Date: Sat, 22 Nov 2003 00:11:18 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aladdin's Awakening:  Part 74

Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws
of your country or district please desist.  If you are a bigot or
prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking
literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to
yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.

This is a very long tale.  It unfolds over a good number of years.  What is
true, is true: what is not is otherwise.

			    ALADDIN'S AWAKENING

				    By

				   Joel

				CHAPTER 43

			 My First Sixth Form Year

		       September 1945  - August 1946

				 PART TWO

Then, a combination of things began to have some positive effect on me.

     Towards the end of term we had a match between our First XV and that
of the Catholic School, St Brendan's.  Their school had had an influx of
new pupils over the past couple of years so they were able to field a more
than average team.  Not that many of their lads were big and brawny but
they were wiry and fast.  Pat Halloran was their Captain and I had a great
respect for him - not only because we'd had a couple of sessions together,
but I knew he was a tenacious scrapper as evinced by his boxing prowess.

     So, from the starting whistle we were chased around the field.  Every
time one of us tried to run with the ball at least three of them would be
snapping at our heels.  I thought, fuck this, so, at the next line-out I
caught the ball and set off towards the opposing goal.  Two of their
forwards were in my way.  Head down, I shouldered them off so aggressively
one of them stayed sprawled on the ground.  Another figure approached.  I
was in full flood, I was fearless, indomitable.  I stuck up a hand and
caught the figure full in the face.  As he recoiled back, stunned, I
realised it was Pat.  I stopped two more of their side in their tracks by
the sheer force of barging them and kneeing one very forcibly in the thigh
to the accompaniment of oaths from both of us.

     At last, I was brought down by a concerted tackle by three of them.  I
was livid .  I was incensed.  I was white-hot, incandescent!  I lost the
ball and let fly with both fists within the mass of flailing bodies over
and under me.  I must have caught one of the lads square in the goolies as
there was an agonised groan and his body collapsed on me.  I then received
a none too gentle thump in the same sensitive area.  I jack-knifed, booting
some other poor bugger and my knees connected with soft tissue belonging to
another.  As all this was going on the whistle was being blown continuously
by the large Brother who was refereeing the game.  The mayhem broke up and
I and sundry other battered, bruised and maddened hooligans were lectured
loud and long in a strong Irish accent.  I was blamed, rightly, for the
fracas and a penalty was awarded against us.  Their full-back took it and
got it straight over the bar, winning the game.  I knew I would not be very
popular!

     I realised there was something going wrong with me.  It was if there
were two Jackos.  The old one and this new quite different one.  I'd read
the Stevenson book about Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.  Was I like that?  In the
changing room and showers after the game I was mainly ignored and the usual
banter was subdued.  I felt like shit!

				     *

     Next day I sought out Dick Collins our Captain and apologised about my
behaviour on the field.  He was eighteen, a gentle giant and played a huge
tuba in the local Salvation Army band.  He smiled and said, "You did go a
bit berserk.  Remember, it's just a game.  Enjoy yourself.  We can always
win without having a rough-house."

     I had to wait until Monday before I could say anything to Pat at our
SJAB meeting.  He still had a bit of a bruise on his cheek.  I apologised
to him.  He laughed.  "You young fellahs have got to feel your oats
someway!"  He touched his face.  "I've had worse in the boxing but I get
belted by my own weight there, not by some rampaging ox."  He must have
seen my contrite look.  "Och, I got me own back."  He grinned and stepped
back.  "You've got nice soft parts down there.  Responded to a good tap,
didn't they?  Made you grunt!"

     I had to grin as well.  I'd contemplated all the evil things I would
do to the perpetrator of my sharp discomfort and it was my friend Pat.
"You'd better wear a cast-iron jockstrap next time we play your lot," I
said, "It won't be your face in danger!  And Mr Symes might have to stitch
your parts together!"

     We both laughed.  I felt better.

     A second incident, small in itself, when I nearly lost my rag came
about the same time but the outcome also made me think.  There were four of
us in the Sixth Form Common Room waiting to go off to Van's French
tutorial.  Tony swaggered in and hunted in his locker for his books.
"Wonder what old Matt's doing now," he said, apropos of nothing in
particular, "Walking the plank, swinging from the yard arm, splicing the
cabin-boy's main brace or whatever sailors do, eh?  Huh, Mr Midshipman
Easy, that's Matt, easy come and easy go!  Bet it won't be long before he's
promoted to Rear-Admiral!  Tra-la-la!"

     I was missing Matt.  I was missing Tom.  Both had been good, staunch
friends.  Now, here was fuck-happy Marcham maligning Matt.  I tensed, I was
about to fly off the handle in his defence and give Tony a piece of my
mind.  Who was he to talk?  He'd wanked, sucked and been fucked more times
than....  Before I had a chance to open my mouth Vince said, very quietly,
he'd had a card from Matt, as I'd had as well, saying he was enjoying the
course although it was tough.  My intended outburst was defused.

     A third occurrence was fairly near the end of term.  I was not happy
that I, albeit a junior member of the Prefectural team, had been put on
Gate Duty twice a week.  I fumed to myself thinking it was some bastard
who'd arranged the rota trying to get back at me as I was always, in
previous years, one of the last to arrive, generally just in time to
squeeze through before the Prefect on duty closed the gate. Fuck it, I
thought, if someone thinks I have to pay for the past, then the little
fuckers coming along at the precise moment were going to be in the book,
getting detention.  Not a second over!  It also narked me that I, the
almighty Jacko Thomson, had to be there, beside the gate, book in hand,
well before the main contingent of the school arrived.

     I got quite a reputation over the weeks for booking, and placing in
detention, the late- comers.  No matter how hard they pleaded, if I said
they were late because I'd closed the gate, they were late, final!  They
got an admonition to wake their ideas up and a couple had received
well-aimed kicks on their backsides when they didn't hurry themselves up
getting to the bike-shed.  Two others had received double detentions for
"lewd language" concerning me which I heard clearly as they commiserated
with each other over my strictness.

     This all came to a head after one new lad in the First Year had been
put in detention three times in as many weeks by me, the scourge of
late-comers.  He was a quiet lad and just looked at me resignedly as I
entered his name in the book.  What annoyed me was that he never came up
with some lame excuse.  I had heard them all.  "Had to find the tortoise
and give it some food", "My cycle chain was loose and came off", "Had to
wait while mum ironed my shirt".  Christ!  Why didn't the little buggers
own up and tell the truth, "Please, I'm late 'cause it took longer to toss
off this morning as I'd done it five times last night!"

     As I said, my reputation was growing and what I didn't realise was the
also growing tide of resentment amongst the lower forms who bore the brunt
of my severity.  Then, this particular morning, very near the end of term,
the quiet lad cycled up just as I was about to shut the gate.  The gate
wasn't shut.  I was stymied.  I had to let the idle little bugger in, but I
gave him a real roasting, telling him to wake his ideas up as he was in the
big school now and not at some silly little school where the babies go.  I
told him he was lucky this time and if he was late again it would only be
his fault if he got a double detention and a kick up the backside to help
him remember.

     Naturally, I was even more annoyed as a couple of erring Fifth Formers
cycled in, late, as I was haranguing the child and hadn't closed the gate.
I was smoldering.  At that moment Chris Payne, the Head Boy, who had been
marshalling the rest of the school before their entry to assembly, came
along and stood chatting to the lad.  He must have overheard my rather loud
raving but, instead of also giving the lad a piece of his mind, he was
talking quietly and smiling at the same time.  In the end the lad nodded
and went off, pushing his bike.  I was even more incensed.  Not only had
the child listened to me, he hadn't attempted any backchat so I could have
given him another earful, but now, the Head Boy was talking kindly to him
knowing full well his tardiness.

     We stood together at the gate ostensibly waiting for any other
late-comers.  There were none.  I heard the assembled classes enter the
school.  Chris turned to me.

     "Jacko," he said, very quietly, "Can I tell you a story?"

     Can, may, I thought, but didn't want to make a point.  I nodded.

     "There's this lad," he began, "Who unfortunately is often late for
school.  There is a good reason for it.  His mother was injured in the
Blitz in London and they moved up here.  His mother's in a wheelchair.  The
lad has to help his mother in the morning as well as after school.
Sometimes it's difficult and it takes more time.  He hurries but...."

     He didn't have to go on.  My head drooped.  I was deflated.  I knew
I'd changed.  What I'd always thought had been an easy-going me was now....
Oh, what was I to do?  I had realised that all these changes were also
associated with this last rapid spurt in my growth and development.  My
strivings to reduce my feelings of anger, surliness, moodiness, were only
serving to consolidate them.  My unrelenting running, my uncompromising
weight- lifting, my ferocious wank sessions, my need to reduce my tensions
by inflicting hurts on others, even when fucking Tony, or playing rugby,
even ranting at little late-comers, were all part of a pattern which was
taking me over.

     I must have looked abject as Chris then said, just as quietly, "Don't
take it to heart too much.  I know, I've been through it and so have most
others.  You're sixteen like I was two years ago.  You've got authority
now.  Use it wisely.  You've got plenty to offer.  Don't spoil it."

     I'd had a little upsurge of anger when he said he'd been through it
and I was sixteen now.  The anger subsided.

     "Sorry Chris," I said, "It's not me."

     He smiled and nodded.  "I know.  There's sometimes two 'mes', eh?"

     Those few words did wonders.  He was right.  There were two 'mes'.
Jacko, the old Jacko, the growing up Jacko.  Then there was this second
Jacko.  What to call him?  I remembered the quip - Jackoff!  Yes!  The
pounding the pud Jackoff, the angry Jackoff, the bad-tempered Jackoff, the
fuck-nasty Jackoff, the kick-the-butts-of-little-boys Jackoff!!

     Chris looked at me as I stood wrapped in my thoughts.  It was getting
clearer.  I smiled.  "Thanks Chris," I said, all resentment vanished, "I'll
try to be the old Jacko a bit more often."

     He then laughed.  "By the way, I heard from Dick that you do engender
a bit of hero- worship."

     I must have looked a bit astounded, I wondered if I would ever be in
Dick Collins' good books after my lamentable display.  Chris patted me on
the shoulder.  "Don't worry your reputation isn't all too bad.  Dick's
young brother Mark thinks you're the bee's knees!  Keeps saying you don't
half make them work in the training sessions but he's learned a lot and
you've shut that Beckett lad up and he's OK now."

     I thought back to that session of ball-passing training and the way
I'd run the little buggers into the ground, plus the intriguing information
I'd gleaned from their altercation the other side of the partition.  It was
odd because the next Tuesday afternoon, which I wasn't particularly looking
forward too, feeling I was probably wasting my time dinning these skills
into the little so-and-so's, as soon as I appeared on the field the same
six I'd given hell to the week before were all waiting with one of them, I
assumed to be Beckett, grinning on the end of the line and positively
leering at a couple of the smaller lads in the row.  That did not improve
my temper.

     I thought we would have a go at practising a different skill - this
time passing the ball and tackling.  I set them off in three pairs.  The
front runner of the first pair had to pass to his opposite number of the
next pair and the second runner in each pair had to try to tackle him
before he passed the ball.  I told them they were not to be rough but just
to go for their opponent around the knees.  I had paired them off in about
equal weight and height pairs.  After a couple of runs up and down the
field, exchanging members of each pair after the first run, I noticed
Beckett was using his weight to really floor the other lad in his pair.
Oh, better give him a taste of his own medicine, I thought, and said I
would demonstrate a flying tackle.

     I set Beckett running, took a leap and brought him down, still just in
earshot of the other five.  As I got up I grasped a good portion of his
right buttock and said in a stage whisper, "Nice bum you've got Beckett,
more to hold onto than young Collins and a bit meatier than Fishie's, eh?"

     Beckett went bright red.  The other five were in stitches.  They must
have realised I'd overheard the comments the previous week.  I was
mollified somewhat because they had turned up expecting me and they had
joined in wholeheartedly, so I lifted Beckett up and slapped his backside,
gently.  "Mustn't damage it too much," I said winking at the others who
were watching closely.  I then said to Beckett "You're doing well and I bet
this group'll be in the First XV when you're needed.  Come on, better get
you ready for the great call!"

     The response the rest of the afternoon was phenomenal.  Any angry
feelings on my part were dissipated completely and towards the end I
grabbed the ball as it was being passed and was tackled jointly by Beckett
and Collins.  Hunh, as I lay flat out there was a significant pause as
neither let go of my legs.  In fact, one clammy paw was rubbed up and down
the back of my hairy thigh.  I lurched up and bent down to retrieve the
ball.  As I did so I felt three hearty smacks on my bum.  Christ Almighty!
I turned to find three lads, Beckett, Collins Junior and Fisher - alias
Fishie - standing in a row looking as if butter wouldn't melt in their
mouths.  Behind them, at a respectful distance, the other three stood,
Clowes, Hunter and the gravelly voiced Hawks, grinning their heads off.
Honours were even.

     Apart from the good outcome of the training sessions, as the next week
there were nine of them lined up waiting, I had to find out more about
myself.  The bodily changes over the summer had been so marked.  My sudden
growth in height, my emerging facial hair and my hairy legs and the now
considerable tufts under my arms.  I had been ribbed a couple of times when
changing into shorts before games about my dark tan - 'chocolate soldier' -
and I had noted the appraisal of the dense undergrowth now on my thighs and
shins without these attributes being commented on. As you don't mention
deficiencies and differences so these other things are private, only to be
mentioned between friends, only at the proper time.  Being black-haired the
increase in hirsuteness was that much more noticeable and I think I was
getting near to beating Matt in the hairy-legged stakes.  Naturally, with
my now quite substantial genitalia, as I compared my equipment with my
fellow players after every game, I was not averse to sauntering into the
showers showing off all I possessed.  I suppose I was rather vain as well!

     Of course, I reasoned, I could ask Nobbo and Cleggy our resident
Biological founts of knowledge!  I'd heard Benno Crabbe, who was also
taking Biology for Higher School Cert, saying he was amazed at the stuff
they knew already, much more than him and the others - and I knew he was no
slouch.  He had commented that they'd said they had spent the summer
reading through more of Dr Clegg's medical books, too.

     So, with a little trepidation, I wandered along to the Biology Lab
after school one afternoon a few days after Chris had spoken to me, in fact
it was the last week of term.  I knew they would most likely be there and
they were, no one else around.

     Actually, I was also rather concerned about something else.  I'd
noticed, over the last month or so, that despite shedding two or three
loads of my boycream every day, that even when my cock was flaccid and
tucked into my pants, there was often a bit of spunk which oozed out during
the day.  I knew it was spunk.  I had tasted it and had no doubt.  In fact,
some days there seemed to be more than others and it came out of its own
accord.  No stimulation - OK, plenty of thoughts during the day but this
dribbling happened even when I didn't have a hardon.  I had noticed it last
the evening before, because, when I went to pee after working on maths
problems, there was a sticky residue around my cock-head.

     Both of them greeted me jovially.  Neither had played in the game
against the Catholic school and so hadn't witnessed that last humiliating
performance of mine.  I watched as Nobbo prepared a slide of something or
other and had put the two books I was carrying down on the bench as I
watched.  Cleggy came out of the storeroom with some piece of apparatus,
plonked it down and picked up the two books.  Nobbo straightened up as he
finished his task and did a thumb's-up sign to Cleggy.

     "OK, is it?" asked Cleggy, then peered at the spines of my books
again.
  "Crikey, Nobbo, trust Jacko to study Ball's Ache and Mo Pissing!  Just
look.  Dirty beast!"

     I grabbed the books back as he waved them around.  I controlled my
temper.  My temper?  Why was I feeling angry with Cleggy?

     "Just for your information you scientific Philistine, that's Balzac,"
I said, emphasizing the 'Bal'.  "And this one is by Maupassant.  Listen
carefully, Maupassant!"  I did my best French accent.

     Cleggy just grinned.  "I like Ball's Ache better, suits you!"

     I wrinkled my nose at him and turned to Nobbo.

     "May I ask you a personal question as I don't think Louis Past Your
Eye's Milk here would know or be able to give me a sensible answer?"  I
emphasized the old schoolboy joke.

     It was Nobbo's turn to grin.  "Ask on, old love," he said.  He had
been affecting a broad Northern accent with Northern endearments for a few
weeks - we were all love, or duck - of course, Wilfred Pickles on the
wireless was a cause!

     Cleggy came over and looked quite solemn.  I think he sensed I was
serious about something.  The young doctor's bedside manner was beginning
to show itself!  We sat at the end of a bench on three lab stools and I
went through the whole story of how I'd grown so quickly, especially since
Easter.  Nobbo laughed and said what about him.  His mother called him
'Bean-pole' now and he was taller than Billy.  I said about the growth of
hair and they nodded and Cleggy said he was envious of my hairy legs, even
if I did look like something that had crawled out of the plughole in the
bath.  Huh.  Bedside manner?  I gave him a less than playful poke in the
thigh for that.

     I then went on to describe my feelings of anger and how I had to try
to resolve feelings by forcing myself to limits.  I described my runs and
the weight-lifting.  As I knew the pair of them so well, I did confess that
I pounded my pud with the same ardour that I pounded the streets of
Kerslake.  I didn't mention I'd had the heights of pleasure pounding Tony's
arse both at the beginning of term and on our visit to Kerslake at half
term.  I was in full confessional flow when I noticed they were looking at
each other and nodding sagely.

     "Christ, Jacko!" blurted out Cleggy, "What d'you think's happening to
us?  Sod all?  You're not the only one.  Mum threatens me all the time
because of my bad temper at home and that all I do is grunt and slam doors!
You name it, I do it!"  He grinned, "Perhaps I don't flog it so violently
as you describe but..." he paused, "...I leave that to your imagination."
He made rapid wanking movements.  "Actually," he smiled, "I asked Geoff
about what was happening to me.  Only time he's useful is when I'm in
trouble!"

     Nobbo tapped me on the arm.  "It's your hormones, lad, that's what
Geoff told him," he said quietly, "It's all those little chemical
messengers swimming around in your blood stream, making your willy rise as
well as your temper and making you hairier than a coconut."  He laughed.
"Not that I've seen a coconut since before the war!  And, you know, lad,
it's a 'reet booger' ain't it?  I feel like bashing young Hal to a pulp
some days and I can see why Billy used to get shirty with me.  It's our
hormones, we're growing boys, that's what it is!"

     They sat and grinned at me.  I had no idea they had experienced
anything like me.  I thought I was the only person in the world to feel
like it.  I had plenty to think about.  Chris had said he'd 'been through
it' and now these two were telling me the same.  I had to get this sorted
out.  I was rather in turmoil by now, trying to equate hormones with growth
and feelings.  Ah, but I had another problem!

     All I could do was wail, "And my dick keeps dripping spunk!"

     Both burst into peals of laughter.  Like the Dear Old Queen, I was not
amused!  I glared at both of them.  Cleggy looked at Nobbo.

     "I think Dr Clarke may be able to help!"

     Nobbo stifled his giggles.  "You're lucky mate.  We've been reading up
all about pubertal development in one of his dad's books.  Did you know
that's what it's called, all about little boys growing up, just like us?"
He waited a moment while I took this in and nodded my assent.  'Pubertal' -
interesting word!  He grinned and cocked his head to one side.  "In fact,
you're lucky, you've got what is described as 'an excess of sperm'.  Now,
what's its name?"  He turned to Cleggy.  "Tip of my tongue."  He grimaced.
"Yes, it's like diarrhoea...," He laughed, "....except it's spermatorrhoea.
It's just that you make too much and it has to go somewhere."  He looked at
me through squinty eyes.  "Think of it as a daytime wet dream!"

     That diffused everything.  I felt a great sense of relief as we three
burst into laughter.  Over the next ten minutes I learned I wasn't to
worry.  My 'seminal discharge' would probably disappear as soon as my
hormones settled.  And, bonus of all bonuses, I was no different from any
other growing boy - perhaps just a bit more under the influence, as
whatever was pouring out of my glands was in excess, or a bit more potent,
than, perhaps some other lads.

     Cleggy was lucky.  He was able to ask his brother Geoff and both he
and Nobbo could read the medical books.  I had no brother - I just had my
feelings.

     I felt so relieved as I cycled home that afternoon.  I went into the
front room and practised the piano and I was still playing when Ma and Pa
came home.  Pa said nothing but Ma did remark how well I was playing now
and it was a pleasure to listen to me.  I smiled inwardly and resolved to
try to constrain myself.  It might not be easy but at least I now had
reasons for how I felt.  I would try.  In any case my two friends, Matt and
Tom would be home for Christmas and I couldn't show signs of anger or
resentment towards them.

     I tried hard and I think I succeeded.  Pa spent a lot of time with me
on several evenings after school finished going through some of the harder
problems I was tackling.  I actually initiated more conversations with Ma
in French or German and tried to tone down my furious sessions with the
weights.  I also tried to moderate my wanking sessions and not make them so
violent and really enjoyed what I was doing more and more.  That is, I
relished seeing my cum spurt even more after a much slower but more
exquisite wank.

     I had plenty to think about in any case.  This last term had been very
busy and I sat and reviewed the last few months as dispassionately as I
could one morning.  I actually made some notes to remind me of plus and
minus aspects.  A great plus was that I'd received a card from the two boys
for my birthday and Andrew had added, probably without Lachs knowing, that
Lachlan was now Head Boy and was also second-in-command of the Officer
Cadet Corps.  So, that's what Cartwright had meant when he said to Lachs he
would need more help and gifted him with Milverton as a second fag....

     Another plus on my birthday was that Pa and Ma had bought me a new
watch, a real Swiss one.  It must have cost a bomb!  They said it was both
for my birthday and because I had shared, with Tim Parker, the Rotary Prize
for highest marks in the Matric exams.  For once I had beaten Tony.  It
wasn't just that Tim and I had taken a further subject each, Music for him
and German for me, but our aggregate marks averaged out were equal, two
points higher than Tony's.  The twenty-five pounds in book tokens divided
between us were presented to us by the old Colonel.  I waited to hear his
usual faux pas and was not disappointed.  He praised all the brave boys in
the services for winning the war for the benefit of the nation and said if
it wasn't for all those upright young men, the Empire would have come to a
sticky end, with the Jerries subjecting our young men and women, to bow the
knee and kiss the feet of the now defeated Nazis and what other unspeakable
horrors might they force upon boys, such as these, indicating a now
blushing Tim and me, if they had the whip hand and subjected us to their
depraved and sadistic ways.  The old boy was getting quite worked up and in
a brief pause in his rant Dr Morris stepped forward to thank him for his
stirring words.  Stirring!  I know Tim and I were often upright but I would
love to have known what unspeakable horrors he envisaged being perpetrated
on us while we bent our knees, especially with the whip!

     I must say Tony wasn't miffed at all.  He'd done very well and had the
next highest average.  He had arranged for us to go over to Ulvescott at
half-term.  This was memorable and a great plus as being relatively
peaceful for me, in between pleasuring Tony with large- scale insertions of
Jacko's engorged shaft and the expenditure of copious amounts of Jacko's
exceptional boycream.  No, I knew I was being cruel thinking of it in that
way.  Ma and Pa said nothing when I announced Tony had got me another
invitation.  Anyway, Pa was very busy and Ma was immersed in writing
another book so I supposed there was an advantage for them not to have
their surly son around for a few days.

     Tony and I and Tim, who was staying in the village to visit Lady Bing,
cycled over on the Friday afternoon - skipping school as none of us had any
tutorials that afternoon.  Tony said we needed the break.  I think we all
did.  Even after six weeks I knew Sixth Form work was no doddle.  Each of
the subjects was being taught at a much higher level of thinking and
conception than up to School Cert.  I was not use to analysing texts at
such depth nor dealing with much more abstruse mathematical concepts.  I
must admit I had been scared wondering if I could cope and this, of course,
made me angrier still.  But I was finding all this new material so, so
fascinating.  Some of the new concepts in maths were a bit hair-raising at
first glance but I was determined I wouldn't be beaten.  I suppose my anger
helped.

     On the ride I found the other two were in the same boat.  Tony said
his English studies were more difficult than he had imagined but he was
going to carry on and if accepted would study English at University.  He
was determined that was where he was going and he wanted to specialise in
nineteenth century English Literature.  Tim was so immersed in his Music he
said he was having to struggle with his other two subjects and he hoped I
would help him with any sticky bits of French and, already, he and Tony had
paired up for preparing essays in English.  So there was a plus there as
each of us were struggling in a way and we realised it and were willing to
help each other.

     Thinking more about it, I suppose we seemed a studious lot.  Nobbo and
Cleggy had mapped out what they wanted for their careers.  Benno Crabbe had
also said he intended to try for medical school, but was more of a loner.
Johnny Reed and Alan Foster had said they wouldn't mind teaching - both had
laughed and said there was a steady supply of new material and a pension at
the end!  Johnny Wills had been to the labs to see Pa as he was taking
Physics and Applied Maths as two of his subjects and I knew Pa had advised
him to take a Physics degree if he could.  So, what was little - I, mean
big - Jacko going to do?  I didn't know and that made me tense as well.

     Tim Parker told us he was glad his father had been elected as an MP
for part of Kerslake.  But, and he said, it was a big but, he and his
mother were fed up with the way his father was being harassed by the real
lefties, or as he put it 'the ranting commies', who kept visiting his
father or heckling him at meetings demanding that he should be tougher for
the 'working man' and 'free the people from the yoke of the oppressors'.
Tony laughed and asked what the hell that was and Tim said he didn't have
the foggiest, as far as he was concerned it was some catchphrase.  He
laughed and said he and his mother always had a giggle when they saw one
particular man approaching the house and called him 'the Yoke' as he was
the leader of the ranters and Tim and his mum felt oppressed when he
appeared.

     I said Pa had told us that Uncle Edward had met Tim's dad and he
nodded and said his dad had said he thought my uncle was a good chap
although the pair of them were poles apart on the political scene.

     We parted company as we arrived in Ulvescott, arranging to meet up
some time, no doubt, at Lady Bing's.  Bran, as usual, was waiting at the
gate and led us up to the manor house.  It was all becoming a familiar
pattern - a relaxing and comforting one.  I felt much calmer as we went up
to the house.  Mrs Brown was waiting in the kitchen and plied us with tea
and cakes and said dinner would be ready for seven o'clock and the ladies
were very busy with a new hatching of chicks.

     After a quick wash and brush-up Tony went down to the library to read
and I remained in the bedroom.  I wanted to look at the photos again on the
walls.  I wanted to know how Piers and Miles felt about each other and
whether they had had the angry and disgruntled feelings I was experiencing
so often.  That photo of the pair of them showed a quiet contentment.  If
they'd had feelings like mine that photo showed they were all resolved.

     I also knew their relationship was much closer than mine and Tony's.
We enjoyed each other's company and I knew from the hints he'd dropped he
wanted to be fucked again.  Just thinking of it set my own lustful
sensations going with the usual stiffening of my rod.  I wanted a wank but
resolutely willed myself to wait.  Tony was going to feel the full force of
my craving tonight without fail.

     As I looked at another photo, of the rowers, my libidinous desires
abated.  A good job, because I heard Tony coming along the corridor and he
rushed in and came and stood by me, giggling and brandishing a book.

     "Hey, look at this, even old Trollope's got dirty bits!"

     I suppose he was referring to my re-telling of Rhys' analysis of
Shakespeare which had convulsed my assembled class-mates.

     "Trollope!"  I said, "What's that?"  I knew a trollop was a naughty
girl and I had heard there was an author with that name.

     "God!" he expostulated, "Don't you read anything else but those cheap
French novels?  Trollope, Antony Trollope," He waved the book again.  "He
wrote loads of books and I'm afraid he doesn't seem so strictly Victorian
as people think."  He opened the book, "Now, listen to this."  He scanned
the page.  "'He's a great big naughty boy, said she to the child, and we
must send him away to a great big romping school, where they have great big
rods and they do terrible things to naughty boys'."  He grinned at me.
"What do you think of that?  You'd be good at that school with your great
big romping rod, eh?"  He laughed.  "Don't look so po-faced, Jacko!  Ohhh!"
He flung the book on the bed and flopped down beside it.

     I wasn't so much po-faced as still thinking about Piers and Miles and
I was still taking in the quotation.  In fact, I had taken it in readily
and Jacko's big romping rod was rapidly going rigid.  But Tony's ebullient
mood had evaporated.

     "Oh, I don't know, Jacko.  I don't seem to be able to settle.  I miss
Roo.  We used to have such great fun.  Mum use to say we lived in each
other's pockets.  He's so busy working now and he's sniffing after that
girl who helps with the accounts, I hardly ever see him."

     He looked over at me, standing, silent, the other side of the bed.

     "Oh, Jacko, I don't mean you're a second-best friend!  It's just
everything's so different this year.  We've all divided up.  I only see you
when we have French together or for five minutes between lessons and as for
those thickos, bloody Prosser and Wells in English they make me puke.  Two
fat slobs.  The only reason they stayed on was to play rugby!"  He paused.
"Oh, I know you play rugby but you're different.  They get my goat.
  They don't read the books and they rely on me to do all the talking.
Brendan Fisher's not much help.  He's so shy and Old Mother Riley scares
the pants off him."

     It seemed as if Tony was having the same sort of feelings as I was.  I
lay down beside him, picking up the slim volume and whacking him on the leg
with it.  I knew what he meant about Prosser and Wells - our prop forwards
- large, and prone to spending time in the Common Room arm-wrestling and
farting.  They didn't bother me, but they tended to make Vince Hare cringe
with some of their dirty jokes.  I didn't want to get on to an analysis of
my schoolmates.

     "You and your funnies," I said, "you're almost as bad as my cousin
Rhys!"

     He was not to be deflected.

     "You're OK," he said, "You're lucky, you've got those cousins of yours
and those new ones.  I liked them and Kats says she'd fancy the older one
if he didn't look as if he had a bayonet stuck up his arse!"

     I laughed.  I knew what he meant.  Each time Kats went near Lachs he
stiffened up - not in the groin area, I assumed not, but he almost cringed.

     "He doesn't know any girls," I said, "We've discussed it and I'm not
much help 'cause I don't know any as well.  Anyway, Kats was giving me the
glad eye as well, according to Flea."

     Tony laughed.  "Yeah, Jacko, you are her number one pin-up boy!  She
always asks how you are!"

     I was thinking then of getting dressed in trousers and shirt for
dinner so started to undo my shorts.  I was thinking at the same time, if
Kats had the hots for me, what should I do?

     All thoughts of Kats were thrust out of my head after that.  I stepped
out of my shorts and Tony reached out and grabbed me round the legs.  I was
on my back on the bed with my underpants down round my knees in a trice
with Tony's mouth guzzling my prick.  My prick was hard in seconds as Tony
sucked me to a tremendous outburst of a day's-worth of cum.  It was just
what I wanted and I was gasping for breath as I shot that load straight
into his waiting throat.

     He rolled over on the bed and licked my open lips.  "Me now," he
gasped.

     His shorts were already tented out with his erection as I quickly
undid them and found his erection tucked within his underpants.  His prick
got the same treatment and two satisfied boys lay head to head
contemplating the universe soon after.

     That was only the start.  We had a good dinner.  Only Mrs Crossley and
Miss P and Miriam were there but we stuffed ourselves solid.  Mrs Crossley
said she'd had a very nice letter from Captain Harrison thanking her for
the lion skin.  I'd mentioned about this when we were there at the
beginning of term and Tony and I had folded it carefully ready for it to be
packed and sent to the school.  Captain Harrison said it would be a good
replacement for the rather worn tiger skin their bass drummer had.  That
was a plus for me, too.
  I had done something for the kindness shown to me on that visit.

     Tony and I said we were a bit weary, ha ha, after our bike ride so
wended our way up the wooden hill just after nine o'clock.  By midnight I
had fucked Tony twice.  After the second fuck which, for me, was even more
violent and satisfying than the first, Tony was almost whimpering as I gave
him the quickest and most vicious wank I could.  I was still erect and in
him deep as his spunk shot in all directions from his piss-slit.  He
clasped me tightly and wouldn't let go and the pair of us dropped off into
a deep sleep.

     I was awake early, flaccid now and out of him.  The heady smell of boy
spunk and sweat was most noticeable as I crawled out of the bed for a much
needed piss.

     After having a quick wash down I crept back into bed beside him.  I
felt good.  Tony had wanted to be fucked hard last night.  He'd implored to
drive into him as deep and as hard as I could.  I complied with his
demands.  I was in my element.  I was a spunk machine and I flooded his
interior twice with as much as I could muster.  My cock was my master and
in its way it mastered him.

				     *

     As usual we were awakened by the thump on the door.  I turfed a
bleary-eyed Tony out of bed to let Bran in and to get him to the bathroom
to clean himself up.  I was gratified to note that as he retreated into the
bathroom there was visible evidence of my spunk in and around the crack of
his bum.  Bran came over and sat by the bed looking straight into my eyes.
I was amazed.  There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as if he was saying
"What have you done?"  I dismissed this thought as just a fantasy of my
overactive brain.  I had fucked Tony because he'd wanted me to and I was
truly satisfied with my performance.  So there!  End of story.  If he
wanted it again tonight my trusty prick would be waiting!

     Hans was sawing wood when we went round to the barn after breakfast to
find him.  He stopped and immediately went to his jacket which was hanging
on a nail.  Without saying anything to either of us he handed me a letter.
It was from his mother.  He had tears in his eyes and Tony went up to him
and held his arm as I read through the letter and translated it as best I
could into English.  The writing was beautifully formed, but in the old
German Gothic script.  His mother said how pleased they all were that he
was well.  She said both she and his father were well but he was very busy
with the farm work.  His younger brother had arrived home but they didn't
know where the other brother, Friedrich, was.  They thought he was alive
but were waiting for news.  His two sisters were well and their children
also.  Both husbands were in transit camps run by the Americans and hoped
to be released soon.  His mother finished by asking him to tell Mrs
Crossley that she was so grateful for the kindness she'd shown her son.  He
asked me to tell Mrs Crossley that. Tony took over and said he should bring
the letter up to the house at four o'clock and I would read it to Mrs
Crossley.

     We left him, happily resuming his sawing and went for a walk.  I
wanted to see the stone commemorating Piers again in the churchyard and,
craftily, worked the walk round to take in that route.  We sat on a flat
tomb nearby and, after looking at the inscription, Tony started to talk.

     "Jacko," he started, "I'm not complaining about what we did last
night...," He paused.  "....but, I'm very sore this morning.  It was great
while we were doing it."  He turned and smiled at me and shook his head.
"I don't think I can stand that every night.  Could we slow down a bit?"

     I was stroking Bran's head as he sat beside me.  He rubbed his head
against my bare knee.  Was the dog telling me to slow down?

     "I'm sorry, Tony," I said, "I felt wonderful.  I'll try.  You've got
to tell me though."

     Bran rubbed my leg again.  I would try.  But could I bridle my
instincts?

     That night it was perfect.  I tried.  I may have been rather fast and
rough the first time but after the second and third Tony was murmuring his
thanks and pleading for more.  Three times!  I was shagged out and he was
asking for more!!  I wanked him off as slowly as I could and slept.

				     *

     We were due to visit Lady Bing the next day so had to be spruced up.
We cycled down to be there by eleven a.m. and met the Duchess who was
looking at the massive front garden of the house, now covered with growing
cabbages.

     She said her mother was enjoying having young Tim there as it seemed
to give her a new lease of life.  We told her about Hans and his letter and
she said Herr Vogel had received one from his wife and was much relieved
that his two daughters were well.

     Lady Bing was pleased to see us as well.  Tim and I had to play three
of the Spanish Dances for her.  Luckily we'd practised them at school so my
contribution was deemed to be OK.  I came away with several sets of music
with the injunction to practice hard.  Tim looked so pleased as he played
through, what seemed to me, to be some very difficult pieces.  Lady Bing
nodded each time he finished and then went into a long and very detailed
analysis which bored Tony but I listened very carefully.

     That evening at supper Lizzie Tilson turned up, waving her hand about
so we would notice her engagement ring.  I said we'd been to hear Tim play
at Lady Bing's and how pleased everyone was that his father was now an MP.
She gave an almighty sniff.

     "My father," she stated, very primly, "Is becoming quite the socialist
now.  He even went and spoke at one of the election meetings.  I can't say
I approve and Jeremy says what will his friends say when they find the
Canon is a leftie."

     We didn't ask but we assumed Jeremy was the fiance.  I just went on to
say that Canon Tilson obviously thought Tim was going to be a good musician
because Tim had told us that he'd also got him permission to practise on
the cathedral organ when Dr Baines wasn't there.  I was rewarded with
another sniff and, luckily, Miss P mentioned something else so the
conversation was diverted.

				     *

     The rest of the time went quickly.  I did comply with Tony's request
and tried to be a bit more gentle.  I think I started each session in that
way but after that we two boys rutted like stags in a Scottish glen.  At
least, that was Tony's description when he was washing his very sore hole
on the last morning.  But, he did admit he was going to miss the wonderful
feelings in his lonely bed at home.

     Tim was laden with musical scores when we met him at the gates to
cycle back to Kerslake.  We had a chicken each and one for him as well as
eggs, so we divided the parcels out more evenly and cycled at a leisurely
pace home.

				     *

     Those few days had quietened me down somewhat but the underlying
feelings soon re-emerged once I got home.  In fact, I positively relished
the sight of two of the lads at the boxing match in the Drill Hall I had to
attend in my SJAB capacity that Friday evening.  I almost felt I was in the
ring with them as they battered each other without compromise.  Kanga and I
had to dress two rather bloody cuts and a dripping nose when they had
finished knocking hell out of each other.  They were both sixteen
themselves and I wondered if this was their way of getting rid of some of
their feelings.

				     *

     At the beginning of November Ma's first detective novel was published.
She had a good review in one of the national newspapers and it said it was
a good read.  Mr Blane, the publisher, wrote to say sales were good.  Ma
gave me a copy inscribed with all her love.  I felt very proud.  It also
solved my Christmas present problems.  The lady in the bookshop was very
amused when I bought six copies at three and sixpence each and I had to say
I knew the author.  I didn't let on it was my mother.  Actually, I enjoyed
the book and never guessed until the last couple of pages who the villain
was.  Mr Blane said he though Inspector Buck would become quite well-known
if Ma's other books - books! - were published.

				     *

     As term ended I had given much thought to my own emotions so I bottled
up my pride and apologised to Pa for swearing about Beethoven in front of
him and being a not very helpful son.  He just puffed on his pipe and said
if I hadn't shown signs of rebellion and gluttony and he didn't know about
any drunkenness, he would have got worried.  There was no danger of me
being stoned to death.  I know he must have told Ma I'd spoken to him as
she gave me two boiled eggs for breakfast the next day and said, in French,
that I was her loving, growing son.  For Ma to say something like that was
too stupendous for me.  I just stood up, now towering above her, and hugged
her tight.  My Ma!

     Anyway there was all sorts of other news at the end of term.  I had
asked Vince how Mike was getting on in the seminary and he shook his head
and said he didn't know.  He said he thought students were not allowed to
have any communication outside for two years or until they left.  I was
missing Mike as well and this seemed so pointless.  Why?  Then, on the last
day of term Vince turned up looking much happier.  He handed me what he
called a Mass Card, just signed 'Mike'.  He said Mike was allowed to send
his family and close friends these at Christmas and Easter and on his
Saint's Day and I was on his list!

     Mrs Buchanan told Ma that both Duncan and Tom would be home for
Christmas and Pa came home saying Julia had told him Matt would be home as
well.  I was itching to see how my friends were fairing in their chosen
careers.  Well, poor old Duncan had to be in Army, the others had chosen
their routes to glory!

     In my Christmas card from Mrs Crossley and Miss P was the news that
Bran was now the father of four puppies, one male and three female, and the
male had been chosen to join Bran as soon as he could safely leave the
mother.  His name was Finbar!

     Then there was a request from Aunt Della.  Could Flea come and stay
over New Year because Lachs was going to stay with his old friend, now
Lieutenant in training, Cartwright?  Of course he could.  Even Pa grinned
at the news.  He was rather rude and said he wondered if the Flea was five
feet yet!  I said he was taller than that the last time I saw him.  Pa
laughed and said we would be like Uncle Edward and Andrew's father, the
Long and the Short.  I said he wasn't to say anything like that as I knew
both the boys were sensitive about their lack of height.  Pa said that as
far as he knew Angus never was.

     So, great expectations and no disappointments!  Tom turned up, now six
foot and broad with it.  He looked very smart in his Army uniform and was
full of tales about his fellow apprentices.  He'd decided to specialise in
Signals and, for someone who had taken ages to work out Ohm's Law, he was
bristling with new knowledge.  Matt was even more dapper.  His beautifully
cut Naval Cadet uniform fitted him to perfection.  He had a new, much more
positive bearing, not the old, rather hesitant, Matt.  He had even got into
the college rugby team and had several bruises to show for it from their
last game again a Cornwall Grammar school.  Then Duncan appeared, clad as
last year in his Black Watch kilt, with two pips now and with the news that
he had to report in the new year to a barracks in London where there was to
be a detachment to be inspected by the Queen who was Colonel- in-Chief of
the regiment.  He said her brother had been an officer in the regiment and
had been killed in the First World War.

				     *

     Christmas passed quickly and Flea arrived.  He had grown.  Five feet
three inches now and sporting a full six inches of cock!  Cocksure as well.
He said Lachs was very popular as Head Boy and was doing very well as a
Senior Under Officer.  He said he'd blotted his copybook a couple of times
because he and Titty, the red-haired terror, were always playing up.  Once,
they had set off thunderflashes when there was to be a rather important
inspection and Captain Harrison was not pleased.  I could imagine Captain
Harrison being not pleased!  Flea said that the pair of them had been on
extra duties for a whole week each time and he'd had to promise Lachs he
would quieten down.  I said he was a big boy now, he was sixteen and should
know better.  At that moment I was handling his big boy prick, before
engulfing it for mutual pleasure, and he said he was proud he was a big boy
now and if I didn't watch it he'd soon be bigger than me.  We checked the
next day - rulers out - and I was six tenths of an inch longer, so there!

     Stupendous news!  Pa was very cheery over Christmas.  Then he dropped
the bombshell on New Year's Eve.  He said he hadn't been allowed to tell us
beforehand and produced a letter from Downing Street announcing he had been
awarded the OBE for his contribution to the war effort and it would be
announced on New Year's Day.  Order of the British Empire!  He did whisper
to Flea and me later in the evening - after he'd had several glasses of
whiskey - that people said it stood for Other Buggers' Efforts!  And me
apologising for swearing!!!

				     *

     Time sped by.  After saying farewell to Flea the snows came and we had
a very cold spell.  Most mornings I couldn't go running so concentrated on
the weights.  I worked very hard at school and found out an interesting
fact.  It came about by accident as Phil Crowe came in one morning and said
his father was home from the Navy.  He said his father wanted to know if
Sub-Lieutenant Phelps was at our school.  We found out then that he'd been
a navigation officer on a support boat on the Arctic supply route to
Russia.  He'd been on a boat that had been torpedoed with many men lost but
he'd been rescued but had lost two fingers by frostbite.  That explained
why he always wore a black glove on his left hand.  What with Chris with
his shoulder wound and Mr Phelps I wondered what I would hear next.  It
made me think about Hans' younger brother Friedrich, aged twenty now and
missing.

     Another interesting thing was that at the first meeting of the St John
Ambulance in January, Kanga turned up with three new, prospective members.
'Red-bum' Beckett, Collins Junior and husky-voiced Hawks.  Of course, they
were in his form at school and they turned out to be three most
enthusiastic, hard-working members.  As Matt was no longer around, Kanga
had attached himself to me and they, in turn became part of our team.

				     *

     I never got to Ulvescott for half-term.  Ma tripped on something at
the lab and broke a bone in her left wrist so I stayed at home that week
and helped as much as I could.  I even learned to cook!  Pa and I had
contests to see who could do the smoothest porridge!  I think he won!!

     Then there was even more bad news.  No.  I don't mean worse than Ma's
broken bone, but we heard the Maundy Thursday rugger game at Fensham was
cancelled.  The school was in quarantine of some kind because of an
outbreak of flu, or swine fever as Johnny Prosser unkindly said.  Here was
I, a reformed member of the First XV, no longer the rampaging ox, but a
tough (in my view), hard-working forward and I wasn't going to savour the
pleasures associated with playing at the school.  I had already got myself
assigned with Johnny Reed and a hunky-looking lad in the Fifth Year, Peter
Foster, to be in the room with three of the St Brendan's mob.  Pete was
turning out to be a good player, and was supposed to be one of the reserves
on the trip.  From the looks of his well-developed tackle, inspected at a
distance when he was showering after one of our matches, I think he would
have been an interesting companion.  So, I missed out on whatever high
jinks the six of us would have got up to.  I was looking forward to a
combined wank, which seemed to be the order of the night, according to what
I'd heard of previous trips.  All we had was a scratch game against the St
Brendan's team as recompense.  At least I did get to gaze on Pete's cock in
the showers afterwards and remembered one of Rhys' little jokes about the
crowded underground train.  When the train stopped at a station a plaintive
female voice called out, 'Is this Cockfosters?'  and a battered and crushed
by the crowd male responded, "No dearie, it's mine, but you can have it as
soon as we get off this train!"

     So, by Easter, I was ready for a break.  At least I didn't have any
exams this year and I was more settled in myself.  I sat the Grade Eight
piano exam just before Easter and I was pleased with my playing.  The only
thing I wasn't pleased about was that from the time Flea left at the
beginning of January I had only myself in bed, or anywhere else, every day.
Not to say I didn't enjoy myself.  I had plenty of mental images to keep my
randy thoughts going as I pumped steadily at my more than ready prick.  But
I yearned at times for the steady beat of another's hand, and even more so,
the sensuousness and the massive climaxes I'd experienced when fucking
Tony.  I wondered if Mike, having chosen a celibate life - I'd discussed
this with Vince at some stage - still had sexual thoughts.  I knew from the
knowing looks on Monday evenings that Kanga and Johnny Hawks must be
frequent wank-mates and I had a growing suspicion that Beckett and young
Collins helped each other in other ways than just practising neat
bandaging.  And what about Foster and a lad named Dickens who always cycled
off with him after school.  Dickens even came to watch us play when Foster
was in the team!  My!  My!  Another generation!  Boys will be boys!  But
there was poor Jacko, squirting millions of unwanted sperm, every night,
most mornings, alone, in solitary splendour, my now six and three-quarters
inches of prime Thomson cock pulsing with teenage ardour.....  Oh, Oh, Oh!

				     *

     Easter couldn't come fast enough and I was ready to come in any way,
shape or form.  The boys came and stayed for the Easter weekend before
carrying on up to Chester.  Flea still teased Lachs but now in a more
subdued way.  Not really subdued, but in a more grown-up way.  They
complimented each other so well.  Lachs was so protective of his brother
and Flea adored his older sibling.  I was in the middle and I felt so at
one with both of them.  Flea was full of their last parade when Badger
Browne - with an e - had appeared in the new lion's skin, banging the drum
for all he was worth.

     "Potty says it sounds very Elinor Glin for Badger and Snellie.  He
wouldn't tell us what he meant though," Flea said with a hint of hurt in
his voice.

     Next day we went round to see Tony and have tea.  While Kats was
chatting to Lachs, much to Flea's amusement, I asked Tony, sotto voce, if
he knew about Elinor Glin.  He laughed and said he certainly did.  He
slipped out of the room and came back a minute or so later with a folded
slip of paper.  He raised his eyebrows and I put the unread slip in my
pocket.

     Kats then turned her attention to me.  I was plied with more tea and
sandwiches and she then plonked herself down on the sofa by my side,
squeezing her leg against mine.  Wow!  I looked over at Lachs who was
squirming slightly.  I knew the reason why, as Jacko's cock started to
stiffen.  Flea was grinning his head off.  We wouldn't hear the last of
that, I thought.

     Flea didn't mention it on the way home and I wondered why.  All was
revealed later when we were getting ready for bed when Lachs asked Flea.
Lachs had noticed, but I hadn't.  Young Flea had also reacted in the
traditional way to the female touch.  Gosh, Kats would be proud.  Three
hardons in one afternoon!

     I then remembered the piece of paper Tony had given me.  I fished it
out of my trouser pocket, read it and handed it to Lachs.

     "I don't think you should show him..." nodding towards his brother who
was looking inquisitively at me, "....he won't understand!"  I laughed and
Flea scuttled round to stand by Lachs.

     "Read it out," he demanded.

     There was a dramatic pause while Lachs scanned the lines.  He giggled.

     "'Would you like to sin
       With Elinor Glin
       On a tiger-skin?
       Or, would you prefer
       To err
       With her
       On some other fur?'" he read.

     Flea clapped his hands.  "Huh, that's it," he chortled, "No wonder
Snellie's always in his room.  I bet he's not stroking that mane!"

     I said he shouldn't impugn his fellow school-mates with his own
desires and habits and no doubt he'd do the same in Snellie's place.  Lachs
and I had to restrain him and between us we stroked his tawny mane, both on
his head and also that growing dark golden patch a bit further down.  We
found out an interesting thing.  It wasn't only the female touch which
hardened his resolve, as Lachs put it, and, also, we found young Flea'
erection lasted nearly three-quarters of an hour before he pleaded with us
finally to let him come.  All just by erring on his other fur!

				     *

     Tony and I cycled to Ulvescott the day after the boys went to Chester.
My oh my!  On arrival at the gate there was Bran and, by his side, looking
all eager, was a much smaller version of himself.  Bran was in charge.  As
soon as we appeared he led the puppy to the gate.  Puppy?  Even at about
five months old he was quite big.  Bran sat on his haunches and nudged the
puppy who did the same.  Dad and son!  We had the usual greeting and Bran
watched as we both tried to teach the puppy to shake paws.  It didn't quite
work but we resolved to try every day.  The puppy scampered along in front
of us as Bran walked most sedately and a little stiffly by our sides.  We
tried calling his name, "Finbar" and he was beginning to respond.

     Our six days were filled by walks with the two dogs, chatting to Hans
and enjoying the peacefulness of the Manor and its surroundings.  Nights
were more frenzied.  Not so violent and hasty as on recent visits.  Now,
with my desires more in check, we were able to pace our sessions so much
more.  We both gave each other the maximum pleasure we could.  Each of the
seven nights we were there was prefaced by a slow prelude of talking and
reviewing our day.  This was interesting as we spent the days talking and
planning our lives ahead, but here we were consolidating our friendship.
Then our lustful natures took over.  We were both advancing on seventeen
and were perpetually horny - I was, most certainly and Tony wasn't far
behind, if not in front at times!  We sucked and I fucked Tony.  He said he
didn't want to fuck me, he preferred it, if I didn't mind, with him as the
most willing recipient of my seed, that way.  Who was I to mind?  All my
lonely nights at home and now this!  Bliss!

     Hans was rather restless.  There was still no news of his brother
although he was sure he was alive somewhere.  I had made a mental note of
his address in Germany and had sent his parents a Christmas card.  He was
so delighted because a letter from his mother told him they had received
it.  He wanted to go home but the repatriation business was slow.  He said
two of the POWs didn't want to go back.  They knew their part of Germany
was in Russian hands and, anyway, contrary to all rules and regulations
they had got friendly with two girls from the village and two of the
farmers they worked for had offered to let them stay on.  But Hans wanted
to go home.  He said he wanted to be an engineer and he was sure there
would be plenty of work.

     Just before Easter Pa had the command from His Majesty to present
himself at Buckingham Palace in June.  I was allowed two days off from
school and Ma and I watched as the King pinned the medal onto Pa.  Uncle
Edward was waiting for us as we came out of the forecourt of the Palace and
took us to the Houses of Parliament where we had tea on the terrace.  Mr
Parker was there and I shook hands with Mr Attlee the Prime Minister!  That
was a day to remember, especially as I had a new blazer and trousers for
the occasion!

     The school year came to an end.  The boys were going to be at Pin Mill
House and their great-uncle and great-aunt were moving in.  I was invited
to stay and we spent four weeks sailing, swimming and sunning.  I suppose
I'd better add sinning as well!  This would be Lachs' final visit as a
school boy.  He was off to the Military Academy in September.  Eighteen and
five feet five of young manhood!  On the last night at Pin Mill House we
three pledged that whatever happened in the future each of us could rely on
the others to do anything for us.  Solemnly, we each pricked our hand with
the point of the dirk that Senior Under-Officer Lachlan Cameron-Thomson had
been presented with on the last big parade and mingled our blood to seal
that pact.


To be continued:..............