Date: Sat, 12 Sep 2020 11:03:49 -0000
From: olhap8464972175@mail2tor.mail2tor.com
Subject: Little Lord Barry

Little Lord Barry
or
A True History of a Wicked Boy to His Thirteenth Year

Category & Story codes
Boy/Boy; Historical Real Life
bb - cons mast spank bd oral (implied) anal (implied)

Summary
A naughty young boy in the reign of King George uses cruel manipulation to
get his satisfaction, but meets his match when his country cousin comes to
stay.

Characters
Lord Barry (5-12 yo); Earl Stonecrop (his father); Nurse Dudgeon; cousin
Philip (11-12 yo); Fenton (around 30 yo)



Little Lord Barry was a beautiful child. Everybody remarked on it. He had
flowing hair the colour of spun gold, skin with the lustre of alabaster
and deep green eyes which sparkled with mischief. The boy's nose was
dusted with freckles and the dimples that came out on his cheeks when he
grinned would have even the hardest man or maid fawning over him.
Everybody said, 'Oh, what a delightful child!' But then everybody would
because he was Lord Barry.
	The babe had been born at the family seat of Highworthy in Wiltshire and
his mother, the Lady Caroline, had had an easy delivery, carrying the
child to term, dropping it quickly, as it were, before returning to
London and leaving the infant in the capable, if rather heavy, hands of
his nurse.
	The boy's father, Earl Stonecrop, had responsibilities that carried him
far afield, which unluckily for young Barry meant his father was seldom
at home. Had the father played a greater role in the upbringing of his
son then the result for all concerned might have been different, but as
it was and in spite of his angelic appearance the young Lord was a
terror. He would always have the last word in any exchange and was wont
to expose himself in the company of guests.
	Undoubtedly, the worst misfortune to befall the poor boy was to lose his
mother at the tender age of five. She succumbed to an illness whilst in
London for the Season. It was not that the loss was detrimental to the
boy in itself, for he rarely saw his mother in any case, but it did stir
the heart of the father thereafter to over protect his only child. The
Earl had been devoted to his wife, ten years his junior, and tended now
to cosset the boy and pander to his whims when he might have done better
to deny them. Not withstanding this though, he gave the nurse
instructions not the coddle the boy: 'Bring him up to be a man, Nurse
Dudgeon,' he told her. 'I don't want you making a sissy out of him.'
	Even at this time there were stories abroad in the household of what a
dirty little boy the young Lord could be. Of course, stories are
exaggerated in the closed confines of the servants' hall: through
whispered repetition a mouse becomes a monster - you know what servants
are! But, all the same, there was truth in what was said. And what a
terror little Lord Barry was!
	Perhaps this might best be illustrated by an episode that happened soon
after Lady Caroline's death, on a rare occasion when both father and son
were together at home. A delegation had assembled at Highworthy House
composed of various ministers and junior secretaries to discuss some
matter of state or other. Attendance at these gatherings was accorded
great importance by London society. Even to be invited showed that one
had entered into the periphery of elite circles of power and if one could
curry favour with those nobles present, or even the Earl himself, this
could advance a career incomparably. To offend the Earl, on the contrary,
could spell downfall.
	The boy Barry was brought in after dinner to say goodnight to his father
and the others before being taken for his bath and bed. Nurse Dudgeon
stood holding the little Lord's hand in the centre of the room whilst all
tittered admiringly on the boy's beauty and the fineness of his
gold-turned sailor suit and breeches, stockings and shiny buckled shoes.
	The boy was used to being the centre of attention and had no fear of
speaking up where another child might have felt its tongue tied.
	'What does that man wear such a funny wig for?' asked the boy of his
father, for the young man of whom he spoke did wear a wig of a rather new
style.
	'Why, that is our new Minister for Works,' replied the Earl as the
gentleman in question blushed under the gaze of all in the room.
	'I want to see it,' declared the boy, 'Have him bring it here.'
	The man looked to the Earl with evident fear.
	The portly Earl in his merry post-dinner stupor turned in his chair to
regard the young Viscount, Minister for Works.
	'Yes, why not humour the lad. He only wants to learn about such things.
Come and help him, young man!'
	The Viscount opened his mouth to protest but, with the eyes of his
superiors upon him, thought better of it. He came forward and knelt
before the little Lord Barry, whose height was no more than his nurse's
skirt tops.
	Straightaway the boy snatched the hair piece from the man's pate and put
it on his own small head whence he peered out from beneath the curls at
all the assembled company.
	The young Viscount jumped backwards in shock, covering his bared head
with his hands.
	Uproarious laughter erupted in the room which emboldened the boy,
encouraging his inflated belief in his own cleverness.
	'You do look funny, sir,' the boy said upon seeing the man's closely
shaved scalp.
	Needless to say, Nurse Dudgeon was not impressed by the boy's conduct.
	'Now, Master Barry,' she began, 'Such behaviour is not becoming of a
young gentleman.'
	The young gentleman in question yanked his hand free from the nurse's
grasp, flung the wig on the floor in front of him and before anybody had
time to think, had opened his breeches and was making water all over the
unfortunate Viscount's expensive hair piece.
	This only occasioned even more raucous laughter with which the red-faced
Viscount, now visibly shaking with rage, was obliged to join in.
	The woman attempted to reassert control over the lad.
	'Leave him be, Nanny,' commanded the Earl. 'He only has a little fun.'
	It is true that the company was buoyed with the revelry that comes from a
good meal and fine wines, but eyes were sober enough to watch the host
and take their lead from him. The conduct of the newly appointed Minister
for Works was also being scrutinised. And not a small number of eyes were
on the little boy.
	Once the uproar had subsided and the tears of laughter been dabbed, the
Viscount bent to retrieve his bedraggled article from the floor in front
of the still uncovered child. But before the man's hand was on it, the
little Lord had stamped on the wig with his shiny buckled shoe.
	'Kiss my dingle!' he commanded in a tone identical to his father's.
	The Viscount attempted to dislodge his wig, without tearing it, from
beneath the little boy's foot, but the boy stamped harder.
	'You will kiss my dingle!' little Lord Barry repeated in his shrill
little voice.
	The room was silent, the air seemed to ring with it. All eyes were on the
Earl.
	He scrutinised the scene before him.
	'Well, go on then, man!' he said.
	It was noted at this point by some in the room and later remarked that
the little Lord's pricklet had risen to stick out like a little finger.

Nor was the little Lord allowed to get away scott-free after this tantrum,
for that night following his bath and before he was permitted to don his
nightgown, Nurse Dudgeon put the struggling infant over her petticoated
knee and spanked him soundly. 'You are a wicked, nasty, evil little boy,
Master Barry!' she intoned over and over the while.
	I would like to tell that the firm hand of his well-intentioned governess
made good the bad little Lord. But alas that would not be true.
	What can be reported is that as the boy grew older his bawdy insolence
did abate, overtaken no doubt by a child's natural sense of shame
concerning his genitive parts, as much as aversion occasioned by
punishment.
	He became a polite young boy, albeit rather stubborn and imperious, and
began to exhibit the sort of noble air that those who met him would
expect to accompany his bonny looks and privileged position. Indeed, it
is not hard for a beautiful child with fine clothes and a title to behave
well, for everyone treats him graciously.
	However, it was noted in the boy's seventh year that he had developed a
cruel streak towards animals. He was discovered several times tying cords
to the kittens and stringing them up in the cellar, their mewling
alerting a passing servant to their plight. The groom, meanwhile,
reported finding Lord Barry more than once engaged in jabbing a foal with
a nail set in the end of a broom handle. In the servants' hall it was
said that the red-faced young Lord, when surprised in these predicaments,
had been found rubbing himself between the legs.

It was decided that Lord Barry should have a companion to temper his
wayward urges. Since it was time for the young Lord to begin his schooling
with a tutor, the two needs were combined. So a lowly cousin was brought
down from Yorkshire and a schoolmaster brought up from London and the
nurse was given leave during the daytime so that the boys could be
schooled in Greek and Latin and other such matters.
	From the start it was clear that, though he was not of a title, cousin
Philip was not about to be cowed by his social superior.
	Philip was in some ways young Barry's opposite. He was dark-haired and
brown-eyed with a somewhat snub nose and was not used to being treated
favourably. On their first day in the schoolroom cousin Philip pinned the
young Lord to the floor when the tutor was out of the room and sat on his
head.
	Barry was thus under no illusion about where the power lay in their
relationship. Philip was bigger than him, a year older and a year taller
and heavier, and the other boy had a coarser way with language that left
Barry confused as to what he said. It was as if there was another level
of meaning to his talk sometimes that Barry could not penetrate.
	The young Lord soon found, for the first time, that he was not the centre
of the world. He was obliged to spend nearly all of his hours with his
new cousin since he now shared his bedroom in the nursery, his every meal
and his bathtimes - where Nurse Dudgeon watched them closely.
	Cousin Philip, having spent his life in the company of country boys, had
knowledge of things that Barry simply had never come across in his
solitary existence.
	Sometime after Barry's eighth birthday, they were watching a stallion
being walked around the yard when Philip said suddenly and with authority
to the younger boy, 'He has an impressive cock, don't you think?'
	'What do you mean?' demanded Barry.
	The older boy looked askance at his companion. This was the response he
had hoped for.
	'That dangler there underneath. Like what you've got, only bigger.'
	Barry held off telling the older boy the name he had for that part of
himself, for that name no longer seemed appropriate. They stood watching
the horse's jiggling penis. It reminded young Barry of one of his long
woolen stockings before he put it on.
	They did not say any more about it then, but apparently neither boy was
satisfied that that was the end of the matter for they found themselves
later returning to look at the stallion in his stall.
	He was a sable horse with a lustrous coat which the boys found they
longed to stroke and so they let themselves in at the gate so they could
pet and rub him. The penis was still hanging down and Philip reached out
and grasped it, causing the horse to snort and stamp.
	'You shouldn't do that to my father's horse,' Barry said possessively.
	'Why not? It does not hurt him.'
	At first Barry thought Philip was referring to his father but then,
realising that he was speaking of the horse, Barry reached out his own
hand and held the penis as well. It was true, the horse did not seem to
mind. The penis felt warm and soft and firm to the boys with both of
their hands on it.
	'Do you know what it's for?' asked Philip condescendingly.
	Barry was piqued.
	'For venting his piss, of course!' He had watched horses pissing a dozen
times.
	'I don't mean that, you dolt. I mean what it's really for.'
	Barry sensed that some sort of territorial boundary of knowledge had been
reached. He must show his ability to cross over or else lose face.
	'Yes,' he said. 'It goes up the mare's arse. I've seen it.'
	'No it doesn't, dunderhead!' Philip was happy to correct him. 'It goes up
the mare's cunny. That's different.'
	Now, Barry recalled hearing this word, or something similar to it, used
by the servants but had not previously known its meaning, only that it
seemed to be held in some sort of special regard. With his new piece of
knowledge, he felt he began to have a dim understanding of why this was.
	'And those are his bollocks, what make his roe,' Philip informed him.
'That's what makes the baby horses.'
	'I know,' asserted Barry, although he hadn't.
	They returned their attention to stroking the stallion's coat and Philip
began to relate how the previous summer a maid servant had taken to
joining him each day in the barn loft where he went to play: 'She would
rub my cock until it went on the stand and then, placing me upon her, she
would put it in her cunny and make movements of her legs and hips so as
to cause friction.'
	Young Barry listened, surprised at his feelings of envy.
	'Sometimes she would lie on me and embrace me passionately,' Philip
continued. 'I remember how she would gasp for breath and jolt.'
	And he suited actions to the words.
	Barry was perplexed but excited nonetheless by this news.
	'But why would she do this?' he asked.
	'Don't you know anything? Because it is what people do to get with
child...and it feels like Heaven!'
	Philip saw the look of puzzlement on the younger boy's face.
	'You do know that feeling you get in your thing, don't you?' Philip
pressed his advantage. 'Don't tell me you don't know!'
	But Barry did know.
	All at once he lashed out with his hand, not at his cousin, but at the
unfortunate horse and caught him hard across the testicles.
	This seemed to surprise Philip almost as much as it did the horse and in
the pandemonium that followed the boys fled out of the stable yard and
into the far fields where they remained until dinner.

As a postscript to this last episode it should be said that the boys later
sought out together a mare for the purpose of examining her 'cunny' and
thus young Barry's education into the proper means of relation between the
sexes was advanced. And on several occasions thereafter, when they heard
that the horses were out to stud, the boys went out together to the
paddock and watched the stallion mount a mare. This excited both boys
greatly.

Now, the boys grew older but it could never be said that a bond of
friendship existed between them. Nor could it be said that they even liked
one another. Disagreements would be settled by scrapping and a bloody
nose.
	However, there did develop between them an awareness of mutual utility.
They found it mutually beneficial to help each other in their studies,
for instance, particularly when this meant exchanging answers during a
test or infuriating their tutor by pretending not to have understood a
certain concept no matter how many times it was explained to them.
	In fact, the latter helped to engender what was perhaps the most
significant way in which the boys made use of one another.
	Boys of their class at that time were well used to strict discipline, as
we have seen. By the age of schooling every boy would have been familiar
with receiving a beating across his bare buttocks from a birch or a man's
hand. Such punishment by the tutor would be carried out in the schoolroom
in the presence of the other boy for the humiliation of the miscreant and
as a warning to both against future infraction.
	For the two cousins, each became aware of his own titillation at seeing
his companion so punished, whilst also finding in his turn, and in spite
of his tears, a particular frisson associated with baring his own bottom
and having it beaten. This sympathetic realisation of the feelings of the
other brought the boys together in a way which was unsuspected by either
of them.
	In sharing their domestic life together, they were in many ways like
brothers and in time they began to regard one another much as brothers
do. Naturally, boys together grow used to one another's company and come
to accept the physical presence of the other's body and its lusts just as
they do their own.
	In the darkened nursery bedroom, after the nurse has gone to her own
little chamber, two boys listen to the noises that the other makes before
he goes to sleep.

One afternoon, shortly before Lord Barry's eleventh birthday, they came to
be in the anteroom of the summerhouse which was used as a store for sports
equipment. The master had sent them to stow their cricket bats, pads and
stumps after a hot afternoon's play on the lawn. The master himself had
slunk off to the kitchen to enjoy a long drink with the underhousekeeper,
so the boys were certain of being undisturbed for at least half an hour.
They fell to larking about, bowling arcing balls to one another that they
attempted to catch in their hats, fencing with the stumps as if they were
rapiers and eventually wrestling on the sandy floor.
	This last activity ended with Philip holding his younger cousin over the
corner of a trunk and beating his cricket whites with the flat of a
cricket bat. Lord Barry put up a show of resistance but his peels of
laughter betrayed his real enjoyment in the game. After a time he
struggled free and stood up.
	'You have to do it bare arse,' he said and wriggled down his breeches
before resuming the position.
	Now when Philip hit him there was a satisfying 'whack' of willow on flesh
and no laughter from young Barry as he clasped the trunk. A new
earnestness had overtaken their game. His slight body quivered with each
impact of the bat and a gasp escaped his lips.
	Philip appeared to relish this new turn of events, testing his daring and
his cousin's submissiveness with ever more forceful blows, landing the
bat with measured precision. But in time he grew impatient.
	'Now you do me,' he said and as he dropped his undergarments it was clear
to each boy that the other was just as excited as he.
	Young Lord Barry wielded the bat awkwardly but thrilled at the blows he
landed squarely on the upturned buttocks of his older companion. The
power exhilarated him, as it had his cousin before, its feeling familiar
and deep-seated, recalling to Barry's mind earlier cruelties.
	Afterwards he could not explain to himself the urge that impelled him to
do what he did next.
	Lowering the bat, Barry reached in between the older boy's glowing thighs
and grasped his testicles. This elicited a sharp intake of breath from
his victim.
	'Now I have you, slave. You are vanquished!' Barry said.
	A muffled voice came from the other end of Philip: 'Are you going to bash
me like you did that horse?'
	Barry considered this. He could not decide whether it were an invitation
or a challenge.
	'Do you have a cock like a horse?' he teased, although he had seen it a
hundred times, and he reached in further and took hold of this item. The
other boy made no move so, emboldened, Barry began pulling on the
appendage as if milking a cow. The other boy opened his legs some to
facilitate Barry's ministrations, which he continued, feeling the organ
lengthen and swell.
	By then each boy knew of the other's nightly habit, but they had never
talked about it, much less carried it out together. Each sensed that
there was something sordid in the practice, illicit and shameful. But
now, with one of their faces hidden, it was as if neither of them had to
own it.
	Young Barry continued to feel heady with power and pulled and pulled on
his cousin until, with a muffled noise from its owner, the cock began its
jerky dance.
	Afterwards, Philip dressed sheepishly, refusing to look at Lord Barry. He
rubbed with the toe of his boot at a spot of liquid where he had been on
the dusty boards and they walked back to the house in awkward silence.
	The reader should feel reassured to learn that this discomfiture between
the boys was short-lived and although they did not discuss the matter,
following cricket the next day they were back in the summerhouse again,
only this time with the roles reversed and Barry made to 'dance.'
	The new era in relations between the two cousins had begun. Although
there remained little love between them, they did now recognise a value
in being considerate one to the other. In time Philip acquainted his
young cousin with the country ways of the boys among whom he had lived.
With experience Barry learnt how best to give pleasure and in giving how
best to receive it, whether with hand, mouth or bottom.
	As well as the summerhouse, the boys would sometimes initiate their joint
activities in the nursery when the nurse had left them or, even more
daringly, in the school if the tutor was out of the room.

So now we come to what is perhaps the most tragic part of our story -
although it did result in some good in the end.
	There came to the farm on the Highworthy estate a milkmaid with a
complexion like buttermilk and a way with menfolk that drew every eye to
her in lust or in envy. She had seen but sixteen summers but was already
buxom and lithe and paid particular attention to the two cousins if they
should happen to meet when crossing the courtyard from dairy to house.
	It was now that young Barry felt most acutely the inadequacy of his
inexperience in the society of others. Philip now seemed to him a young
man as they conversed with the maid. Not only was Philip's physical
advancement evident at bathtime, but now the sophistication of his speech
and his air of confidence and familiarity with the girl left Barry lost
for words. His cousin's additional year in the world seemed to stretch
into a chasm across which Barry could not reach, any more than he could
when Philip held a crumpet, stolen from the bakehouse, above his head
where Barry could not grab it. Before long the lad and the maid had
excluded Barry from their conversations completely.
	Philip took to disappearing in the afternoons and not returning till
dinner. Barry wandered listlessly about the grounds or bowled lonely
wickets to no one. By chance it came to his ears that the maid was also
missed at these times and so Barry was confirmed in his suspicions as to
where his playmate had gone. The cousins had no more fun together;
evidently the older boy had lost interest in cricket. Barry's mood became
sulky, his demeanour glum and his temper short.
	His cousin, meanwhile, was buoyant and gay and would bounce into bed
after bathtime, and as they lay in the darkness would sometimes recount
details of his adventures that day with the maid.
	Barry said nothing on these occasions and just looked up at the ceiling.
	If Philip had left it at this then maybe the tragedy would not have
happened, but alas, for all his worldliness, Philip was not a wise boy.
	So one afternoon, as three bells sounded of the stable yard clock, Lord
Barry happened upon the lad and the milkmaid leaning on the half-door of
the dairy. They tittered together as they eyed his approach and Barry
felt sure they were laughing at him.
	'Haven't you something you should be doing?' he said crossly.
	'Why, yes Master,' said the milkmaid; 'now you mention it, I must be
going,' and she pecked Philip's lips with a kiss.
	'There is something I should like to be doing again soon,' Philip
retorted cheekily, and she boxed him in play.
	Then Barry said pointedly, 'I should like to do it, too,' at which she
stopped to gaze at him.
	'You're a one,' she said and she moved closer to him. She seemed to
forget herself and stroked his golden hair. 'Monday's child...'
	The boys were both puzzled.
	'Monday's child is fair of face,' she told them. 'That is as my
grandmother used to say.'
	The girl then bent and placed a kiss on Barry's cheek.
	Philip bristled at the dairy door and exclaimed:
	'It's not just his face that's fair. He's as hairless as a plucked turkey
and his prick's like a little boy's.'
	Young Barry took in a breath to reply but couldn't quite put the words
together and when the groom, who was in earshot behind him, roared with
laughter Barry turned on his heel and with burning cheeks fled to the
summerhouse where he crawled into a dark cave behind some boxes.
	As I have said, Lord Barry was a terror and he had his revenge on Philip.
For when the two boys were stripped for their bath that night and waiting
for the nurse to fill the tub, Barry took the pan from where it simmered
in the hearth and flung its scalding contents at Philip's naked front.
	Had the nurse not had the quickness of mind to plunge him in the cold
water things may have been even worse. But as it was the boy came close
to death and would be scarred, the doctor said, for eternity.
	As soon as it was possible, Philip was returned to his people in
Yorkshire and only the influence of the Earl, Barry's father, prevented
matters from being taken further. Nurse Dudgeon resigned her situation,
as did the tutor. The Earl himself cut short his business in London to
deal with the furore caused by his son and heir.
	The boy had never seen his father so angry - he had hardly ever seen him
at all, if the truth be known. The Earl had him breeched and tied over a
stool by the footman and then, taking up his riding crop, he whipped the
boy personally - and rather more harshly than he intended to.
	'When will you learn, you wicked boy! When will you turn that corner and
behave like a man?'

Few in the household would speak to Barry in the time that followed and he
led a sad and solitary life with little to occupy him save his reflections
on what he had done.
	A new tutor was difficult to procure once it was realised the
circumstances in which the predecessor had quit. It was decided that a
new nurse was unnecessary and so the young Lord was supervised by the
housekeeper, a stout and dour woman, who had let it be known she had
little time for boys.
	At last the Earl received word of a young schoolmaster from Wickham who
might be persuaded to tutor the boy for a time, although the man's
approach was somewhat unorthodox, some said.
	The Earl was rather put out when this tutor, whose name was Fenton,
insisted on meeting the Earl at his London residence to discuss the
child. 'There's nothing I can tell of him, I'm sure,' said the Earl; 'I
hardly know the hoodlum.'
	On arrival at Highworthy, the tutor baffled all and exasperated the
housekeeper by announcing that he would not see the boy until he had
interviewed everyone who had anything to do with him.
	This done and having settled in the village with his young family, the
man insisted on having the Lord Barry brought to him at his lodgings.
	And so it was done.
	In the small parlour the pair sat in armchairs across from one another,
the man looking at the boy and the boy scowling back at the man. Barry
had determined that he had nothing to learn from this young fool. So they
sat in silence, save for the ticking of the mantelpiece clock.
	Not a word had been exchanged between them when the landlady brought in
their midday repast. Nor did the afternoon yield any exchange and so
Barry returned home with a hollow feeling where he had expected triumph.
	And so the next day, and the next until on the fourth day Barry could
endure it no longer.
	'Are you going to beat me?' he asked provocatively, his sullen voice
surprising both of them from where he slumped in his chair.
	'No, I'm certainly not going to do that,' said Fenton simply.
	'No matter what I do?' goaded Barry.
	The clock ticked on.
	Barry regarded the man. He was dark haired with chiselled features and
was elegantly dressed. The boy found himself strangely drawn to him and
felt it a shame that they were tutor and pupil. Under different
circumstances he might have liked to know the man.
	They ate luncheon in silence.
	Afterwards, Barry took the remains of his bread to the armchair and
presently began to roll tiny pieces of it into balls and flick them at
the tutor.
	The tutor did nothing. Barry continued. The bread collected in the man's
hair, in his cravat, in the crevices of his breeches. But still he did
not move.
	Then, for no reason that Barry could discern, the man began to speak. He
began to tell of his family, of his wife and young child, of his mother
and late father, three sister and two brothers.
	Barry sat slouched in his chair. 'Be quiet!' he said.
	But the man went on without pause.
	'Be quiet, I say!'
	Still the words came and they seemed to hurt Barry somewhere deep inside
him. This confused him but he felt, nevertheless, a dim understanding of
why it was.
	'Stop! Stop! Stop!' And he thew the rest of the loaf at the man, tears
clouding his vision, and then went at him with his fists.
	But instead of fighting as Barry had expected, the man pulled the boy to
him, enclosing him in his arms like an infant, sapping Barry's strength
with his own, quelling the boy's rage with the sureness of his embrace.
This was no mean feat since Barry had grown considerably of late and was
no more the slight child.
	When the boy's rage had run out he clung to the man and sobbed, hiding
his face in the man's coat. The man rocked him gently and stroked his
hair until he was quiet.
	A calmness seemed to settle on the room. They became aware again of the
clock pattering away to itself on the mantel shelf.
	Presently Barry lifted his head, snivelled and Fenton wiped the boy's
nose with his handkerchief.
	'They would like to meet you, you know.' his tutor told him.
	'Who?'
	'Why, Molly and little Thomas...and the puppies.'
	'But why would they want to know me?' Barry asked simply. He couldn't
imagine a reason, for he was a wicked boy.
	'Come,' said Fenton setting him down.
	But having reached the door he saw that Barry had not followed and so he
said encouragingly, 'We have cake and tea,' and he held out his hand for
the boy to take.
	In the back kitchen they found Mrs Fenton, a young and fresh-faced woman,
and little Thomas with his wooden Noah's Ark animals, and the spotty
mongrel dog called Snowdrop with her litter of pink pug-faced puppies.
The room was warm and comfortably small and the cake was rich and
wonderful and Barry sat on the floor with little Thomas and they put the
animals in the ark and the puppies helped. Barry couldn't believe how
quickly it was time for the coachman to take him back to Highworthy with
its echoing halls and he felt bereft.
	'See you tomorrow,' said Fenton as he shook Barry's hand at the door, but
before he would release his grip he asked, 'Are you ready, now?'
	And Barry nodded, 'Yes, yes I am, sir.'
	And in his bed in the nursery that night Barry was aware of his
loneliness at Highworthy House almost for the first time in his twelve
years of life. It was as if he had not known it before, for how can you
judge something with which you have nothing to compare? But what he had
tasted in the Fenton's kitchen today had made him warm inside and filled
him up.	He masturbated that night with an unusual fury and, whether by
coincidence or not, became a man under the bedclothes for the first time.
It felt much better to be full than empty: he had long known that people
could make you feel desolate but now he saw that people could also fill
you with joy. The world was close and seemed to swell and throb within
him with a new force that he could not contain. And when he felt the
upsurge of his virgin seed pulse through his cock he was sure, in every
part of his being, from his arched toes to his clammy forehead, that he
was ready to turn a corner.




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