shoed a horse, the jittery
beast quieting down under his gentle hand.

     Images of Joe beating metal, his striking blue eyes
searching for the next place the hammer. The sweat
trickling down his broad arms as he exerted great force,
or shaped metal in the heat of the forge. His almost
white glossy hair shining as the closed the forge and
quickly retired into the upstairs of the cottage for a
shower.

     The laughter and happiness as they played cards in
the evening or watched some silly sitcom on the little
portable TV. Basking in the camaraderie as they drank
beer in the Bull like best friends.

     Ginger knew he was in trouble, but he didn't know
where to get help. After three weeks Ginger knew Joe
better than anybody else apart from his family and Joe
certainly knew him better than almost everyone at home.
He considered Joe a good friend but he needed help from
someone else.

     Joe was his problem. At home things had been quiet,
steady and reliable, now Ginger realised that he had shut
himself from the outside world. Phil would try to lay
anything in a skirt, even Peter and John had got
girlfriends but he hadn't. What was worrying was that he
didn't want one.

     He'd only ever had one girlfriend, back when he was
seventeen. Julie - a nice girl who had asked him to dance
at one of the Christmas parties that Fallows' had put on.
They had gone out for eight months before Julie had gone
to university in Scotland. At the time he'd thought he'd
been in love with her and he'd moped about for weeks
after she'd left. No other girl had ever compared as far
as he was concerned so he'd never gone out again. Solo
for life he'd always thought.

     The trouble was his thoughts weren't like that now,
he liked it here, in Telford, in the museum, in this
cottage, with Joe. The thoughts he'd suppressed all
evening surfaced. The sights and smells as they both used
the small bathroom. Joe walking around in his boxers, His
smooth pale skin flowing over muscles that bulged and
flexed as he picked up a mug of coffee, Bent down to pick
up the towels in the bathroom. His back as he cooked
their evening meal. Frizzy blond hair that sparsely
covered his body, vanishing a couple of feet away,
leaving him looking hairless and even more nude.

     The spicy smell of his aftershave and the citrus
smell of his deodorant mixing with his own musky smell
making a whole that was Joe. An enticing aroma that
Ginger had to stop himself from turning to follow as Joe
passed.

     Ginger felt his body responding to his thoughts, it
shouldn't be affecting him but it was. Joe seemed
comfortable wearing practically nothing and sitting cross
legged on the floor opposite Ginger. Tonight Ginger had
had real problems, Joe had sat opposite as usual but his
boxers had been a little tighter or smaller than his
others and they would sometimes gape wide open as Joe
leaned back laughing or leaned forward picking up cards.

     The sight of a heavy fleshy cock shaft highlighted
by very blond pubes had nearly stopped Ginger's heart.
His eyes riveted to the view, unable and unwilling to
pull away as his mind screamed at his body, feeling
tingles that would rapidly betray him even if his staring
didn't. Released form the burden as Joe shuffled, Ginger
was petrified that Joe had seen, noticed his actions and
had moved to hide himself from Ginger.
     
     A hasty retirement to the bathroom to get himself
back under control only to be dragged out by Joe asking
if he was going to finish playing his hand.

     The rest of the night had been tortuous, Ginger
would find his eyes returning to stare at the blond giant
again and again. Now in the darkness Ginger could release
the pent up tension. His hand slid down his body and
under the waistband of his briefs feeling his hardness.
Sliding back his foreskin back he felt the damp sensitive
head. He had to jerk off, he couldn't leave it now, the
pressure was too great.

     Being as quiet as he could he slipped his jockeys
off, the relative coolness of the air stimulating him
more. His right hand moved into position as his six inch
cock pressed hard against his stomach. Two fingers on one
side and his thumb on the other he slid his foreskin over
the flared helmet of his cock feeling the tingles
increase with the friction. He widened his legs and
wetting his finger he slid it down until he could feel
his hole spasm reflexively as his touch magnified the
feelings in his groin.

     Doing what his body knew how to do so well his mind
sorted through images of Joe. His skin, that muskiness,
the sight of his cock.
Ginger's right hand moving up and down pulling against
the head as his left teased the entrance to his body. The
drips of water on his chest as he came out of the
bathroom with a towel wrapped around him, his deep blue
eyes, the sight of that one and a half inch wide cock
showing through his boxers. His smile as they talked
about the rugby match, the laughter as they had watched a
rerun of Dad's army and The blue vein that wended its way
across that tantalising sight of Joe's hidden parts.

     His hand moving rapidly and his finger inside
tingling the walls, Ginger had never fingered himself
further than teasing the entrance but his finger was
pressed in as far as it would go, and it felt incredible.
Feeling more aroused than he'd ever been, he gave up and
just held on to the sights he'd seen as they had played
poker. The playback in his mind seemed perfect in every
detail. The slight widening of the boxer fly the slight
wispy pale hairs that peeked out before the flash of skin
had made his eyes lock on. The meaty shaft with that
faint blue line zigzagging its way down the fat cock.
Ginger wanted to see it all, touch it and his mouth
watered with the forbidden thought. His finger moved
inside him. Unsatisfied he pressed his other finger in
and as the cum shot out of his purple headed, rock hard
cock he really knew where he wanted that cock to be.

                        ...............

For comments, constructive criticism and so on you can email
me.
                 Romanticiser@geocities.com