Island Summer - Part 3
by Jack Rowan Jack_Rowan@hotmail.com
For people, places and things mentioned in this part, please see the
end. Further notes about the story appear at the end of part 8.
Copyright information is at the start of part 1.
Stories by Jack Rowan: http://members.xoom.com/jack_rowan
|TRUST ME! The whole story has been written and will be posted here as quickly as I can. Comments will be very gratefully received by Jack_Rowan@hotmail.com Most authors like to receive comments. It's the only way we know that anyone is even reading the stories, and it's all the payoff we get.|
We went back to our house, my mother resting her hand on my shoulder.
"Trying out the Welsh?"
"Yes. It's still okay, what's more."
"Good for you. I must say, Kip, you have excellent taste."
"Adam. He's gorgeous. If I were only twenty-five years younger..."
My father gave a hoot of laughter. Of course, he had told her; I'd expected it. They were a total team.
"You have a chat with your dad. I'm going to get my head down." She kissed me. "Good luck, son."
We got chilled water, and went out to the back. It was blindingly hot now, and we positioned our chairs carefully in the shade.
"Well? How are you getting along?"
I looked at him.
"I'm - I'm honestly not sure. Well, I think. We met Pere and went to his house, and Adam really liked it. But - I felt at sea. I don't know what to do next. Fuck, I feel so nervous!"
"Is he gay?"
"I'm almost sure he is."
"His father is. He's quite an important person; the chairman of British Automated Industries. It's well-known that he's gay, although it's never spoken of, of course."
"Adam's twenty-three. Peggy told me. He's a student at Imperial."
"A scientist, then."
"Yes, I suppose so," I said. "You know, I didn't expect someone older."
"He's probably more experienced than you."
"That wouldn't be hard, would it? I'm - well, I'm a total virgin."
I blushed, and to my surprise I saw my father's eyes soften.
"Kip, I love you so much, you know that?"
His hand reached across the table and held mine.
"Does it worry you?" he went on. "That maybe he's - been around?"
"No. Actually, exactly the opposite."
"Don't be too worried if you don't know what to do next."
"Maybe he will. You don't have to do it all. Relax a bit."
"That's what he said."
He stood and stretched.
"Then mark his words. I'm going for a snooze, kid. See you later."
I stood too, and he hugged me.
"The best time of your life, Kip. Enjoy it."
We stepped out into the evening, Adam and me. The others had decided to go to a restaurant in the north, leaving us to spend the evening in the village.
I supposed it was a kind of date, but I felt suddenly quite at ease. This was my territory, I was at home, and the excitement was beginning to infect me. People were putting up bunting, flags and lights, the cars had been cleared away, and visitors from the other villages and towns were arriving to spend the weekend. Sant Pau was getting ready for its fiesta.
"First thing," I said, "A drink!"
We dived into a bar. The atmosphere was lively and happy, but still not wild.
"What's the local hooch?"
"Gin. Neat gin." He made a face. "Not English gin - Island gin. It's quite different. Want to try?"
"Yeah, why not."
I got two gins for us.
"What do I do? Down it one?"
"Two gulps is usual."
I drank and so did he, and winced.
"God, Kip, that's vile. You drink this stuff?"
I laughed at him. "You get used to it."
"Let's go outside," said Adam. "It's far too hot in here."
We went outside and found a table, and a moment later Pere appeared and sat down with us.
"The work's all finished! And now it's fiesta, fiesta!"
He laughed, and we laughed along with him. His excitement was infectious.
"Come on! Come with me!"
He plunged into the crowd, and we followed him, through the square, down a small street and into a house.
A tiny young woman appeared, very pretty, tanned and with fair hair.
"You again!" she said in French. "What do you want?"
"Translate, translate, Kip. Tell her to come with us. We'll show her the village!"
"What? Who is she?"
"I met her in a shop. She'd be perfect for Pablo! Come on, tell her."
"I'm Kip," I started. "These are my friends, Pere and Adam. Pere wants to show you the village! Don't worry, he's - he's engaged."
"Is he? What a shame!"
"But he has a friend," I said with a smile. "And he isn't engaged."
She looked at me strangely.
"Oh, why not! It's holiday time. Come on then, my friends! Lead the way!"
Pere sometimes had these mad spells. I loved them. In a moment we were charging off to another bar, and there, sure enough, we met Pablo. Then I was interpreting for Francine and him, and behind I could hear Pere roaring with laughter, shouting and joking with Adam.
Someone suggested some food, and we were off again, down to the other square where stalls had been set up, and we got pinchos and rolls and beer, and ate, sitting uncomfortably on a wall. Then it was off to look at the stalls and sideshows, and then to another bar, and we sat outside round a huge table. Gradually they came to join us, Bisbe, Maria, Joan and Cion, all our friends.
"They must be German," said Pablo after a while, pointing to a couple on the next table.
"No, no, they're English for sure," shouted Pere. "Excuse me, sir?" He turned to them. "Are you English?"
"German!" the man said with a smile.
"Yes!" yelled Pablo, and the couple laughed. So they joined us too.
We were all fairly excited by now, and the conversation became extravagant and wild. For me, it was a situation I loved; buried and drowned in language, grasping after it, manipulating it, living it. German was the weakest of my languages, but I was beyond caring. I was drunk with talk, and the evening passed before I knew it.
I realised that Adam was speaking in Spanish, easily good enough to keep a simple conversation going. I smiled at him, ridiculously proud of his achievement.
"Marieta will be here tomorrow, Tofol," said Cion. "See you behave yourself!"
"Who's Marieta?" said Adam.
"Pere's cousin. They're always trying to fix me up with her." I blushed.
He smiled, and I felt rather irritated with him.
"We're old friends. I've known her since we were tiny, but - but that's it."
"Don't be annoyed." He smiled at me, and I felt watery inside. "I'm enjoying finding out about you. You're quite a revelation..."
"Time to go!" said Pere suddenly. "Time for bed! Lots of fiesta tomorrow."
Adam looked at me, and I could see he was exhausted.
"Yes. We'll come with you."
The three of us wandered back through the village, still brightly lit, but quiet now, and cool. Clouds of moths danced around the lights. Our voices echoed and the sound of our feet rang around us.
"Wonderful, wonderful..." said Pere loudly in English, wandering from side to side of the street. "Fiesta time in our village... Hey, Adam. Do you like it here?"
"Be a good friend to Kip. He needs English friends. Do you agree?"
"You're a wise man, Pere."
"I'm a drunk man. See you tomorrow."
Adam and I walked back towards our houses, and for a while we were silent. Then he laughed.
"You speak five languages."
"Well, yes. So what?"
He laughed at me, uproariously, and I couldn't help smiling.
"You've been interpreting in five languages for hours, and it doesn't even seem odd to you!"
"No. Should it?"
He laughed again.
"Hush! You'll wake everyone up!" We were in front of our houses now. "Look! The others are back."
"My dad and Peggy will be asleep. Come inside, Mr Interpreter, just for a moment. There's something I want to do."
We tiptoed through the door. The light in the entrance hall was on, but the stairs were dark, the house silent.
"You're confused by me, aren't you?" he said quietly. "By us. It's confusing."
"Yes," I whispered.
"I don't want that. I'm going to take a risk, and show you what's going on."
He leant down and gently kissed me on the lips. I stood, my arms by my sides, astonished.
I couldn't let him think he had made a mistake.
"Do it again."
He did, and I flung my arms round him, and hugged him to me. Our mouths opened just a bit, I could feel the strength of his body, so much larger than mine, one of his hands on my back, the other behind my head, holding me firmly, and his dick, hard and straight, crushed between us. The rightness, the perfection of the moment overwhelmed me.
He let me go, and I fell back, gasping, staring. He was smiling at me, and his eyes were sparkling.
"Good night, little Kip. Till tomorrow."
Not knowing what to say, I left.
Outside, something welled up in me like a fountain, and I started to run. I ran wildly through the squares, round the church, through the streets and home again, running with my head back, my heart pounding; and as I ran, all the horrors of the year at school drained away. I was free.
I stepped into our house. My parents were out on the patio, having a nightcap, and I joined them, breathless.
"Well," I said. "That - was quite an evening."
We were awakened next morning by a blast of trumpets, clarinets and drums. It was half past seven, and the town band were playing the diana right outside our front door. No-one must sleep in today!
Soon we were up and dressed, and my mother sent me on the traditional errand, to get the cake from the baker's, the great curled ensiamada which is breakfast at fiesta time. Filled with the excitement of childhood, I stepped out on to the street, and paused to watch the kids, off on the same errand as me, and the paper bunting fluttering, hissing in the breeze. Elsewhere in the village the diana sounded again, as they made their tour. I sighed with contentment.
The others were coming to breakfast with us, and I could hear them moving around, their voices in the kitchen. Without meaning to, I started listening.
"Adam, honestly. I would have thought that you could do better for yourself than that, that - empty-headed beachboy. Okay, he's cute, but really!"
"That's completely unfair, dad." Adam's voice was annoyed. "Empty headed? To start with, he's got four grade As at A level."
I realised with astonishment that they were talking about me.
"Really? Woodwork and home economics, I suppose. And sociology."
"English literature, History, French and German." He must have been speaking to my parents. "He has a place at UCL. And he speaks five languages fluently."
"Six, actually," said Peggy. "He has Welsh too."
Peter laughed. "I can see I'm out-voted here. Well, just be careful. For God's sake don't go falling for him, that's all."
"What is wrong with you, dad? He's bright, he's beautiful, there's not an unkind thought in his head, everyone in the village loves him, and he makes me happy."
"All right, Adam. God knows you're entitled to that... Well, come on, then! Breakfast awaits!"
I made myself scarce, embarrassed and delighted by what I had heard.
My mother made chocolate in the traditional style, in a great brown earthenware olla, and poured it into blue and white bowls, the bowls I had used with my brother at fiesta time for so many years, and we cut the cake and dunked it, and feasted. And the man I loved, who defended me to his own father, sat opposite me and laughed as I caught his eye. It was a perfect, triumphant moment.
The horses made their cavalcades through the village, and we stood and cheered, Adam and I, with Pere and Bisbe, as Joan made a perfect caragol for us on his uncle's great black horse, hissing to it as it reared and turned. Into the bars, charging through the crowd, the rancid taste of pomada, jostling and shouting and hugging, and then into the packed square and the whole village yelled, as the familiar music started, and the horses came one-by-one to make their display.
And this was our turn, we were in the thick of it now, right up under them, crouching and jumping, swirling and screaming. We had our arms round each other now, now it was permitted, there was pomada in our veins and danger around us, we were dancing, dancing to the wild old tune, we were one with each other, all the village was one together. I looked up and saw my parents and Peter and Peggy on a balcony, and Adam and I yelled till they waved.
Adam gripped my head with both hands and shouted into my face.
"Kip, this is utterly, utterly incredible!"
Knowing it was allowed, I kissed him, hard, and Pere and Bisbe shouted with laughter.
The horses were coming in pairs now, and the crowd surged this way, that way, to make room. We knew the way of it, but Adam did not. He was backed over a pavement edge, and then he was down, the hooves of the horse flailing above him. Bisbe and I grabbed his arms above his head and pulled him clear, and he stood, shocked and panting.
"Shit!" he said. "You saved my fucking life!"
For a moment we stared at each other, and then all four of us burst out laughing.
Then the horses had gone, and we were battered and soaked, soaked with our sweat, sticky and reeking with the sweat of the horses. Gradually the crowd in the square dispersed. Adam and I followed Pere and Bisbe into a bar.
The crowd was still wild and turbulant, but we got our drinks and went outside. People came past, people I knew slightly from other villages, and one by one we greeted them with embraces and kisses on the cheek. This was the fiesta of the village, and today we were hosts to the whole Island.
Evening, and Adam and I were showered and changed, ready with my parents for people to come by. Normally I would have been off into the village, drinking and carousing round the bars, but I felt Adam had had enough of that, and I wanted to stay with him. Soon the main room was full of visitors, coming and going; a huge spread of food and drink provided by my mother and Peggy kept people happy. Adam stuck close to me, occasionally touching my shoulder, and I loved it. My parents were enjoying themselves, joking and shouting in Spanish and the Island speech.
A shout and a swirl of greetings announced the arrival of Pere with his parents. Andreu and Joanna were old friends of my family, and I knew them well.
"Hey, Tofol!" said Andreu, gin in hand. "Are you ready?"
I laughed. "Go on then."
He lifted his finger, and looked at me confidentially.
"The lizard lay on a rock in the south..." He started the old game.
"Eating beetles, hand to mouth," I extemporised.
"He lay every night on the cold hard stone..."
"Worked hard every day and lived all alone."
"He never had a drink, he never had fun..."
"Long live The Dictator! Face To The Sun!"
I finished triumphantly, and Andreu screamed with laughter, embracing me.
"Dammit, if you don't do that better than anyone!"
"What was all that about?" said Adam, after my mother had scooped Andreu up.
"An old game. Capping each others' rhymes. Andreu and I have been doing it for years. Actually," I smiled smugly, "I'm rather good at it."
Pere and Adam both jeered at me. I put my arms round their shoulders.
"Oh, fiesta, fiesta. Thanks for a great day, guys."
Pere looked at me with a strange smile. He spoke in the Island speech.
"My friend, you should take Adam for a walk."
I stared at him, shocked to the core.
"Don't worry, Kip. I said that I'll always be your friend, and I meant it. But it's clear to me. I know you too well."
I looked into his eyes for a long moment, and saw friendship, and a touch of sadness.
"Excuse me," he said in English, "Maria is over there. I'll see you later."
"What was he saying?"
"Come with me."
I took Adam's elbow, and we slipped outside.
"He said we should go for a walk."
"It's traditional this evening. For - for couples." I was blushing now. "Parents turn a blind eye, you know."
Adam's eyes twinkled at me, and I felt weak.
"Well, there's a lot to be said for tradition..."
I decided. My excitement rose, and I smiled at him voraciously.
"This way, then. Come on! Through here."
I led the way down a narrow alleyway. Soon the lights stopped, and we were in darkness. I knew my way. There must have been dozens of couples out here in the darkness round the village, but I had a destination in mind.
"Catch my hand."
We fumbled, and then we were holding hands like children. I marvelled at how small my hand was; it was lost in his. The darkness closed round us like a blanket. We passed along a little path and climbed back to the road.
"Where are we?"
"On the road to the beach. Come on."
I wanted to get to my rock, the rock in the field. I wanted it to be there. The lights of the village were hidden now by the shoulder of the hill, and we walked along the side of the road, lit only by starlight, warm and magical.
"Hush. Don't talk. Not now."
We walked in silence, hand in hand, the cicadas singing around us. I wasn't thinking; I had forgotten myself, I was entirely in the moment.
"Here. Cross the ditch. Careful! Feel the wall..."
We climbed over it, and walked through the field, the stubble scratching along our shoes.
"This is it. Climb up."
He clambered onto the rock beside me, and we lay, side by side on our backs.
"My God!" he said. "Just look at the stars!"
Nothing in England prepares you for this; the whole sky alight with them, the vast band of the Milky Way stretching nearly overhead, every point brittle and distinct. And it was deep, you could feel the vast distances, the aching emptiness between the points, their slow eternal movement. You seem ready to fall upwards, to tumble through them, on and on, for endless ages, out into nowhere. We lay, hand in hand, and let the stars take us. Far away down the valley I heard the note of the tiny Island owl, one single clear note among the cicadas, and ten seconds later again, echoing off walls and fields and rocks, the ghost of the Island night.
I gripped his hand frantically, desperately wanting him to do something, to touch me. I depended on him. I couldn't move. I waited, terrified, in the warm friendly night.
Then I saw his shadow move across the stars, and his lips touched mine, and I sighed.
"Kip," he breathed. "I want to take all your clothes off. All of them."
I held my arms above my head, and slowly he stripped me. I scarcely had to move.
"Naked," he whispered. "Naked beneath the stars."
I felt it. I was incredibly aroused, almost ready to come, and the whole universe was gazing down on me, and loving me. I rejoiced.
"Oh, touch me, Adam, please!"
He was stripping himself too, now, but I could see only his shadow, the moving shadow of his body and arms and legs, the space around and between them. And then he touched me, his hand touched my forehead and ran over my face and mouth, and then he kissed me again; I could see the stars through his hair, and I felt his body against mine. His hands slid over me, over my nipples and my legs and my belly, along my arms and down my legs, and I felt and understood every cell, every single atom of my body, shrieking at me their delight as I stared up into the heavens.
I felt him kiss my belly, and then, incredibly, my dick was in his mouth. Nothing prepared me for the intensity of the feeling, but he was remorseless. He sucked me into him; it took only two or three strokes, and I threw back my head and screamed as I came. I convulsed and shot and shot and shot, his hands grasped my hips, and I felt his mouth consume me and swallow me.
"My God!" he said, as my mind returned to me, "You were ready for that!"
"Oh Adam, I've never..."
"Hush, I know. Here. Put your head on my arm."
I did, and cuddled into him, needing his touch, his companionship. And all the time the galaxy looked down on us, unwavering.
We lay for a while in silence, and then I started to giggle.
"Out under the stars..."
"Beautiful. You're so beautiful, Kip."
I leant up on an arm.
"So... so are you. Now..."
I leant over and kissed him. I felt suddenly freed, and I opened my mouth wide, let his tongue enter me. We kissed for a long while, and my hands ran over his chest, his nipples, and lower. I knelt between his legs, and with both hands took his dick, still as hard as ever. His body lay before me, silver in the starlight.
"My turn. My turn..."
"Kip, you needn't..."
"Sod that. I want you."
I leant forward and licked him, completely wrapped up in what I was doing. I slowly stroked him as my mouth enveloped his head. There was just the sweet slickness of his precome, no other taste at all, but the shape, the weight enchanted me. I caressed him with my tongue and let him slide back, and he gave a groan. I felt the hard shape on my tongue, running over the roof of my mouth; he was big, much bigger than me, and I couldn't take more than half. Just like me, it took only a few strokes, going deeper and deeper, and then he jerked and bucked and came, flooding me. I swallowed him, my whole body shook and without touching myself I came again, spraying all over him, his chest and face.
I collapsed on his body and his arms wrapped round me. We lay for a long time, the clear, flat notes of the owl telling the moments.
"This was your first time?"
"Yes. Wasn't I any good?"
"Oh, Kip, you lovely boy, that wasn't what I meant. I am just so proud..."
I hugged him.
"We must do this every day," I said. "Twice a day. All the time."
"The virgin awakes?"
"But next time we do it in bed. This rock's all very well..."
"Yes, but what will your parents think?"
"Oh, they won't mind. They know all about it. How about your father?"
"He's gay himself. And Peggy knows everything about me."
"Let's go back. I'm cold."
He wiped the stickiness off us with his handkerchief, and we blundered into our clothes, giggling as we searched for them in the darkness. Then we walked back along the road, hand-in-hand.
"What is that? Is it a bird?"
"It's an owl. A little owl. Listen - there's another one, further away."
"I don't think I'll ever forget that sound."
"Sleep with me tonight."
He thought for a moment.
"I don't think so," he said. "I think you'll need a bit of time alone. I'm beginning to understand you."
I thought, and he was right. I squeezed his hand.
"Also - also I like your parents. I don't want to start by sneaking around the house with them asleep. I want them to know."
And that was right, too, very right. I relaxed against him.
"You're right. I... This is all new to me, you know? You'll have to tell me what to do, because you know, don't you? I trust you."
He was silent for a while, and then I realised he was crying.
"What's the matter?" I was alarmed.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just happy, that's all." He hugged me. "It hasn't been good for me for a while. But now... What you said..."
"Oh Kip. Confessions tomorrow? In the sunlight?"
We were back under the lights now, and I looked at him and laughed. His hair was tousled, his shirt creased and torn and patched with dampness.
"My God! You're a sight! And you... you smell of come!"
I exulted. "You're mine! Marked..."
"You're mad. People will see!"
He let go of my hand.
"They're all in bed. Anyhow, who cares?"
"You need to think about that. This place..."
I knew what he meant, but I couldn't deal with it now.
"Come on, then. Let's run for it!"
And we ran, up the long winding street which used to be named after The Dictator, ran past the quiet, sleeping houses, their green shutters across, and the bars and shops, ran under the fiesta bunting and flags, through the church square and home.
I hugged him, panting.
"My first time..."
He stroked my nose with his finger.
"You lovely, enchanting man," he whispered.
We kissed. I didn't want to let go of him.
"Sleep well, little Kip."
I stepped into our house.
The mess from the evening had been cleared away, and only a single light shone in the main room, over the sofa where my mother sat, reading a book.
"Oh Kip, dear, there you are."
"Yes. Here I am."
"Come and sit for a moment."
I got some chilled water and sat opposite her. She looked at me and started to giggle.
"You're a complete mess," she said.
I just smiled.
"There's a certain look," she said. "And you've got it. If I stroked you, you'd start purring."
"Was it good? Did he make you feel good?"
I was blushing, but I couldn't help telling her.
"It was wonderful. I never guessed..."
"None of your business, nosey one."
She looked at me with narrowed eyes.
"There's... come on your chin, dear."
I wiped it off hurriedly.
"So. Enough to matter, but not enough to hurt, eh?"
She was enjoying tormenting me.
"Mother, you're impossible."
"Come and sit here."
She patted the sofa. I slid in beside her and rested my head on her shoulder.
"Out under the stars..."
We sat for while, saying nothing.
"You aren't sad, are you, mum?"
"Not sad, exactly. Kids. You work for them, you fret over them, not an hour goes by without you thinking about them. It's the centre of your life, and then one day you realise - it's over. You feel happy, and sad as well. Mission accomplished, I guess."
"I still need you. So does Richard, even with Wendy and Ellen. He told me so."
"Yes, I know. But it isn't the same."
"Joan said to me: Things change, and we must prepare ourselves for it."
"Yes. Well, I am prepared for it, but it doesn't completely help." She sighed. "You and Adam. That'll change a lot of things too. Are you prepared for that?"
"That's what Adam said."
"It's not entirely easy being - gay. Not anywhere. And not here."
"But you and dad support me. I don't suppose many gay kids can say that. That's part of why I still need you. I'm very lucky."
"Thank you, Kip. You can always say the right thing."
I hugged her.
"I like Adam. I think he'll be good for you. He's tougher than you, in a way, isn't he? More resilient."
"You need some of that, Kip... Well. Let's get some sleep. Early start tomorrow."
We stood, and hugged for a long time.
"Bona nit, mumare."
"Que dormis bé, mon fiet."
I went to bed, entirely happy. It had been the best day of my life.
|People, Places and Things|
|Eileen Branford||his mother|
|Max Branford||his father|
|Richard Branford||his brother|
|Ellen||Richard and Wendy's daughter|
|Peter Yardley||his father|
|Peggy Jenkins||their housekeeper|
|Pere (Pedro)||PAIR-uh||Kip's best friend|
|Maria d'es Forn||Pere's girlfriend|
|Miquel (Miguel) el Bisbe||BEEZ-buh||friend of Kip|
|Pablo||friend of Kip|
|Joan (Juan) de Na Cion||Joo-AHN||friend of Kip|
|Cion (Asuncion)||SEE-awn||fiancee of Joan|
|Marieta||cousin of Pere and Maria|
|Andreu||Uhn-DREH-oo||father of Pere|
|Joanna||Joo-AHN-uh||mother of Pere|
|The Dictator||a dictator (now dead)|
|Sant Pau||Sahnt POW||St. Paul; the village|
also called San Pablo (Spanish name)
|caragol||cuh-ruh-GAWL||horse manoeuvre of the fiesta|
|ensiamada||uhn-see-uh-MAH-dhuh||a kind of cake|
|olla||AW-lyuh||a brown earthenware pot|
|pincho||(Spanish) pieces of meat, etc, cooked|
on a skewer
|pomada||poo-MAH-dhuh||a mixture of gin and lemonade|
|Bona nit, mumare||Goodnight, mum|
|Que dormis bé, mon fiet||Sleep well, my son|
|Jack Rowan Jack_Rowan@hotmail.com|