Date: Fri, 22 Jan 2021 14:01:29 +0000 (GMT) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line - Chapter 117 Last of the Line by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html NOTE to the reader: "Peter Brown" aka badboi666 is, as you might guess, not in the first flush of youth: indeed he is well into the you'll-die-if-you-get-this-fucking-thing age cohort (and, happily, in the you'll-get-a-vaccination-pretty-soon one). It was his habit in all his stories published here to be two or three chapters ahead of publication, but right now, thanks to Santa Claus and other elderly fantasists, there's nothing in the pipeline. If he gets a nasty cough and a temperature he will post a synopsis of what is still to come. Then, if he snuffs it, you can at least have some idea of what befell Dab in the end. =============================================================================== Chapter 117 Hamish was almost as excited by the sleeper as he was by the prospect of being back in Lairg for a few days. It was easy to forget that until he had helped us carry the groceries that day he'd been a teenager from a village over an hour from the nearest big town. The change in him over a few months was astonishing, and his love for Jack had led to maturity so quickly. It was nice, then, that the small boy in him could still be awakened by something simple like a journey in a train. We'd booked a double for Billy and me with him in the next berth, so he had the little room to himself. Billy and I had quietly agreed (without telling him) that Billy would take the single berth on the way home. The van was in Lairg, so I'd fixed a hire car in Inverness, and we were in Inverthrum by 11. I'd stopped in Dingwall to get the few supplied we'd need as I didn't want to go into the shop in Lairg - there was too much risk of running into Rose before we met them all for dinner, and having to tell Rob all the things we'd told Rose. Billy agreed to see Ruaridh about getting food in for lunch the next day - something suitable for an old man whose appetite, so Hamish told us, was enormous. We took our stuff in and I left Hamish to get on with his homework while I sorted things out. Billy took the car down to Ruaridh's. I put the food away and went upstairs with our case - clothes, washing things and little else. I put the central heating on full blast, though it wasn't all that cold. I knew we'd be spending time wet and naked up there, and by 10 tonight it would be hot enough. You can't see the grounds from that room, so I went into one of the smaller bedrooms to see what Hamish was up to. He was down on his knees peering closely at something, but I couldn't see what it was. I left him to it. For the first time for ages I was alone in my house. So many hours of sexual pleasure had happened in that room upstairs - Bertie, Ace, his Jack, the two boys - what were their names? they'd be old men now, 80 and more - and now Billy, Hamish, his Jack ... and me. I was so lucky, I thought. My reverie was interrupted by Hamish stamping his feet in the kitchen. "God! it's cold." It wasn't all that cold, as I've said, but a few months away from Sutherland had made Hamish feel it keenly. "I've put the heating on, so it'll be warm by tonight." "I think I'll need a big cuddle long before then, Dab." I obliged: he's a nice cuddlee. He broke free after a minute or two. "That was nice. I must write stuff down for Hester while I remember," and he sat himself at the table and began to write. You read that parents smile fondly while their children busy themselves with serious things like writing am essay: I felt exactly the same, even though I was only six years Hamish's senior. Billy came back with news. Ruaridh knew Hamish's grandfather well, and said he would be happy to help. He'd suggested that Flora would like to come in the forenoon and do the cooking. Billy had to tell me what a forenoon was - obvious really. "What do you think?" I asked him. "I think you should accept. We'll get a nicer meal than if I cooked it, and I think it's important that we involve ourselves as much as we can in the village. My guess is that Flora Gillespie is one of the women who knows everything, and if she knows us and likes us then so will the rest of Lairg." Hamish heard all this while still busy. His only comment was "you're right about the gossip. She's a good soul though, and if Stewart's anything to go by she can conjure up something for the four of us in no time." Stewart, I recalled, was her 13-stone son. I said I would go down in the afternoon to accept the offer and agree terms. ***** Dinner that evening was fun. Hamish was at pains to show his parents how much he had learned, and how much he was enjoying his land-service training. Rob quizzed him in some detail about what he did and how he got on with his boss, and I had some difficulty in keeping my mouth shut. Rose smiled happily: her boy was doing well, it seemed, and his boss liked him (though she didn't know how, or how much), and here he was - home again for a day or two and ... surely, an inch or two taller. Happy Rose. Happy Hamish. I asked about the old man - he never appeared at these meals. I remembered that Hamish had described his grandad talking about ships in Loch Eriboll during the War, and I wanted to ask him about it. "He's out on Tuesdays - he and his pals play dominoes till all hours. They gamble like idiots - sometimes he comes home crowing that he's won a whole two pounds," said Rose with a smile, "even visitors like you wouldn't stop the weekly orgy. I hope I'm that easy pleased when I'm his age." "Oh, Mum!" said Hamish. "In that case I'm even more glad we'll see him tomorrow," I said, "and he can regale us with his winning strategy." We left as ten approached. Rob was on the early shift, and the bedroom would be warm by now. Hamish had agreed to Billy's suggestion that it would be tactful if he spent Wednesday night with his parents, and the pleasure in Rose's face when he said "can I sleep in my old bed tomorrow, Mum?" was worth seeing. "I'll bring him back with his Grandad," I promised "Will 11 be OK to collect him?" "I'll have him all scrubbed and ready," his daughter said. ***** That night was magic. We had a sling in Uttoxeter, but it wasn't on the same floor as the bedrooms, and while the staff knew perfectly well what went on it was still not wise to parade wet and naked through the house. Here in Inverthrum there were no servants and all the fun things were in the one warm room. "I love this room," said Hamish, "and to think I've spent all my life within two miles of it." It was unusual for us to have a long lie in the morning, but we weren't expecting Ruaridh to arrive with Flora and all the lunch stuff until 10.30 so we enjoyed being warm together long after we would normally have been up and about. Hamish had slept, as you would expect, with Billy and me on either side, and it was my good fortune to have him facing me as I woke. His hands were up to his face like a dormouse and I watched as his face twitched as he dreamed. It would have been cruel to wake him, so I went on watching, fascinated. I saw that Billy, now awake, was watching me watching Hamish. We caught each other's eyes and smiled. Life was good. None of us knew it then, but 2041, now only a few weeks away, would be the last spring and the last summer that would be as we had always known them. Suddenly Hamish was awake, his eyes wide open, fear on his face. "Dab, Jack's been hurt!" he cried. I took him in my arms. "Sssh, you were dreaming, it's all right," and I kissed him. He buried his face in my neck and I felt him shake. Billy wriggled closer and we held the poor boy tight while the terror drained away. Two minutes later he had calmed down. Whatever catastrophe had befallen Jack had faded into nothing. "That was weird," he said, still snuggled into me, "no, it was horrible. But now I can't remember it. I'm glad you cuddled me, Dab." He stooped, there was more to come. I held him, saying nothing. Charlie waited too. "I feel so different now, different from how I felt a year ago. Jack's special, but you two know that. What I mean is that you two are special to me as well. Before I met you if anyone had told me that a man could hold me and comfort me if I had a nightmare I'd have laughed in disbelief. But now ... it seems natural. Does that make sense?" "Of course it does," I said, "that's what family means, and we're your family now, and you're ours." He smiled. "It feels good." While he'd been talking, still in my arms, his cock had hardened - so had mine. "It feels good to me too," he murmured. "Have we time for a fuck?" ***** Over lunch I asked Charlie about the story he had heard from his grandfather about Loch Eriboll being full of ships. "It was the Arctic convoys, Dab. The Russians were on our side then, and they needed all kinds of weapons, tanks, oil, you name it. The only way to get stuff there was in ships round the north of Norway to ports like Murmansk and Archangel. I read it all up when I was a boy after he'd told me about the loch. The snag was that Norway was full of Germans. There was one convoy that lost most of their ships. It was terrible." "But why was Eriboll full of ships, Grandad?" "That was one of the places the convoys gathered before setting off. Loch Ewe in Ross was another. The convoys were merchant ships of all shapes and sizes, many of them on their last legs. The Navy escorted them with destroyers and cruisers and whatnot, but they had to keep together for safety. They waited in lochs a long way from where German spies could report on them, and Eriboll's nothing if it's not remote. And it's a good anchorage too. Long and narrow - just right." Billy got up to clear the plates away and put the coffee on. "Would you like a dram, Charlie?" I said. "That I would, and maybe you'll let the boy have a wee sip. He's old enough, I'm thinking." Hamish looked pleased. Billy brought coffee and I poured the whisky. "Well, you'll be wanting to hear about my uncle I expect. That's why I'm here, I think. Slainte." Hamish was quick off the mark. "Slainte, Grandad," and he lifted his glass. Billy and I muttered what we hoped sounded like whatever it was we were expected to say. "When I was 14," he began, "my grandmother died. My father wrote to his brother in England to tell him, and to invite him to the funeral. I had no idea he had a brother - he'd never been mentioned - so it came as a bit of a shock to know I had an uncle. Anyway, two days later he arrives - my uncle Charlie MacKenzie - and with him another man, Patrick something." "Mulloy," I said. "Aye, that's right. Well, I was a shy boy, and two strange men, even if one of them was an uncle, drove me into myself. "I'd not been at a funeral before. It went on for hours, or so it seemed. The men all went to bury my grandmother and my father said I should go with them. In those days women didn't go to the burying - they went back to the house and brewed gallons of tea and buttered hundreds of scones. There might have been whisky too, now that I think of it." His eyes twinkled and I took the hint. "Slainte. Now, the next day I'd begun to get used to Charlie and Patrick, and when Patrick said something like `Charlie, will you show me all your special places' I thought he was talking to me. My uncle Charlie laughed. Anyway the three of us went for a walk into Durness. It's just a wee place, Dab, but there were secret places I liked to go, and Charlie said that he'd explored the same places as a boy. I began to like Patrick and Charlie, especially Patrick, and he made it easy for me to ask all the questions that a 14-year-old boy needs answers to, but can't ask. These two men - they called themselves queer, but I suppose it would be gay nowadays, but they seemed perfectly happy to say queer - answered all my questions." He broke off. "Is this boring to you." "Good heavens, no," I said, "it's fascinating. I'll tell you why when you get to the end of your story." He looked at me. "I may be ancient, Dab, but I've always remembered that day. And I'm not stupid either. I suppose you and Billy are gay too." We nodded, "not just gay, Charlie, but in love, like Patrick and Charlie." He looked at his grandson. Hamish, to his eternal honour, told Charlie that he had a boy-friend too, Jack, "but don't tell Mum and Dad." "I won't, Hamish. I know how real these things are. Patrick asked me if I was wanking and I was embarrassed. He told me not to be, that all boys and men wanked, including my father. That message sank in, I can tell you. He asked me who I thought of when I was wanking, and I told him the truth. Rosie, your grandmother, Hamish. So now you know. I was called Charlie after my father's secret younger brother. He had been on Queen Mary - where he met his Patrick - all through the War. When my grandmother died my father found letters from Charlie to his mother which had never been opened. He must have told her about him and Patrick, but she shunned him. They were a very godly family - so were my parents." I couldn't bring myself to tell him exactly what Patrick and his brother had got up to with my great-grandfather, but I gave him the gist of the story. "They were on Queen Mary before the War as bell-boys, operating lifts and so on. My great-grandfather met them when he was 14 coming home from Canada with his father. They became friends, as 14-year-olds do." He gave me a knowing look. "Aye. So your great-grandfather was pals with my uncle's boy-friend. Small world." He turned to Hamish. "Charlie and Patrick asked me all sorts of questions when I was 14, and I asked them plenty. It's my turn now. Is Jack the black boy that was here?" Hamish nodded. "And you love him, and he loves you?" Hamish nodded. "You're both awful young, but that's a good time to be in love. One day you'll need to tell them, you know. Parents aren't stupid. Don't worry - I won't say a word - but when you find the right moment I'll be on your side. I saw Patrick and Charlie, and how much they meant to each other, and that's something I've never forgotten." A companionable silence fell while we all - Hamish most of all - digested what he'd told us. I'll take you both back," I said, "it'll be dark soon." We got up and Hamish went upstairs to get his things. "Be kind to him," said Charlie. I said that he and Jack were part of the family, and that he need have no fear that Hamish wasn't happy and secure. "He and Jack are very sweet together - Jack's only a little older. He's away at college now." Hamish came bounding down the stairs, a small rucksack in his hand. "Thanks for being good about everything, Grandad." "Och, I was your age once. So was your father, but he isn't old enough to remember yet." I dropped them at the door. "I'll collect you after lunch," I told Hamish. ***** Billy and I had the rest of the day together. We had hardly ever been just the two of us at Inverthrum, and it seemed strange. We sat at the kitchen table where it was warm. Neither of us said anything: we were both replaying what Charlie had said about Hamish. "Isn't it strange," said Billy after a while, "that a married man - well, a widower who was married for donkey's years - is as sympathetic to the idea that his only grandson is queer as Charlie is." I nodded, "strange but nice. I think Rob will be difficult when Hamish gets round to telling him, if he ever does." "Not Rose?" "No. My guess is that she knows - has done for some time. Hamish always glows when he's with Jack, or even when Jack's name is mentioned. A mother will notice, and I think she's not bothered. She knows that Hamish is happy working with us. He's not been drafted into the Army, after all. Having a safe, happy son beats not having grandchildren. Rob's not like that - everything about him is an old-fashioned man's man, like someone from 100 years ago." "Surely they had queers 100 years ago?" "Yes, and they were scorned and thrown in prison." "It's strange, isn't it, that your ancestors were all queer. Maybe being earls kept them out of the nick." "Maybe. I think it more likely that being earls meant that they didn't spend much time with what they would have called `ordinary people'. Look at that club I was taken to after the funeral - not a lot has changed." "When are we going again? It was fun." ***** Jack returned home from college a few days before his 18th birthday, celebrated joyfully by all of us. In fact the next couple of weeks was one prolonged session of eating, drinking and fucking - it was almost as if we sensed that the shit was about to hit the fan. Four young queers can push the boat out a long way if they try. I received a formal summons to appear at the Coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth III in Westminster Abbey on Wednesday 1 May, so I was able to tell Billy that his - our - next visit to Zeke was only four months away. Naturally Jack and Hamish were keen to join us when Billy explained why he was so pleased at the prospect. I had no idea whether Posner was allowed to bring a party, but in a moment of weakness I promised to find out. "I imagine it'll be quite busy, given the occasion. There are one or two other members of the peerage who might wish to attend." I wad invited to fuck myself by Jack. "I'd rather you did." My invitation was accepted later that evening. The pattern of life changed little over the next few months - months which, had the world known it, were to be the last in which life as we had become accustomed to it could be enjoyed. Jack went back to college in January and Hamish moved back into our room again. They zipped each other every day so we were always up to date with Jack's doings. "He's still not doing it with anyone else," Hamish told us about a week after he'd gone, "but we agreed he could if he wanted to." Neither Billy nor I knew knew the correct response to such information, so we said nothing. "Just think of when you get him home at Easter," I said, "it'll go everywhere." "Mmm, sounds fun," said our companion, snuggled between us oldies. As I had never bothered with any of the formal outfit I would be required to wear at the Coronation I sought advice from the Palace official whose offer to assist had accompanied the summons. He directed me to the people who hired out ermine robes and all the other paraphernalia, including my earl's coronet. I gave them my measurements and a fitting was agreed for a date in early March. Billy was going to come with me (though not to the fitting: had I had a Countess she would have been alongside me in the Abbey, but alas, Billy didn't count) and an hour or three in Zeke's company was planned. What wasn't planned was the filthy cold Billy got two days before the fitting. "Bugger," he groaned, "you'll have to manage on your own." I said I would try to be brave. At least it would give me the chance to find out whether the four of us could be accommodated in May. The robes and all the clutter that went with them weighed a ton, and I was relieved to be informed that I was not expected to cart them all home. It was agreed that I would collect everything the day before the Coronation and return it all two days later. My coronet fitted nicely, I was told. Was I confident that I could climb into it all unaided? I said that my valet would no doubt assist. "Give him this - it tells him how to fasten the tricky bits." Given that it would be Billy who would, for one day only, fill the post of valet, and that his main skill was in undoing my articles of apparel, I managed to keep a straight face. Heaven help us on The Day. I went straight to the club. "Posner." The door was opened. As it was lunchtime there were a lot of people - all men, of course - in the bar, but my erstwhile colleague was not among them. Maybe he had his own kit and had no need to hire anything. I fell into conversation with two others roughly my age - a natural thing to do as all the others were the wrong side (many far on the wrong side) of 40. I was invited to join them for lunch. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 118 as the day continues. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================