Date: Wed, 19 Feb 2003 10:47:11 +0000 (GMT) From: Benzedrine Bedlam Subject: The Photographer 8 - 15 For those of you who were reading this story many moons ago, I appologise for taking so long to finish it. I'm a bum. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, this is the final posting, so no more promises to break! Finally, thanks to Rob, for more encouragement than I really deserve. If you enjoy this tale, I'd love to hear from you. benzedrine_bedlam@yahoo.co.uk Part 8 We returned to the flat laden with groceries and weekend papers, Serge fished in his pocket for the keys, juggling the bags and dropping the paper. "Here, let me get that" I said, taking his keys from him and letting us into the flat. Serge moved around me, taking the groceries into the kitchen. From the living room I heard him making coffee. Looking around, I was drawn to the photo of the girl once more. "Is she older or younger that you?" I asked Serge when he returned to me with two mugs in his hands. "Older, by 4 years." He said, handing me the coffee. "What does she do?" "She married well." Serge replied, he sounded curt, as if reluctant to talk about her. "What?" Serge smiled and sat down. He looked up at me with a resigned expression. "She married, she doesn't do anything. Hasn't even produced any mini Harving- Montisourirs." "Harving what? You don't have a name like that do you?" I was dreading the answer. "Oh yes, Harving-Dryden-Wilsden-Wahtsit" I laughed out loud. "Come on, what is it really?" "Just Harving, the full family name is Harving-Dryden but as it's a dreadful name and we tend to drop the last bit and just be Harving." "So your sister combined her name, that's very modern." "No, she is officially Mrs. Segress- Montisouris." He said with a flourish. I suppressed a giggle. "But likes to refer to herself as Cassandra Harving-Montisouris when her husband is not around. She still rides as Cassandra Harving." "Rides?" I asked flatly. "Horses." "Well yes, duh! Is she a jockey then?" "Hardly." Serge said disdainfully. "She does gymkhana, and hacks, but for fun, not for money. Only the men in our family are expected to work." "Long live the revolution!" "It hasn't quite made it to Surrey." "Tell me about uncle Philip's law firm." Serge seemed to have loosened up a little, and now seemed like a good time to find out what was troubling him so much. "Oh Mike, don't lets spoil the afternoon." "If you hate it so much why don't you leave?" "I told, you I can't." "Why not?" I asked. I was beginning to detect a stubborn streak in Serge. Serge sighed, he rose and took our empty coffee cups into the kitchen. I went to him and put my arms around him. "So, why can't you leave?" "Why can't you leave it alone?" He pushed me away, scowling. "You won't even talk about it!" "What difference would it make? I can't leave, my family would cast me out, and I would never work in this town again." He said with a rather pitiful fake Western accent. Serge's feeble attempt at humour touched me, he looked unhappy, even scared. "Oh come on, really Serge, he can't completely scupper your career, I mean, what' s he going to do?" Serge sighed, "It's a closed world, corporate law, if he bad mouthed me, I'd never be employed by any of the top firms, and he'd do it, he's never been fond of me." "Black sheep of the family?" "Hah! No, well not yet anyway." Serge grinned briefly." No the black sheep was Uncle Rupert. Pity, I always liked him." He sounded wistful. "Was?" I asked, "What happened?" "I never really found out. When I was a kid, 9 or 10, I remember this huge family row, crockery flying, the works. When it was over Uncle Rupert was gone. My father said he would never be allowed back in the house. He was cut out of the will, all of it. I asked a few years ago what happened to him. I was told he was dead, but somehow I don't think he is." "I wonder what he did." "I guess I'll never know." "Ahhh." Serge stretched and yawned. "What do you want to do with the evening, sexy?" he smiled, cat like, and licked his lips, leaving me in no doubt what he wanted to do. "Well..." I decided to tease him. "We could go into town, go to a club, dance all night..." I grinned at Serge's disappointed expression. "Mmmm, no lets stay here, just the two of us. We can get a take away, and some wine..." as he spoke Serge twined his fingers with mine, seductively licking his lips. "I'll even provide desert." he promised We decided to go out and collect our take away, picking up wine from the off- licence. The Indian was busy and said our meal would take 1/2 hour, so we stopped in the pub to wait, rather than go all the way back to the flat. "Hey, Mike, how ya doin?" "Hi Tommy, how's things?" Tommy was an old friend, we had briefly been lovers, but well, it hadn't really worked out, and while Tommy was happy to remain fuck buddies, I really wasn't into sex for it's own sake any more. I had forgotten that he lived close by, so was a little taken aback when he sauntered over to us. "You not out on the town tonight?" I asked him "Oh, yeah, just warming up, we're going to Harmony, new place just opened up on Frith Street, know it?" "No, well if it's new, I wouldn't; would I?" Tommy was such a fashion victim, if a new club was opening up, he was there. If you wanted to be in with the in crowd, Tommy was the guy to hang around with. "Why don't' you come along, Mike, and..." he raised his eyebrows at Serge, discretely checking him out. "Serge." My man said, holding out his hand. I turned to him, "You wanna go out?" Serge expressed reluctance, and I was rather looking forward to our quiet night in. The vision of Serge's body filled my mind. "I think we'll pass, Tommy. Maybe next time." "Oh, I see." Tommy said, his eyebrows moving yet higher. "Well, I'll just leave you two love-birds to yourselves then!" he said with a smirk. We had left Tommy and gone home with our curry. Serge grinned at me as I licked up the last of the Tikka Masala. "You seem to have a healthy appetite for curry." He said, laughing at my demolished dinner. "I have a healthy appetite for lots of things." I responded, transferring my efforts to his body. He shrieked as a pounced on him, pinning him to the sofa, I yanked at his trousers and pressed my face to his crotch. He groaned as I nibbled and sucked his cock thorough his shorts, I could feel my own growing as I soared higher on his scent. Serge ditched his shirt and pushed me away long enough to strip his shoes and socks off, followed by the trousers. He tugged at my t-shirt, pulling it off my chest. Serge ran his fingers through the sparse hair, then, sighing in delight, leaned in and licked me, sucking at my nipples. His hands roved around my body, stroking, pinching, exploring every inch of flesh. I stood and shed my jeans and shorts, Serge leaned forward and took my hard cock into his mouth. Lightening bolted up my spine, exploding in my brain as Serge's tongue worked its magic on my swollen prick. I moaned and sighed incoherently, thrusting my cock into his face. I felt Serge's hands kneading my ass, I spread my legs, encouraging him further. Serge pulled back, so I took the opportunity to pull him up and dragged him towards the bedroom. As he pushed me onto the bed I held onto him, and we dropped onto the big, soft bed, a tangle of limbs. Serge climbed on top of me, pushing me onto my belly, he kissed and bit my firm, pale flesh, moving down from my shoulders to my ass. I gasped as I felt his tongue slide between my cheeks, my head spinning as he worked his way towards my pucker. Serge took my hips firmly in his hands and raised me to my knees. He positioned himself behind me, and went to town on my ass. My senses soared as Serge lapped at my twitching hole. He wiggled his tongue past the tight entrance, eagerly thrusting into my warm chute, his lips pressed to my ass. Serge tongue-fucked me till I thought I would cum, just from the pleasure of his mouth. He pulled off, kissing my throbbing ring. As I collapsed onto the bed, Serge reached past me into a drawer by the bed. He pulled out a bottle of lubricant and grinned at me. "Ready lover?" I grabbed him, pulling him down on top of me, my mouth seeking his. I could taste myself on his lips, the musky scent of my own body drove me yet higher. Serge took advantage of my lustful swoon; he reached down and pushed a finger into my aching ass. I moaned and writhed, pushing my body towards Serge, yelling for more. He gave, sliding another finger into my horny passage. I squeezed, trying to pleasure myself, humping against my lover's hand, craving more stimulation. Serge bent down taking my dick into his mouth, he sucked deeply, sighing with pleasure as he tasted my pre-cum, thrusting three fingers now into my man- cunt. I pulled him off, my eyes shining with lust, Serge didn't ask permission to enter me, it was written on my face. We moaned together as he slid gently into me, his dick filling me, making me whole. Serge laid still for a moment, and stared deeply into my eyes. I wrapped my long legs around his back and pulled him yet deeper into my ass. He smiled down at me. "Mike, I think you might be the most wonderful person I have ever met." "Don't talk -- fuck me." I said thrusting my pelvis up, my ass hungry for its fucking now. Serge drew back slowly, almost withdrawing completely, and slid back into me. We were made for each other; my chute fitted around him like a glove. Serge reached for a pillow to stuff under my bum, levering me up and giving him better access to ream my hole. Now he had me where he wanted me, Serge began to pump harder and faster. "Oh, yes, Serge! Fuck me! I want it... oh YES!" I panted, encouraging him as he strained to please me. Serge threw his head back and began to yell. "Fuck! Fuck!" punctuating each obscenity with a thrust into my ass. We groaned and panted throwing our sweaty bodies together, each movement more determined, more co-ordinated hurling ourselves towards... "YES!!" Serge screamed -- or was it me? I felt my cock explode as my ass filled with liquid fire. Serge collapsed onto my chest, gluing us together with my cum. We woke late on Sunday. Content just to laze in bed, chatting of inconsequential things -- pillow talk. I smiled at my lover, Christ he was beautiful! Sleepy green eyes blinked at me, his strong, brown legs entangled with my own, I had discovered during the night that Serge suffered from cold feet -- his preferred cure was to snuggle up to me, and to warm his icy feet on me! And I didn't mind! I smiled and realised that I'd never been happier. Eventually Serge got up and made coffee and breakfast. He sulked a bit and said I didn't play fair as I had tickled him out of the bed during our wrestling match to decide who got up. We sat in bed together, dropping toast crumbs in the bed. I asked Serge about his job, I didn't want to stress him out, but the words just slipped out. "What were you doing in Birmingham last week? Do you travel a lot?" "No, not really. The job is pretty dull, I always wanted to do something a bit more honourable with my career. That's why I took the bar exams, I want to train to be a defence lawyer. Corporate law is all about banks and making sure big corporations don't step over the line." He looked cynical. "It's all so sleazy." "You could leave." I suggested. He turned to me; hope blossoming on his face for just a moment before it died. "What are you so scared of Serge?" I took his hand. He sighed. "Do you remember I told you about my Uncle Rupert?" I nodded. "Well, he used to live in part of the house. My grandfather was still alive then, and both sons stayed in the house. My father moved my mother in, and we had one wing." "Wing? How big is the joint?" "It's an eighteenth century country manor house -- quite big." He said. "Jeez, your family must be loaded then." "Yes." He answered simply. I was a bit taken aback; I'd never met anyone really rich before. I looked around the flat; it was nicely decorated, but not expensively. "You don't appear to share in this great wealth." "I um, did inherit quite a bit when my grandfather died. I've never touched the money." "Why not?" "Well, I was telling you about Uncle Rupert. When he left -- was thrown out, my grandfather disinherited him, said he was 'no son of mine' and demanded that Rupert pay back every penny the family had ever given him. I'm not sure if he did or not, but I know he left with nothing, just the clothes on his back. He never even had the chance to pack." "He must have done something pretty awful." Serge looked at me, and I saw dread in his eyes. "I won't touch my inheritance, because one day I may be asked to give it back." I was about to protest that once given it could not be taken back, but I realised Serge would know the legal position better than I did. He was talking about a far less tangible law -- that of blood- ties. It was late, and despite my reluctance I knew I would be up at 7 the next morning to go into work. I gathered my jacket and turned to Serge. "Thank you for a wonderful weekend." I said, taking him in my arms. He smiled sadly at me. "I wish you didn't have to go." "I know. Friday?" I asked? Unsure if I could wait that long. "I'll starve without you." We arranged to meet the following Friday, and sorrowfully parted. After a lonely tube ride home, I let myself into my flat, yawning. I headed for the kitchen to make a cup of tea; figuring Sara would have gone to bed, I crept around quietly, trying not to disturb her. She made me jump when she came in a moment later. "Well look what the cat dragged in!" Sara exclaimed. "Good weekend?" I grinned in response and took my tired, well-fucked body off to bed. Part 9 "Oh Mike, can I borrow your room this weekend? You're off to see lover boy I take it?" Sara asked me as I headed off to work. "Yup, no problem, who's visiting?" I asked "Friend from school, Cathy, I think you met her at the party last Christmas?" I hedged, I had never been able to keep track of Sara's wide circle of friends. "Blonde, petite?" "Oh yeah I remember her." I lied, I really didn't mind, as I would be spending the weekend in a warmer, much less lonely bed. It was really beginning to get to me that Serge and I could not meet in the week. We had met for lunch a couple of times, but those hurried meetings and snatched gropes under the table had left us more frustrated than ever. Our usual pattern now was to meet on Friday after work, then after a few drinks excuse ourselves from the crowd of friends we would inevitably bump into at the King Richard, and go back to Serge's flat to fuck ourselves silly. I smiled as I packed my weekend bag, another wonderful weekend was waiting for me, my ass could not suppress a wiggle of anticipation! I sighed as I reached the bottom of my beer, Serge must be tied up at work, he had been late before, but it was nearly 7 now, surely he could have taken a moment to call me. I took out my mobile and checked it again, not that I could have missed it going off. I toyed with the idea of calling him, maybe he was in a meeting, but then he would turn it off. Oh what the hell, he's late, it's his lookout for not calling me. I found Serge's number and hit dial, the voicemail cut in immediately. I stared into my 3rd beer, and decided to head home, 2 hours and 3 messages later, still no Serge. As I trudged towards the bus stop I passed crowds of people out for a Friday night on the town. I looked on, a spectator. "Mike, what are you doing here, Cathy is staying in your room, why aren't you with Serge, have you two had a fight?" The questions poured out of Sara. "Don't worry, I'll sleep on the couch." I told her. "Mike, are you ok?" No. I thought, but I brushed Sara off and sent her back to her friend. Serge had called, just as I was beginning to cross the line between pissed off and worried sick. "Mike, I'm so sorry, this was the first opportunity I've had to get to my phone." "Where are you? Are you ok?" "I'm fine, Mike, I'm in a hospital in Kent, that's why I didn't get your messages, I had my phone turned off." He had explained. "Serge, what happened?" I had been frantic by this point, crying down the phone. "Are you ok?" "I'm not hurt, I'm visiting." He had said, as if that made everything ok. "Mike, my uncle Rupert has turned up. He's dying Mike. I had to go to him." Serge had been so sorry for worrying me, he sounded devastated, and I hadn't the heart to make him suffer any more. I had accepted his apologies, and his promise to come to me on Sunday. I settled myself down on the sofa and tried to sleep, struggling to throw off the feeling that a storm was brewing. Part 10 Serge arrived just as I was putting the final touches to the Sunday lunch. I love to cook, particularly when I'm stressed, I find I can never really be upset when I'm cooking. Sara's friend Cathy was laying the table, and Sara was on the phone, leaving me to answer the door when Serge finally arrived. Wet from the rain, and grey with exhaustion, he looked thoroughly bedraggled. Serge held out a slightly limp bunch of flowers to me. "Forgive me?" I smiled and pulled him inside, hugging him. "You poor thing, you're soaked." Or did I really mean to say 'you're hurt'? I sent Serge upstairs to shower and change while I finished the dinner. Chatty Cathy, I had christened her by this time. She lived up to my label and filled the lunch with light amusing comments. Serge looked utterly dejected, but tried hard to smile, my heart went out to him as I saw him trying so hard to be brave. After dinner, with Sara and Cathy washing up, I finally got my chance to talk to Serge. We left the flat and walked to the park, Serge explained how Uncle Rupert had tried to contact the family, but had been blanked -- his messages went unanswered. "He finally looked up Uncle Philip's firm, and luckily the message came to me, the receptionist couldn't get Philip, so she just assumed we were a normal family and passed Rupert over to me. I'm glad she did, if Philip had have received the call, he would never have told me. Rupert would have died without me ever knowing why he was outcast." "You found out why then?" I asked "Yes. And it's worse than I could ever have imagined." I held my breath -- what might Rupert have done that was so awful. Robbing a bank just didn't seem to justify such an extreme reaction, what about murdering the housemaid? Raping the butler? With that thought I was closer to the truth than I could have imagined. "Rupert was caught having sex with the gardener." Serge confessed miserably. I couldn't help it -- I laughed! "I'm sorry Serge." I guffawed, seeing his hurt expression. "Come on, it's pretty funny -- Lord Chatterley's Lover!" Serge began to smile. "He said he might have been forgiven, but the gardener was topping him -- a servant!" He laughed tragically. "Oh Mike, what an awful waste of a life. Philip threatened to prosecute him, he's been afraid to return to England for years. You realise Mike, I can never tell them the truth now." I was worried by that, but I let the matter drop. There would be time to reason with Serge later, when he had calmed down. I let him talk. "Rupert told me how he went to Italy, he's been living in Naples for the past 15 years. He's never really settled down with anyone and now he's alone. All he wants is to make peace before he dies." "What is it? Is there no hope?" "Cancer. It's terminal, he only has a few weeks left I think, it's taken a lot of his strength to even come here. I don't know why he bothered -- who would want the approval of a family of monsters?" We walked in silence for a bit, Serge was absorbed in thought, I could sense the tension in his body as he paced beside me. "Mike, I have to try to reason with my family, Rupert deserves peace if nothing else -- I owe it to him to try." He sighed and turned to me. "He wants to meet you too." Serge said, smiling at me, "I said we'd visit next weekend." "Of course we'll go." I smiled back at Serge. Serge decided he would speak to Philip first, and then go to his parent's house later in the week. We arranged to meet in Margate, where the hospice was, on Saturday. Returning to my flat Serge was pensive. The storm I had sensed was drawing closer. Part 11 The train down to Kent was old and slow, I watched the countryside roll by and tried not to brood on the weekend to come. Serge had not sounded happy on the phone; he was already in Margate, having left his parent's house on Friday. He said Rupert was fading fast and had sounded worried and miserable. I sat back and tried to absorb the last of the calm I might have for days. I decided to walk to the guesthouse Serge had booked us into, it was a beautiful day -- summer in England is worth all the miserable winters, it may not last long, but it's all the more appreciated for that. It seemed that half the county had come to Margate for the day, boys showing off their legs in shorts, girls showing off even more, I saw an elderly couple walking along holding hands, and wondered if Serge and I would walk together hand in hand in 40 years time. The guesthouse was on the seafront, all pink and candy- stripes, with potted geraniums at the front door. I found Serge waiting for me in the tiny bar, sipping a cup of tea and staring broodingly out at the sea. I joined him and fetched my own cup of tea. Serge told me of his failure to bring his father around to the idea of a reconciliation. "He was vile. He called Rupert a pervert, a disgrace to his class. He sounded so fucking pompous." I blinked at that. I'd never heard Serge swear before, he was normally so calm and I'd got used to his gentle, polite speech. "I'll have to tell Rupert today, that it's no good, he won't get the small mercy he asks for." "Maybe you shouldn't tell him." I said. "At least tell him you haven't given up, at least let him die with some hope." "I don't think I can get away with that." he said, "Rupert knows he doesn't have long, he would know I was stalling. I couldn't do it to him." We didn't reach any resolution and left to visit Rupert with Serge still worried about what to tell his uncle. The hospice was a little way along the sea front and was even more cutesy-pie than the guesthouse had been. I think there's something about the seaside that brings out the fluffy side of all of us. I smiled to myself, we'd be eating ice cream and paddling before we knew it; I glanced at Serge, his face was a picture of stress and misery -- maybe not I decided. Rupert seemed to be well looked after, the sunny room had vases of fresh flowers, and a nurse fussed over him as we arrived. But no amount of disinfectant or air-freshener could mask the smell of death. Rupert had not long to live. Serge was gentle with him but Rupert was barely conscious and seemed hardly aware we were there. We sat with him, talking quietly until a nurse arrived to politely throw us out. I wondered if Rupert had even known we were there, but I was mistaken, as we made to leave, he reached for Serge's hand. "You have a good man here, my boy. Don't let that family ruin it -- you must tell them. Don't allow yourself to hide as I did, and let your love be ruined by falsity and fear." He implored, his voice a mere whisper, but with a sincerity borne of suffering. Serge had been very quiet for the remainder of the day, brooding on Rupert's words. We went to bed early, exhausted by the mental strain of the day. Serge fell asleep quickly, but was restless tossing and turning in his sleep. I sighed and put my book down, trying to get some rest for what promised to be another stressful day tomorrow. The room is dim, with long shadows hiding grim things. I can feel eyes watching me, threatening, I feel small and vulnerable. Then there is shouting, but I don't understand what is being said. The world turns mad, and I am fighting hands all over me, trying to escape, a thousand unseen hands grabbing me, holding me down, pulling, tearing... "Serge, Serge, it's ok, it's just a dream, shh." I took him into my arms, he was sweating and shaking with the memory of the nightmare. He lay in my arms as I stroked his back. Gradually he began to calm down. "Rupert told me, last week, that when... when he left, he was arguing with my father in the library. My father caught me behind a chair, I'd hidden when I heard them come in, shouting and screaming at each other." Serge was almost crying now, his body cold and clammy. "He dragged me out and walloped me, berating me for eavesdropping. Rupert tried to stop him, accused him of battery, to take his anger out on a child. So he turned on Rupert." Serge was sobbing now. "He hit his brother, and told Rupert he'd kill him if he ever set foot in the house again." I soothed Serge, holding him and gently stroking his hair. We laid together for a while, Serge told me more of the tensions he had grown up with. "I suppose you had nothing like this in your family." He asked. "Not really." I said. "We had rows of course, everyone does, but I suppose deep down, we all love each other." Serge turned towards me and pressed his lips to mine. As he kissed me, I could feel the tension melting from his body. I gathered him into my arms, my hands roaming over his body, he responded, sighing gently as passion replaced tension. I stroked his chest and down his belly to caress his cock. "Ahh, yes." He hissed, giving his body up to pleasure. My own dick was craving the touch of his skin, I laid myself on top of Serge, rubbing our hard cocks together, kissing him between our moans and sighs. Serge began to buck against me, drawing his legs up to expose his crack. Taking his cue, I leaned over my love and plucked the bottle of lube from the bag by the bed. I smeared the cool gel over my fingers and began to stroke circles around his ring. He moaned gently and moved his legs to grant me better access. Serge sighed gently as I slid my fingers into his hole. He sat up, allowing my fingers to slip from his ass. He took the lube and spread it onto my cock, stroking it to full hardness. His talented fingers teased my dick, now firm, now just a feather touch. I pulled him towards me seeking his mouth with mine. As we kissed, Serge lowered himself onto my steely tool, impaling himself on me. I hugged him, gently rocking him up and down as our tongues danced. "Deeper." Serge murmured. Wanting only to please him, I rolled him onto his back and continued to make love to him, it was so gentle and tender, I never wanted the moment to end. As I moved slowly within Serge I could feel his desire growing, and my own with it. I leaned back and began to thrust a little harder. "Mmm, yes. Mike..." he gasped, beginning to move his body to force my thrusts deeper into his ass. My dick was throbbing, I felt my whole being focus at the point where we were joined. I moaned and cried out as my essence poured into my lover, willing myself to keep fucking him till he too arched his back and shouted my name, shooting his cream onto us both. We collapsed onto the bed both sated and drained by our love-making. I felt Serge begin to shiver, and drew the blankets over us both, taking my man into my arms as we drifted off to sleep together. I was awoken by the insistent ring of Serge's mobile. He sat up and answered it. "Hello... yes... I'll come at once... yes... I understand." He put the phone down and turned to me. "That was the hospice, they said to come straight away, Rupert is dying." He said, a desperate urgency in his voice. We were out of bed and dressing before Serge had finished speaking. But to no avail, when we arrived at the hospice we were told Rupert was already dead. The nurse was kind and gentle. But although Serge had not seen his uncle for so long, he was devastated; his grief no less real for being entangled with fear for himself. I left Serge to speak to his parents while I sorted out the administrative details with the hospice staff. "They said the funeral could take place as soon as we could organise it." I told Serge. He seemed distant, almost lost, as if the awful tension of the past week was all that had been holding him up. I suppose that's what funerals are for, really, to give grief-stricken relatives something to do in those dreadful few days after a death. Part 12 There was nothing we could do for the rest of the day. It felt like I dragged Serge through Sunday, he was distant and quiet, seeming content just to follow where I led him. We walked along the beach, an isolated bubble of grief amid the holiday town. Later we returned to the guesthouse, Serge slept, fully clothed on the bed, worn out with sorrow. I sat and watched the clamour of an English resort on a sunny day and pondered what the next week would bring. I had a feeling the storm had not yet passed. I called my office on Monday morning and arranged to take a week's 'compassionate leave' though I didn't expect to get paid for it, I realised Serge needed me more now than ever. Serge's parents had insisted the funeral take place at their house. Now that Rupert was safely dead he could have his rehabilitation into the family. We had packed up and departed Margate by mid-morning and left for Surrey. Serge said his family pad was in a small town near Guildford, we arrived there in time for a late lunch. Serge took me to an olde-worlde café in the centre of Worplesdon where he said he had escaped as a teenager. "It used to be run by this lovely old lady, she made all the cakes herself, and used to bustle around in a frilly white pinny, trying to feed everyone up. I think she thought the solution to the world's problems was a cup of tea and a large slice of parkin." "Perhaps she had a point." I said smiling. The café no longer had the old lady, but was run by an attractive blonde woman. There was still lots of cake though. Our respite was brief, after lunch we headed to a funeral directors to make the arrangements. We booked the funeral for Wednesday, wanting to get it over with, then headed for Serge's parent's house to finalise the details. I was apprehensive about the visit, but Serge wanted me to stay with him, and I wasn't about to let him down. The taxi took us deeper into the countryside, and my sense of isolation grew. At Serge's direction, the cab pulled into a long driveway, then the house appeared from behind the row of fir trees. He hadn't been kidding when he said it was a manor house. Although not huge, it was nonetheless impressive and grandiose. I felt like a poor relation. We were greeted stiffly by a tall, elegant woman. The resemblance to her daughter was strong, for this must surely be Serge's mother. My guess was confirmed when Serge awkwardly introduced me as his friend. We suffered through the rest of the day, with little to do as Mrs. Harving-Dryden had decided as hostess, she should be organising the funeral of her husband's brother. All animosity seemed to have evaporated with Rupert's passing. He was no longer the outcast sinner, but the poor departed brother. I couldn't figure it. Dinner was a stilted affair, with Mr. Harving-Dryden slurring over his sherry, and lecturing me on the correct technique for plucking a partridge. I managed to disgrace myself by asking for the recipe for the delicious casserole and was firmly put in my place with a sharp, "It's a family secret." After that everything I did was out of place. I used the wrong fork, and then dropped it on the floor. I felt like a peasant at a garden party. Afterwards Serge and I escaped the stifling atmosphere and went for a walk in the extensive gardens. Serge delighted in showing me all his favourite childhood hiding places. He seemed to have rather a lot of them. "Did you spend a lot of your childhood hiding?" I asked. He looked at me quizzically. "I never really thought of it like that, but I suppose I did. Hiding seemed like a better idea than fighting a battle I wasn't ready for and couldn't win." "Are you ready for it now?" He didn't answer me. We were walking through a wooded grove, which, quite suddenly opened up to reveal a tiny tumble-down stone building. "What was it?" I asked, moving around the little ruin, fervently wishing I had my camera. "Admiral Benjamin Dryden, who had the house from 1803 to his death in 1834 decided the house needed a folly." Serge sounded like he was rattling off a history lesson, he added, rather more cynically, "He was a little late with the fashion, but then the Drydens have never been the most modern of creatures. The Follies came pre-ruined, it was quite the thing, echoes of Greco-Roman cultural supremacy and all that." Serge kicked one of the stones absently. "Cass and I used to pretend there was a goddess living here, we brought offerings to her and asked her for favours." "Did she ever grant them?" "Well, she seems to have granted one of them." He said, taking me into his arms. I smiled at Serge, and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were warm and soft, and I deepened the kiss, my hands caressing his body. Serge murmured softly as I slipped my hands under his shirt and stroked the smooth, firm flesh of his back. "I wonder if the Goddess is watching us." He said. "Well, you know how the Greeks felt about gay love -- I'm sure she'd approve." I pulled off my t-shirt, revealing my broad toned chest. Serge just loved to run his hands over my pecs -- twitching the light hairs that grew there. He leaned his head on my shoulder, softly kissing my neck. We stood for a moment drinking in the peace of the grotto. Then Serge stood back, and slowly undressed, dropping his clothes to the springy turf. I followed him, and naked, we lay together on the grass before the 'temple' and made it ours. I kissed Serge over his entire body -- I kissed his chin, and his elbows; I kissed my way down to his knees, and his toes -- worshipping every inch of my beautiful lover. I turned him onto his belly and kissed his shoulders and down his spine, and into his ass. I buried my face in his trench and licked its length from the base of his smoothly shave balls to the tip of his spine. He wriggled, encouraging me, murmuring how much he wanted me -- my lips, my tongue, my cock. I lubed his ass with my tongue, then moved to offer my hard tool to his mouth. Lying on one side, he licked my length, laving me with his saliva. I covered him again, gently sliding my dick into him in one slow, smooth thrust. Our sighs of pleasure mingled with the birds' evensong. I thrust myself into Serge, lying on top of him, holding his warm body in my arms. Serge began to push his ass up to greet my thrusts, his moans growing more urgent. I pulled my lover to his knees, and reached around him to stroke his dick. "Mike, ahh, yes!" he panted, squeezing his ass around my cock as I fucked him. Unable to resist any longer, I grabbed his hips firmly and started to pound his delicious ass. Our cries drowned out the birdsong now, as we strove towards... "Serge, Serge, oh fuck! Yes, I'm cumming! Yes, take it, take my cum!" I panted as I felt my cock fire its essence into him. I took Serge's swollen prick in my hands as I came down, stroking it, my dick still throbbing in his ass. He cried out as he reached his own climax, his jizz watering the earth beneath us. We dressed quietly and returned to the house as the sun set. Serge and I had been put in separate rooms in totally different parts of the house, and said our goodnights discretely in the hallway. "Sleep well." I said quietly. "Things won't seem so bad in the morning." I tried to convince him. Serge smiled back at me. "Goodnight." He whispered, as he turned and went to his room. Tuesday disappeared in a blur. I had woken dreading another day of stiff, awkward boredom, but found myself roped into a dozen little jobs to prepare for the next day's wake. Not that I minded, being busy kept both Serge and me occupied, and left little time to worry about suspicion falling on our relationship. I wondered if we might get a little time to ourselves, perhaps we could go for another walk in the gardens. Having Serge so close, yet totally inaccessible was doing my hormone levels no good at all. We left the house by late afternoon, we had not brought enough clothes for an extended stay, and had to collect funeral suits. I asked Serge if he wanted me at the funeral. "I mean, it's a family thing now, really." I said, I wanted to support Serge, but was not keen to experience another visit to that cold, unhappy house. "You don't have to, Mike." Serge said, sounding just a little dejected. "I'll do what you want, Serge. I just wasn't sure if you'd want me there." He looked up at me. "I always want you with me Mike." We stopped by my flat, so I could collect my suit (weddings and funerals only -- I hate looking like a banker) and then went home to Serge's flat. The tiny flat felt like home after the past few days. We spend a quiet evening relaxing, flopped on the sofa together eating Chinese takeaway. Serge seemed tired, the hot, humid city air seeming to stifle after the fresh warmth of the seaside. We went to bed early, and set the alarm for a cruel 6am start. I tossed around, throwing the thin sheet from my body, restless in the heat of the night, this was not the sultry air of a tropical paradise, but hot, sticky and breathless. I felt Serge's hand on my stomach, cool and strong. His fingers stirred, I was disturbing him with my restlessness. He was disturbing me with his body. He turned towards me brushing his lips against mine, I took him in my arms and deepened our kiss, my tongue delving, searching, and finding. I felt him rise up against me, I was already hard, hot and horny with this gorgeous man in my bed. I laid him on his back, and began to kiss him, feverishly pressing my mouth against his cool, tanned flesh. "Lower" he breathed Obediently I moved down, kissing the sides of his taut abdomen, and down, his strong, shapely thighs. As I passed his cock flexed and twitched in anticipation, I needed no more invitation. Taking his hard tool deep into my mouth. He gasped as I kept going down, taking him to the root. Once he was in my mouth I caressed him with my tongue, licking, nibbling and sucking on him. He was moaning, and thrusting his cock into my face, I pulled back to look at him. God he was beautiful, his firm, clean jaw-line swept up to pitch black hair, left just slightly too long, so the dark strands flopped into his eyes as threw his head around, moaning - "Yes, yes, take me, swallow me, umm, I want you, love me, oh oh Fuck! Ohhh!" I could tell he was getting close, his movements became more frenzied, he thrashed on the bed. I felt his cock tense, his body bucked and heaved, and with a yell he shot into my mouth, his cum was sweet, I swallowed it, tasting him, milking the last drops from him. Part 13 Wednesday morning dawned bright and warm, but without the stifling heat of the day before. Serge and I showered and dressed quickly, the funeral was due to start at 10:00, and we had to be out before 7:00 to make it. The funeral was something of a hypocrisy, none of those present, other than Serge had seen Rupert for 15 years. There were less than a dozen present, and none showed any pretence of grief. Serge stifled his own sorrow, he seemed almost afraid to break ranks with the rest of his family. If the funeral had been odd, the wake was bizarre. No mention was made of Rupert, the family seeming to use the occasion to aim barbed comments at each other. It seemed that despite being an outsider, I was not to be spared. "Serge tells me you are some sort of artist." Mrs. Harving-Dryden had said, her mouth pursed with disdain. "Well, I trained as a photographer, but I haven't really broken in to the field yet." I tried to keep my comments neutral. "I work in a bank at the moment, doing graphics." "So am I to suppose you are a failed artist then?" she had sneered. The conversation continued along this vein for a while, with several more from other family members, before I could make my escape. I slunk outside and sheltered from the poisonous atmosphere. I sat for a while, content just to be alone and away from the nastiness of the Harving- Dryden's conversational gambits. How could such a family produce someone so sweet and gentle as Serge? I wondered. After a while Serge appeared. "Oh there you are." He said. "What are you doing out here?" he asked. I smiled at him. "It's a beautiful day, it seems a shame to spend it inside." "Yes. It's too nice for a funeral. They're supposed to happen in the rain." He bit his lip. Serge sat down on the step next to me. I turned to face him. "What's the matter?" he asked, seeing the look on my face as I saw his sister emerge from the house and stride towards us. "Hiding boys?" she said, her voice dripping suspicion and disapproval. "Just getting some air, Cass." Serge answered, his voice neutral. She lit a cigarette. "Don't stay out here too long, people might start talking." she replied, blowing the smoke into Serge's face. "And what will they say, sister?" "I didn't think you would be so cruel as to remind Father of Rupert's sins by bringing one here." Her voice was low and harsh -- did she think I couldn't hear her? "I suggest you return to your family instead of skulking out here with your 'artist' friend. Really Serge, I thought you had more taste." Serge's face was pale with anger, but he had not the chance to answer, as Cassandra turned on her heel and swept back into the house. "Is this why you're out here? Because they've been saying such things..." Serge was upset, his voice choked with anger and shame. "I'm sorry Serge, I don't know what I said, but your family are fairly convinced I'm queer, and they're not happy about it." "They have no right to treat you like that! Whatever they think." "Serge, I'm nobody to them, I'm not your partner, I'm just a 'friend' a hanger on." "Then I'll tell them who you are." I tried to stop him, telling him not to react in anger, but Serge had had enough. He grabbed my hand and dragged me back into the house, and taking Rupert's dying words literally, confronted his family. "Mike is my guest here." His voice loud in the sudden silence which greeted us. "I thought this house had better manners than to treat a guest so badly." His challenge went unanswered. "Am I no longer welcome to bring a friend into this house?" "Decent sorts, yes." Mr. Harving-Dryden finally answered his son. "But not these types. We've had enough of that sort. I made that clear to my un-natural brother, we'll have no such things in this house." His voice was stern, and he refused to meet my eye. "Then you will have to bar me from this house." Serge shouted. "For you are right, Mike is gay. And he is my lover!" he turned to look at the horrified faces around him, white with shock. "I am GAY!" Serge grabbed my hand, he looked triumphant. We took advantage of the moment of shock to make a dignified, if rapid exit. Part 14 I looked down at my sleeping lover. His face was calm and free of tension, he stirred and rolled away from me. We had left the Harving's house, summoning a taxi to take us to the station, and home. The uproar had started before we were out of the door, with Mrs. Harving-Dryden disowning Serge and Philip sacking him. I smiled, it had been almost comical, the way they had threatened to 'ruin' him. As if being gay was a crime. I sighed - for them it still was. We had gone to Soho instead of going home. I think we both felt the need to ground ourselves in our community. We also needed to get drunk. Sitting in the King Richard, we implored those we knew, and some we didn't, to celebrate Rupert's life, and Serge's freedom. Now, much later, as I watched Serge sleep, I wondered what was to come next. I wanted Serge to meet my parents, I wasn't sure if I wanted to show him off to them, or them to him. Perhaps a bit of both. I yawned. What we both really needed was a holiday, somewhere special, just the two of us. A plan began to form in the back of my mind. "... beeeeb... Mr Harving, my name is Franz Jenson, I represent Jenson, Lewis and Marvel, we are the executors of Mr Rupert Harving's will. As you are a beneficiary of the will, I would be grateful if you could contact me..." Serge returned from seeing the solicitor and let himself into the flat. I had stayed home to unpack. Yes, I had made the move, and told Sara it was time to hunt for a new flatmate. She was sad of course, but happy for me and Serge. "Well?" I asked, as he negotiated the room full of boxes. "He left me a nice little sum. Not the Harving fortune, but he left everything to me. I wonder if he knew..." "Knew what?" I asked "Well, he left a stipulation in the will, it seems he only wrote it after he came to England. It stipulates that I spend all the money on celebrating my life and my love." Serge looked at me, perplexed. "Now, what do you make of that?" I grinned at him, "I have just the thing." I had refused to explain myself to Serge, and now I had him just where I wanted him. Right in the middle of Hyde Park. I felt rather self-conscious as I dropped to one knee, and took Serge's hand. He had agreed of course, and we had whooped and jumped, and shocked the tourists as we kissed, the whole of the park - the whole of the world - revolving around us. Part 15 "Mike, do be careful with those glasses. Now where did I put my hat..." my Mum was in full wedding preparation mode. She loved it. I had taken Serge up to Cheshire to meet my folks the weekend after we got engaged. They took to each other immediately, and my Mum, of course, launched into wedding planning. We weren't going for anything huge, or even really a 'wedding', just a party, for all our friends and family, to celebrate our love -- just as Rupert had instructed. The money he left to Serge would pay for the party, and our honeymoon. We both agreed, it was exactly what he had intended, the only regret was that he could not be with us to see it. Perched on a table, I sipped champagne and watched the party. Sara was hitting on Lewis, a truly gorgeous hunk of man- flesh, but utterly gay. I wondered which of them I should be rescuing. Serge was dancing with my Mum, both of them laughing as they tripped and lurched around the small dance floor in the middle of the marquee. I felt someone join me at my vantage point. "Happy, son?" my Dad asked. The smile on my face was all the answer he needed. "It's not quite the wedding I envisaged -- but I suppose we've known there would be no blushing bride for a while." "Isn't Serge all you could want for a son-in-law?" Dad smiled, "I dare say he is at that. Nice boy, you've made a good match Michael. I'm happy for you." With that Dad took his pint and returned to the party. I was allowed my quiet detachment no more. Tommy appeared and dragged me back into the fray, not that I was complaining. The party was in full swing, the hotel had done a great job, they had put up a marquee in the garden, decorated with ribbons and flowers and open at the sides to let in the balmy night air. We'd held a simple ceremony earlier in the day. Serge and I, with just close family and friends, had gone to Hyde Park. Standing beneath two ancient, entwined trees, we had exchanged rings and made simple vows to each other. And now my lover -- my husband -- was dancing in my arms. "Serge." I whispered to him. "Stay with me." He smiled back at me. "Always." I hope you enjoyed this little story. I'd love to hear your comments. Ben benzedrine_bedlam@yahoo.co.uk