Date: Mon, 19 Feb 2007 17:06:49 +0000 From: Abbey Choirboys <theabbeychoirboys@googlemail.com> Subject: The Abbey Choirboys Chapter 1 PREAMBLE Thank you for taking the time to read this story -- I really do hope you'll enjoy it! Two quick points: firstly, if you are looking for something with the quick thrill of sex in the first paragraph then this story will not be for you. There WILL be sex in future chapters, but you'll have to wait. Second point: this is a work of fiction, which means that all of the characters and events are figments of my overactive and slightly warped imagination. I point this out particularly as you will probably come to realise that I have first-hand experience of the world of English cathedrals from my own childhood. Any similarity to specific people, places, organizations or events, be it past, present or future is entirely coincidental and unintentional. Finally, as always, if there is any just reason or lawful impediment why you should not read this story then... well... DON'T! And while we're at it, don't copy it either -- its mine! Enjoy. THE ABBEY CHOIRBOYS Chapter 1 English summers are notoriously unpredictable. August could go from being wet or overcast one day to being scorching hot the next. We were in the middle of a hot spell, which was just my luck as I had spent the last two days moving house and travelling in a car with no air conditioning. If Britain's weather is peculiar then the sub-culture of English cathedral music, in which I work, is even more so. At that moment I was sat in my car outside my newest place of work, the Abbey church of a city in the north of the country, allowing myself a few minutes of first-day nerves (combined with a healthy amount of good old British self-pity and loneliness). At the age of 28, I had been part of the English cathedral tradition for a full twenty years. I had started as a cathedral chorister (being lucky that my parents were able to pay the school fees); then successively became a choral scholar, organ scholar and assistant organist at various cathedrals around the south of England. Some 'cathedral watchers' would tell you that my new job was a definite step down from my last post as the brilliant Assistant Organist of a major London Cathedral. I preferred to think that being boss and running my own choir of boys and men presented a lot of exciting opportunities, on a number of levels. Feeling slightly more positive, I noticed a very cute boy of maybe thirteen or fourteen crossing the car park. The kid was wearing a baggy black 'Kooks' t-shirt and two-third-length shorts, and seemed to me the perfect indication of God 'throwing me a bone' so to speak. I looked upwards and quietly said "God -- I like your taste!" I looked back at the boy as he jumped over a low wall and started walking around the outside of the Abbey and out of my sight. Oh well, there would be others, and the adrenalin shot had been just what the doctor ordered. I got out of my car to begin my new life. As I entered the Abbey and looked down the Nave* I couldn't help but feel a warmth about the place. The title of Abbey came from a bygone era, and in actual fact this was now technically a simple Parish Church. There are Abbeys, Priories and Minsters in the UK that also happen to be Cathedrals, the great Abbey at St. Alban's for example, but most are not. This Abbey had the dubious distinction of being the principal civic church of a fairly large city, within a diocese that had another major city to which we had lost out for Cathedral status. As I looked towards the Abbey's enormous east window, I decided that the Abbey was actually almost as large as the Cathedral and, though their choir might be slightly better than ours at present, I was going to change that. As I walked past the stone pillars towards the Verger's office I caught myself already feeling protective of the place. I found the Verger*, Simon, who warmly greeted me in the local accent and told me that my removal company had been on the phone: they would be here with my furniture at around noon. That meant that I had time to kill. He led me through to the parish office in an adjacent building and introduced me to the secretaries, the Rector* (whom I knew, as it was he that had interviewed me for the job) and the various assistant priests and parish officers. After nearly twenty minutes of excruciating small-talk the Rector extracted me from the horde, saying that he was sure I would like to inspect my new home before the removers arrived. I shot him a grateful look which he returned with a wink -- my God, a priest with a sense of humour, it's a bloody miracle! The Rector steered me out of the office building and across an enclosed rectangle of grass towards an old three-storey building -- The Old Rectory*. The building had been converted into a base for the Abbey Choir, housing all its rehearsal, administrative and living spaces. The entire top floor formed the Director of Music's Flat: my new home. When we reached the building, the Rector unlocked the door and then handed me the bunch of keys he had used. "Why don't you go on in and survey your empire. I'll give you a buzz when the removers arrive." I looked up at the rather tall man (whom I guessed must have been aged about 45, with nearly grey hair and a wise face) and decided quickly that this was someone I was going to get on with. "Thanks, that would be great" I replied, and with that he turned and headed back over the green. I gradually wandered through the building, first inspecting the ground floor with its large rehearsal room, office, storage for the choir robes, common room, kitchen and toilets. I also found a narrow passageway which led to a door directly into the Abbey. The next floor up comprised seven bedrooms, which would soon be filled by the choir's organ scholar and six choral scholars now that the summer holiday was drawing to a close and the University semester nearing. I poked my head into one room after another, finding a standard layout of a single bed (not popular with the guys, I was sure!) wardrobe, chest of drawers, desk, chair and a sink. It wasn't exactly luxury but it was very respectable for student accommodation. The fifth door that I opened was the communal bathroom. I walked in and froze on the spot. The room had once been the master bedroom and now had shower stalls along one wall, toilet stalls along the other and a double sink in front of the central window. In the middle of the room, standing stark bollock naked on the tiled floor was a slim, perfectly proportioned boy with his back to me, drying his hair. The boy had obviously heard the door open as he spun round, giving me a perfect view of his semi-hard four inch dick. He saw my eyes dart down to his waist, and quickly covered himself with the towel he had been drying himself with. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded. I laughed inwardly that such adult language was said in such a boyish, unbroken voice. Then it struck me - this was the boy that I had seen earlier. I replied calmly, "I'm Alex Thompson, who the fuck are you?" There was a moment of pause, while the cogs were clearly turning in his head. A moment later a look of fear appeared on the boy's handsome face. "Thompson... Mr Thompson? The new Director of Music?" "Correct." "Sorry sir, I'm... I'm... Tom Price. I'm one of your choristers sir." On the outside I kept my face stern, but on the inside the happy-feeling was spreading quickly! The boy looked even more fearful by this point, which was not surprising given that he had been caught naked by the man that he would be working with six days a week for the next year or more. "Actually, I'd been hoping you might consider me for Head Chorister, but I don't suppose there's much chance of that now." I wondered how I should play this. I wanted to make the most of the situation, but I didn't want to alienate the boy on my first day. "Breaking and entering into Abbey property isn't exactly the best reference you could have given yourself Mr Price. And I'm not entirely sure WHY you broke in either. Perhaps you don't have a shower at home?" God I'm a bastard -- I could really make the tone of my voice sound severe when I wanted to. Meanwhile I was battling with myself to keep my eyes on his face rather than his beautiful, lightly tanned upper body that looked as if it was developing nicely through the early stages of puberty. "I didn't break in sir. One of the choral scholars gave me his key before he went home for the summer, so that I could... you know... come here every now and then to escape my family." There were a number of reasons that I could think of why a teenage boy -- I corrected myself, a 12 year old boy (if he wanted to be Head Chorister that meant he must be about to enter Year 8* at school) -- might want a little time alone in a secluded, empty building. Nonetheless, I was all business. "Which choral scholar gave you the key?" I asked, and his face fell. There was a silence. "Sir... I..." "DON'T MESS ME AROUND BOY, I WANT A NAME!" "I... I'm sorry sir but I won't tell you." Good boy! He rushed through the rest of his answer as if he though I might launch into another tirade at any moment. "If I did tell you you'd probably fire him and that wouldn't be fair. I had to blackmail him into giving me the key -- it's my fault, sir, not his. If you want to punish someone, punish me." Once he'd finished his little outburst his eyes dropped to the floor. I debated my options: I was confident that I could break him if I wanted to. I could bellow pretty well and I had worked with some of the very best practitioners in the art of child psychological warfare! Actually though, there was no need, because I would take the key off him before he left, and would easily be able to discover which of the choral scholars did not have their key when they returned. I wasn't going to let him off easily though. I walked towards him and stopped only inches away. In my severe voice I ordered "Look at me please young man". He looked up at me with warm brown eyes that seemed to be searching me for any sign of compassion. "There has been serious wrong-doing here and I am not prepared to just turn a blind eye to that. It is absolutely inappropriate for you to be in this building on your own. Whichever one of the choral scholars gave you their key should have known far better than to do so. If you're going to insist on taking full responsibility for this, then you are also going to have to accept the full severity of the consequences. Do I make myself clear?" His head dropped again and he mumbled a "Yes sir." With my right hand I pulled his chin up again and I noticed tears in his eyes. You bastard! I continued slowly in a more normal voice, "However, the loyalty, integrity and considerable balls that you've just shown by standing up to me makes me inclined to think that... maybe... you might just be exactly the boy I need as my Head Chorister." A weak smile broke out across his face. "So, this is what's going to happen." I removed my hand from his chin and put it on his naked shoulder. "You're going to get yourself dried and dressed, and come upstairs to my flat. Then you and I are going to discuss what exactly you are going to do in order to make recompense for the mental scars that I'm going to be left with after seeing your naked body!" That got a wry grin, which I was very relieved about. I gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Okay?" "Yes sir." As I left the room I reflected on the fact that, when I had pulled his chin up to look at me, it wasn't so much so that I could look him in the eyes as to prevent his eyes looking down at my raging hardon! Once I had clambered up the final flight of stairs, I discovered that the Director of Music's residence had been very nicely renovated. With its large rooms, Victorian fireplaces and high ceilings, this was going to make a comfortable home. The top floor of the house would originally have been all bedrooms, some of which had now been converted into living spaces. My lounge had three big sash windows looking down over the enclosed Abbey green. I also had a good sized kitchen/diner, three bedrooms and bathroom. When Tom Price appeared in my living room nearly ten minutes later, it struck me again how beautiful he was. His hair was neatly cut, which was in itself quite unusual these days, though I liked it a lot. He was tall for a twelve year old, making him look a little older, with a slim but certainly not skinny figure. As he approached me he had a contorted look of uncertainty on his face. "I'd offer you a seat, but as you can see I haven't got any yet, so we'd better just get on with this. I want the key, and I want your parents' phone number." His face was a picture -- it went through various looks of betrayal, fear, anger, fear, pleading, and back to fear. Eventually he obviously decided that I was not to be messed with, as he started rummaging through the bag he had with him and quickly pulled out the key and his mobile phone. After a moment of thumbing through the phone's contact list, he handed both to me. "Thank you." I pocketed the key and headed for the telephone that was sat on one of the deep windowsills. I dialled. "Hello, Mrs Price? Hi, my name's Alex Thompson, I'm the new Director of Music at the Abbey. Um, I have your son here with me... yes... I think he was sort of nosing around to see what I was going to be like. I was just wondering actually if I could take advantage of him being here and persuade you to sell him into servitude for a few hours to help me get moved in." As I looked at Tom it was clearly dawning on him that I wasn't going to tell her of his trespassing, for which he was clearly very relieved. Tom's mother readily agreed that a little manual labour would do him good, and I said I would drop him home around five. Once I had hung up he said "You didn't tell her". The implied question was clear. I went back to my severe voice. "No, and I don't intend to tell anyone else either." He smiled at this. "Before you get any ideas though, or start thinking that 'oh he's so nice and I'm really going to like him' -- don't -- I'm not -- I'm horrible! I'm not doing this for your benefit or the benefit of the idiot that gave you the key. I'm doing it 'coz I'm a lazy sod and as my contract doesn't technically start for another three days I really can't be arsed with the hassle." At this point Tom was trying not to laugh. YES -- I'd got it right! "That doesn't mean you're off the hook though, it just means that I'm not going to do this through official channels. By the time I've finished with you, you'll wish that I HAD called your parents in. I am going to work you so hard today and for as many other days as I see fit, that when you're finished you simply won't have the energy to need a private place for a wank!" At this he turned bright red and suddenly seemed to be very interested in the pattern on the carpet. I noted though that he still had a grin on his face. "Got it?" "Yes sir." As promised, I did work him hard for the rest of the day. He enthusiastically cleaned my entire flat, helped the removers unload my belongings, went out to fetch us some lunch from McDonalds, unwrapped crockery, sorted my CDs into alphabetical order and placed then on their rack, went to Tesco's for me and generally made himself useful. I had the distinct feeling that he was either trying to get me to like him or trying to prove that he really was Head Chorister material. He had quickly succeeded in both. By mid-afternoon we had both collapsed on the sofa with cold drinks. The thing about this boy was that he was both eager to please and just totally charming -- I couldn't help but like him. We chatted for a while about all sorts of things: was he looking forward to going back to school? What were his favourite subjects? My previous jobs; his friends; the football teams we supported... eventually we got onto the subject of the choir and I asked him about my predecessor. He had mixed feelings about the eminent Dr Kelly OBE. I knew that the man had been in the post since before I was born and that he had been highly respected at a national level. Tom surprised me by saying that, though he had been very good at his job, he had disliked the old man intensely, as had most of the boys. I was intrigued by this, but when I asked "Why?" he just shrugged. I didn't push it -- after all the man had recently died of a heart attack. I also asked Tom about Mr Kirby, the Abbey Organist and my new colleague. I knew that he was in his early forties and had been Dr Kelly's assistant organist for quite a few years. Tom said that he had used to live in this flat. When the Rector had promoted him to Organist and made me Director of Music (rather than both Organist and Director of Music as my predecessor had been) they had moved him into Dr Kelly's old house. Tom said that he was a good organist (which I already knew by his reputation) but that he was the most dull, characterless man in the world. This explained to me why he hadn't been given charge of the choir. After a while I decided that I wanted to hear Tom sing and so we went down stairs to the choir room. I thought I would start with a staple of the liturgical diet, and so pulled out two copies of Stanford's Magnificat in G. As he soared effortlessly to the high Gs my heart sped up and I found myself watching him intently. It was a good job that I knew the piece virtually by heart, as I found it very difficult to tear my eyes away from him. His voice was exquisite -- a full and rounded tone that was completely pure and had an indefinable character to it that drew the listener in. As we completed the Gloria, I just sat there looking at him. After a few moments he started to blush, which brought me back to earth with a bump. God I hope I hadn't been drooling. "Tom, I can't do this officially for another few days, but unless there is someone else in the choir that could even come CLOSE to that level of perfection, I think you can be pretty damn sure that you're going to be Head Chorister." Tom flushed with pride and delight, then modestly said: "Well, there is Pete Conway. He's just as good as me, but he's a year younger." "Then he can wait till next year" I replied, and Tom immediately smiled again. For the next hour I put Tom through his paces, pulling out copies of Mendelssohn's Hear My Prayer, Allegri's Misereri, Handel's Let the bright seraphim and a number of other works with testing treble parts. He breezed through them, clearly having sung many of them before, and making a reasonable job of sight-singing the others. When I eventually looked at the clock I swore aloud, making Tom laugh. I stood up in a hurry and told him to run upstairs and get his bag, as I had promised his mother that he would have been home by now. When he returned he looked as if he was weighing something up in his mind. As I moved towards the door he dropped his bag and hugged me, which took me more than slightly by surprise. "Thanks for a great day sir" he said, burying his head against my chest. Time was standing oddly still as I felt the physical and emotional warmth of his embrace and inhaled the boyish smell of his hair. I wrapped my arms around him and, looking down at him, quietly said "Any time." After that I could feel that my penis was starting to get ideas, so I patted him on the back and said "Come on, your mother's going to string me up if I don't get you home soon." He agreed and we headed out. By the time I had negotiated the city's horrific rush-hour traffic we were far later arriving than I had promised. I saw him to the door, and when his mother met us I apologised for being so late, saying that I'd got rather carried away having him sing every treble solo in the library. Thankfully she only laughed and then invited me to stay to dinner. That was tempting, very tempting, but I declined, saying that I had already accepted another invitation. (A white lie, but I was already intoxicated with Tom's company and I thought that any more might be dangerous.) Seeing Tom's disappointed expression I added that I'd be delighted to accept on another day if the offer still stood. Having arranged to join them for lunch on Sunday, I drove back towards the city centre and the Abbey. That night I christened my new bedroom with one of the most intense orgasms I had ever had. The doubts that I had had earlier in the day about my new job had now been utterly banished. I started making mental plans for the future that I thought might turn out to be very enjoyable. To be continued... Glossary: * Nave -- the main body of a church, where the congregation sit. * Verger -- person who assists with liturgical logistics, ceremonials and general matters. * Rector -- a title used by priests in certain senior posts. * Rectory -- residence of the Rector. * Year 8 -- The British school system has different age descriptors to the US system. For those that are interested in such things, UK schools are usually organised as follows: (NB School years begin on the 1st September.) Primary School Reception School Year in which 5th birthday falls Year 1 School Year in which 6th birthday falls Year 2 School Year in which 7th birthday falls Year 3 School Year in which 8th birthday falls Year 4 School Year in which 9th birthday falls Year 5 School Year in which 10th birthday falls Year 6 School Year in which 11th birthday falls Secondary School Year 7 School Year in which 12th birthday falls (or High School) Year 8 School Year in which 13th birthday falls Year 9 School Year in which 14th birthday falls Year 10 School Year in which 15th birthday falls Year 11 School Year in which 16th birthday falls College/6th Form Lower 6th Usually School Year in which 17th birthday falls Upper 6th Usually School Year in which 18th birthday falls The different Local Education Authorities (LEAs -- equivalent to school districts) sometimes have slight variations on the system above, for example Primary Schools are sometimes split into two schools (Infant and Junior); Secondary Schools can sometimes begin at Year 8 rather than Year 7. Comments and suggestions are warmly welcomed via theabbeychoirboys@googlemail.com but please don't be offended if I don't reply personally. The second chapter is on its way.