Date: Fri, 17 Oct 2003 00:23:01 +0100
From: Angela Mynah <angela_mynah@msn.com>
Subject: The Knave of Diamonds

The Knave of Diamonds    (the Gambler part three)

By Angela Mynah

Angela_mynah@msn.com

This story refers to cross generational sex of a homosexual nature.
If this story is illegal in your area or you are offended by such stories,
leave now.
This story is fictional. My father cannot even play 'Snap'

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Knave of Diamonds.

     It was soon after I started playing Poker with the grown-ups that Dad
gave me a framed copy of Rudyard Kipling's poem "If". He had highlighted two
lines very slightly, hardly noticeable in fact. It was just enough to draw
my eye to the phrase.

If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

     It hung proudly above the foot of my bed, so I could read it whenever I
was lying there. The whole poem was wonderful but those two lines were to be
the reason I was accepted as a player, even at my age. When I lost, which I
did often, I did so with good grace and humour. If I won I did so with
humility. A broad smile, yes, but also with humility. It made me a popular
player of games at school as well as sitting round the baize table.

     I would be delighted to tell you that within days of my first game, I
was an invincible player, but I was not. Dad basically funded me. Though I
did make the money last out for quite a while. The arrangement was easy,
What ever I put on the table, Dad Trebled if I needed it. Although the group
had a rule that the game would be started with seven hundred and fifty
pounds in front of each player, I was exempt from this. My ante was set at
anything over one hundred and fifty. Often I managed that by myself without
asking Dad to sponsor me.

     It was not far short of a year later when the next episode in my life
became interesting. I had had my eleventh birthday, I had two parties, one
with my school friends and a second one which was of course a Poker night.
My birthday present was my opening stake, my Ante. Eric Charles and Clive
each gave me two hundred and fifty pounds, I was in with them at their
level. The buzz I got from sitting with that much of a stake was amazing.

   To say that the game went well would be an understatement I ended up with
markers from everyone except Eric. I was out to get him now and he knew it.
I had watched him for months now, trying to find some habit he had that
would tell me his hand, there was none. I had managed to break from my
biting my lip and as far as I could tell, I was showing nothing. I even won
a few hands from Eric we seemed well matched.

     I didn't take on Dad as it didn't seem appropriate to do so, but I won
all dads' money, as well as all his markers, from Clive and Charles. It was
luck that I never had a good hand at the same time Dad did. At the end of my
birthday game I was sitting behind one thousand eight hundred pounds plus
markers, Eric had twelve hundred pounds. I thought I was the king of the
game. I thought I was invincible. I thought I could take on anybody. I
thought wrong.

     Three weeks later I sat at the table, leaning against the wall outside
was a brand new mountain bike, and in front of me was seven hundred and
fifty pounds. I was ready to win some more, I was hungry for the fray. It
was the third hand when the game started to hot up a bit, I was sitting with
three nines, Dad had folded early, and Eric folded at about the same time.
It was when Clive threw his hand in that I took Charles on. He had changed
one card and his short sigh told me he had not drawn what he wanted, this
meant either two pairs or nothing, he was bluffing me, this would cost him
dearly.

     The betting was hard and fast, I suddenly felt a little less sure of
myself and paid to see him. His full house came as an expensive shock to me.
In one hand I had lost half my cash. It was a few hands later that I locked
horns with Clive. He had spent a while straightening op his cards, all the
indications of a poor hand. He slaughtered me. I was left with under a
hundred pounds in less than two hours I had lost over six hundred pounds. I
was confused, I looked at Eric. His expression told me nothing.

     I had to learn all over again, how to play. I tried to remember what I
had been taught about odds and such like, and then I started to watch the
guys again. I folded three times on the trot and concentrated on the other
players. The signs had stopped. They knew. Someone, probably Eric had told
them. Now they were using the signs against me, except Dad of course, he was
concentrating on not giving out any indication of his hand.

    As I watched, I realised that although each had stopped their little
habits, I doubted that any of them knew about the others. I remembered
Eric's wise words.

    "What I will advise you against, is ever telling anybody about reading
someone else."

     I understood what had happened now if not why. I was going to have to
play cards now, not go people watching. I lost terribly. Clive had won all
his markers back.

     The next deal was the disaster for me. I had a running flush. Seven,
eight, nine, ten and Jack all in diamonds. Problem, I was low on cash. I was
soon head to head with Clive again. I wrote out a marker for two hundred and
fifty pounds. Dad tried to intervene but I was resolute.

     Clive smiled as he accepted my marker. Shortly I didn't have enough to
see him and he knew it, he had wiped me. I had the hand of a lifetime and no
cash. I wondered what to do.

     "Well young man, it's down to you, I think you have to fold now or
borrow. You have nothing left to gamble with, and before you ask, No, I will
not accept your bicycle. Shame really, and you with such a good hand too"

     He laughed just a little, not gloatingly, just reaffirming the pecking
order

     Clive knew exactly what he had done; he was teaching me a lesson on
betting. I had been foolish; I should have called him when I could afford
it.

     I did have one other possible asset to bet with. I took a pen and wrote
another marker. I folded it and handed it to him. It was a bet I never
thought I would make. He read the paper and handed it to Dad, who paled.
Clive looked at me and asked.

     "Are you quite sure of this?"

     I nodded. Clive took out his pen and wrote a rider to my marker. I
couldn't see what it said.

     "Very well I accept you marker, what have you got"

     "I have a running flush, Diamonds, Jack high"

     "You deserve to win with a hand like that but for the first time in my
life I am holding a royal flush"

     He laid his cards down, Ace, King, Queen , Jack and ten, all in spades,
he opened my marker out  putting it down on the table for all to see. It
read...

    "I Patrick Reever will stay at the home of the bearer of this note for
the weekend for whatever enjoyment the bearer sees fit."

      It was signed and dated. Clive had added the date of this weekend. I
would be going home with him after the game. He had further added that the
marker took the place of the money in the middle of the table, including my
other markers.

     "Well, I have to give you a chance to win yourself back lad, that's
only fair"

     Talk about silence in the room, I did what I had been trained to do all
my life, I lost graciously, and carried on with the game.

     As hard as I tried I found it impossible to concentrate. I knew what
Clive would want to do, and I was not really looking forwards to it at all.
The last time I had been in this predicament my dad had put me there, I was
a kid then, only ten years old, now I was a man. I was eleven. I could not
renege on the bet, not if I wanted to carry on playing. I called to mind
another pearl of wisdom Dad had passed on to me.

     "However bad the situation, make the most of it, try to enjoy yourself
and learn from it"

     I wondered what I was going to learn but Dad was right, the only way to
get over this was to go for it and try to enjoy, rather than endure the
experience.

    As the evening went on I actually managed to win back some money. I
ended the day with nearly six hundred pounds plus any markers back, except
one. The game ended and I decided to take the lead here. I went up and got
changed.

     When I came back down stairs I was wearing my new school uniform.
Everything was just very slightly too big for me, "Room for Growth" they all
said. I was in black polished shoes with grey socks. My long trousers were
standard Charcoal grey and I had pale blue briefs under them. My shirt was
new and white, still showing the original creases from the packaging. I had
a dark blue V necked thin woollen pullover and my school tie. My blazer I
carried over my arm.

     Dad was still reasoning with Clive trying to buy back my marker till I
stopped him.

     "I made the bet Dad; you always told me that a man must honour his
bets."

     "A man yes, an eleven year old boy, less so"

     "I was told I was playing a man's game with men, I will honour the bet"

     I looked at Eric, he was watching me with what I can only describe as
"approval" mainly for the stand I was taking, the way I treated the loss of
my marker, but I also noticed something else, His loins were showing signs
of approval too, there was a definite bulge.

     Clive stood up to leave.

     "Don't hurt him, if you do, you know I will not let it rest"

     "I won't hurt him at all. I can't help what I am, and you all know what
that is. This marker is my ticket to heaven this weekend but I can't enjoy
it if he is hurting. I wish he would enjoy it with me but I suspect not. All
I can do is to make the experience for him painless and not too unpleasant.
That's the best I can offer."

     I was to be returned home at six o'clock Sunday evening; it was close
to eleven o'clock Friday night. I wondered how the weekend would go as I
picked up a bag with some carefully selected spare clothes in it and holding
Clive's hand, walked to his car.

     Clive's flat was very nice. A little small perhaps, but comfortable. I
took my bag of spare things and placed them by the couch. Clive had been
over at the sideboard. He came back with two glasses, one much fuller than
the other. He handed me the larger measure.

     "I don't know if you like whiskey, but I have put some ginger ale in
yours, calm it down a little"

     I stood in front of him taking the glass. I thought for a wonderful
moment he was going to get me drunk and I wouldn't know what was happening
to me. I took a sip and looked up into his face. He could see in my eyes
that I thought the drink revolting. He took my glass and placed it on the
table.

     His hands were trembling as he loosened my tie, taking it from my
collar and laying it on the back of the couch. I managed to maintain my
smile as he lifted my pullover over my head. He undid the top button of my
shirt and stood back to admire his efforts so far. Still slightly shaking he
went down on to his knees and removed my shoes and socks. My trousers soon
joined my tie, hanging over the couch back.

      Now was his moment of glory. He slowly and gently put his thumbs in
the elastic of my briefs and I felt them make the journey down my legs and
settle round my ankles. I stepped out of them. Clive was shaking quite badly
now as he undid the buttons on my shirt. He pushed it from my shoulders and
let it fall to the floor. He stood back taking in the vision of my naked
form. He pulled me towards him.

     Dad sat and ate in silence as he looked across the table at me that
Sunday evening. Clive had delivered me back home at the appointed hour. I
got out of his car and was shaking his hand as Dad opened the front door. He
couldn't bring himself to look at Clive as we said good bye, and Clive
didn't press the matter, he drove off quietly.

     Dad finally broke our awkward silence.

     "Are you sore Son? Did he hurt you?"

     "No Dad, It...   it...   it...   . He ...  He...   He...    Oh Dad it was
Horrible."

     Eleven years old or not I rushed round the table and into my crying
father's arms. I couldn't control my sobbing any more that he could control
his. I felt so dirty, I felt cheap and I felt used.

     It must have been an hour later when we first really managed to have
any control of our emotions. Abandoning our now cold meal we sat in the
living room and I told him all that had happened. He remained quiet
throughout occasionally I saw the evidence of his eyes watering as perhaps I
gave him more detail than maybe he wanted.

     After I had related the story, still tearful, Dad came to my chair. He
pulled me to him and we hugged. Oh how we hugged, I never wanted to let him
go. I buried my face in his chest and wept more than once as Dad held me
tighter and tighter shamelessly crying. The torment he was going through was
evident.

     "Patrick, I want you to go and have a shower, or a bath, which ever you
prefer. When you have done that, you are to go to bed. I am going out for a
short while but I expect you to be in bed by the time I return. Will you do
that for me?"

     I told him I would, and I went upstairs. I looked out of the window and
saw Dad get into his car and drive away. I knew where he was going; he was
going to pay Clive a visit. I had my bath and could do nothing more than to
do as requested. I went to bed.

     I had intended to stay awake till dad came home and find out what had
happened but the stress and fatigue that I had felt drain away from me in
the bath, had left me exhausted and my head had hardly touched the pillow
before I was dreaming of far away places and wonderful things.

     My alarm clock takes no prisoners. It was designed by some sadistic
people who had no respect for the joys of sleep. I got out of bed and went
across the room to give the offending timepiece a bad start to the day. I
kept it on the other side of my bedroom as that was the only way to get me
out of bed.

     I looked at it with bleary eyes, it said nine o'clock. I didn't
understand. I had set it for seven thirty, my normal time. There was a note
from dad next to the clock.

     "You needed a sleep-in. See you when I get home from work. Love Dad."

     I dressed and made ready to go out. In the summer school holidays, I
went to a youth club run by the local church, it was really there to keep us
safe and off the streets. It was overseen by the local curate, a saint of a
man who I had only ever once seen close to loosing his temper. That was
about four weeks before when he ambled over to the corner where we were
sitting to see what we were doing, that kept half a dozen us so absorbed.

     I still say he overreacted, and I found it hard to forgive him laying
my full house out for all to see. On the other hand it did expose one of my
friends as a cheat; he had a second deck and was swapping cards. May the
good Lord forgive him. Anyway the Curate told me in no uncertain terms that
the Vicar would not approve of a casino operating in the church hall. Here
endeth the card school.

     This day however, I was in no mood for cards; I sat worrying about what
had happened the previous night, just how events had unfolded in Clive's
flat when Dad arrived there. I must have been sitting, gazing at a blank
wall for nearly an hour when...

     "Looks like somebody here needs a friend and maybe a cuddle?"

     I hadn't realised it but a few tears had run down my cheek and onto the
table. Rhonda, the Curates wife, had been watching me from a discrete
distance. She had come up to me and seen that although I was not actually
crying, I was close, bloody close. It was also obvious to her that my mind
was a long way elsewhere. I hadn't even noticed her sit beside me even
though she had been there a few minutes.

     "What's wrong poppet; do you want to talk about it?"

     It was a good question, I did want to talk about it, I wanted to ask
questions and I wanted explanations, but I could not. I knew that to talk
about what had happened that weekend would see people going off to prison.
My problem was that I was near to bursting point.

     "I don't know. It's a sort of very private thing. I want to tell people
things but I don't want them to know anything after I have told them. ...
That doesn't make any sense ... does it?"

     "Funnily enough Patrick, that makes more sense than you realise and
there is a way for you to do this. You may not know this but if you tell a
priest a secret and tell him it is a secret, he cannot tell anyone else in
the world ever. He cannot tell even the Queen or the Prime Minister. Nobody!
He has to keep it secret too. Does that help you poppet?"

     I thought about this for a while before asking,

     "Does that include the Curate? Does he have to keep things secret too?
Even from policemen?"

     "Yes it does include Robby, the Curate and yes he cannot even tell
policemen. He can't tell me either. What you tell him is strictly
confidential, totally private, it stays a secret. Would you like to speak to
him? We have a little private room in here, just through there and upstairs.
I know Robby's' not busy right now. Would you like me to go and get him?"

     I nodded yes. I seemed to lose control now. It was like I was on some
kind of autopilot. I sat and wondered what I was going to say to the man. I
wondered what questions I was going to ask him. There was so much in my head
that was confusing me. I wondered if I was doing the right thing.

     Robby was a nice man, he was young but old fashioned. Not for him the
modern trend of a casual dress code he wore his dog collar with pride. He
disagreed with those who said that people found it intimidating. He likened
his uniform with that of a nurse rather than that of a policeman, he called
it his badge of help not his warrant of authority.

     He walked over to me and took me gently by the hand, leading me to this
private room.

     "Now then Patrick, I understand that you might like to have a private
chat with me. I will tell you that what my wife told you is true. Anything
you tell me privately is safe with me. I can and will tell no-one anything
about the contents of our chat, or even the subjects covered. It is a
promise I made to God that I would keep safe, the secrets that people told
me. Now in your own time, what would you like to talk about? Rhonda told me
that you may be in a little trouble with the police, is that your problem? "

     It was an hour later that there was a knock on the door. The Curates
wife brought in some sandwiches. I had been telling Robby all about the
first marker, the one that dad had written out nearly a year before, and I
told him all about Clive and the way he hardly touched me. I told him about
the last game we had and the marker I had put down. Then it was time to
describe what happened Friday evening, Saturday and yesterday, Sunday.

     I told him about Clive taking me in his mouth and making me climax in
it even though there was no semen, and that he kept dressing me, undressing
me and bathing me. I told the Curate all about Clive using his tongue in my
bottom, and sometimes his fingers. Then I told him the big one. I told him
about the thing that was hurting me more than anything else. I told him the
thing that I could not even bring myself to tell my own father. I told the
Curate that I had started to enjoy it. I told Robby that I thought I was
becoming gay, a poof, and a queer.

     While Clive was doing all these things to me he had been saying that it
was wrong of him to do so. He was calling himself all the names under the
sun. He had cursed his perverted ways. He hated himself for being what he
was, but couldn't stop himself.

      I was frightened that if I said I was enjoying the attention he was
giving me, he might stop. He had said so often that he prayed that he was
not corrupting me, turning me into the animal he thought himself to be. I
didn't want him to think that he might be, so I carried on looking as I did,
but saying nothing.

    Clive had taken my resigned smile to be me honouring the bet. Not making
a fuss, even 'taking it like a man'. To start with that was true, but soon
after he had undressed me I knew I wanted it, I felt sort of shivery and
excited. I wanted Clive to do all the things I imagined him doing. He very
did a few of them. I wanted more and I felt dirty and used for wanting it.
All this I told the Curate.

      It was only when I started telling him about the things I wanted Clive
to do to me, that Robby held up his hand to silence me.

     "It is one thing to tell me of things that have happened, but quite
another to start talking sex with me. I understand your dilemma about
telling your father about your sexual orientation, and I think I understand
the problem you face within it. You seem worried on two fronts.

     "Firstly that he may reject you for being gay. I can put your mind at
rest on that one, he will not reject you. Your father is one of the most
broad minded people I have had the pleasure, no, honour, of meeting. He has,
in a way, proved this to you. Even after discovering Clive's weakness, he
still invited the man round to play games of cards. Not the actions of a
homophobic bigot. I am confident you are safe there.

     "Your second worry is that of wondering if your father will consider
Clive responsible for your orientation. Again the answer is 'no he will
not'. Your father is an educated man and knows that the experiences you have
been through would not turn a heterosexual into a homosexual.

     "As far as you own worries about your orientation, you are what you
are. However, you are also only eleven years old. You have a lot of body
changes yet to go through and you may, just may, be a little premature to
know for certain yet as to how your orientation will be.

    "Yes I know there are those who say they knew when they were very young,
but you may be wrong. There are many bisexual men and even heterosexual men
who thought at your age, that they liked boys rather than girls and that
therefore they were gay. They turned out not to be what they thought they
were. Do not be too quick to hang labels round your neck. That is the way
people get hurt."

     "Say you try to be Heterosexual and really you are not. Eventually you
may get married and still denying your true feelings. Sooner or later your
wife will find out and she will be badly hurt, the marriage will fail and
you both suffer.

     " Lastly, try to remember this. Sex is not love and love is not sex.
Sex is just one part of a relationship. "If there is sex without love, it is
called 'Lust'. Too few learn that lesson and pay a high price. Be what you
are and you will be a good person. You cannot be true to another unless you
are true to yourself first."

     I left the room. Still a little confused I went back downstairs and to
Rhonda. I was feeling much lighter in my mind now. I felt that I could sit
down and think things through. Then I remembered Clive, and Dad going to
visit him. I thought back to the Curates words, broad minded he called my
father, I hoped he was right. I went home to think and wait for Dad to
return from work.

     Time just flashes past when you are sorting things out in your mind and
I hadn't really worked out what I was going to say, when Dad came in through
the front door. He sat in his seat and I went to the couch. As hard as I
tried I could not look him in the face. I sat there looking at my feet,
hating this embarrassing silence. Dad hated it too, I could tell, after a
moment or two he came and sat next to me.

     "Do you want to tell me or would it be easier for you if I told you?"

     "I don't know. I don't know what to say. Tell me what to say Dad"

     I was still studying my shoes when he put his arm round me and pulled
me to him.

     "Clive told me that he thinks you rather enjoyed some of the things
that happened over the weekend. He is sure you were not revolted by the
activities, and he feels that these things are such that you either like it
or hate it, there's no middle road when it comes to sex. Come on Patrick,
deep breath and tell me. Are you Gay?"

     "I think I am dad, but I don't really know. I liked almost everything
he did and wanted him to do other things too, but I don't want to be gay
dad, I want to be normal and everything. I don't want to be a perv!"

     "Now what sort of language is that then Patrick, a perv? That's not a
nice way of saying it. It is possible that you are heterosexual, maybe you
are bisexual, or perhaps you are homosexual. Frankly Patrick I don't care
what you are in that way. I have no objection to meeting your first date
whether it's a boy or a girl, and I will treat your life's partner with love
and affection whatever their gender. Let me ask you, do you feel like a
pervert?"

     "How do I know, I don't know what a pervert feels like. All I know is
that all the kids in the school will hate me, because it makes me different.
None of the other boys will want to shower with me after sports and I bet
they all start sneering at me"

     "Hey, Hey,Hey. Slow down tiger. You didn't know yourself until three
days ago, and you can't be certain even now. Don't go building obstacles in
your way. Take things one at a time and work the problem. Now let's start
with the first one. You say all the kids will hate you. Why? Who's going to
tell them? How will they know? For the other things you mentioned the same
applies. What next?"

     The conversation with dad went on for a couple of hours. After we had
eaten I went to bed. Dad said he had some phone calls to make and although
it was early for me I was tired. It is surprising how tiring worry can be. I
felt a bit excited round the dick area so I pulled off my pyjama bottoms and
held myself, gently stroking, caressing, massaging. It was wonderful.

     I was still in much that position when I woke the next morning. I had
forgotten to set my alarm but was woken by a gentle tap on my bedroom door.
Dad walked in and smiled as he saw my pyjamas on the floor by my bed, lying
where they had fallen last night.

     "Morning Tiger, I have a surprise for you, you have a visitor, I can't
stop, and I have to go to work. Have fun"

     As he was walking out of the door, Clive came in. He smiled as he sat
on the side of my bed. I guessed that this had to be from dad's phone calls
last night. As we heard the front door close and Dad walk the gravel path to
his car, Clive put his finger to my lips to stop me saying anything. Gently
he rested my head on my pillow and ran his forefinger into my hair softly
curling it.

     "I want to drink you all up, I know you don't produce cum yet but I
will take your pee instead. That and there are some other surprises I have
for you"

     "I lay back in my bed as he slowly pulled the duvet off me leaving my
naked form there for his pleasure. He started licking then a gentle sucking.
He never saw the door open as my father crept back into my room. I was about
to shout out but I saw dads smile. It was tender. He knelt by the side of my
bed next to Clive and kissed my ear. His kiss was followed by a lick.

     He stopped his attentions to me for a moment and in a quiet voice
called towards the door,

     "Come on in guys, its ok now"

     Both Eric and Charlie stepped into my bedroom. They went to the other
side of the bed from dad as he returned to bathing me with his tongue. The
other two started to do the same, Eric doing the other side of my face and
neck with Charlie concentrating on my chest. The feeling for me was
electric. Clive had started fingering my boyhole as he sucked away, I could
not hold on any longer.

     First the dry orgasm hit me; I shuddered as the sensations hit me,
bombarding my mind with different types of pleasure. Clive was still sucking
when, as I relaxed from my climax, my bladder released its load to my still
rigid penis. Clive drank it all, not one drop did he waste. As it softened
up Clive released my penis from his mouth. He swung me round and as my Dad
and the other two recommenced my tongue bath, he took his trousers and
underpants off and lifted my knees to my chest.

     As I looked I was treated to the sight of Charles putting Vaseline on
Clive's erect dick, and I felt a judder to my body as I realised that Eric
was applying some of the lubricant to my own small boyhole.

     I expected a little pain as Clive entered my body but not as much as
there was. I thought I was being cleaved in two by his meat. I went to
scream but found dads lips suddenly pressed against my own. The pain quickly
subsided as Clive carefully worked his penis inside me, and there it was. He
was inside me. I was a virgin no more and all the people who loved me were
there helping me to love the experience. I looked as my bedroom door opened
once more. In walked my mother, her blue tongue hanging from her mouth, she
whispered the same word over and over again "Pervert"

     My scream must have been heard all over the county. I struggled to get
up, my father held me down his eyes were fiery red.

     "Stay down and take it up the ass little fuck boy"

     I shouted again and tried to get away but I was being wrapped up in my
own duvet. I felt Clive ejaculating in me as Charles forcefully grabbed at
my testicles and pulled them nearer his salivating mouth. I lost the use of
my arms as I was cocooned in the bedclothes, still I struggled. Still I saw
my mother laughing as she continued shouting 'Pervert' at me. Still I saw my
father leering at me, now I felt another sensation, Clive was fisting me. He
had forced his whole arm through my sphincter, he was up to his elbow and
the pain was intolerable.

     I don't know how, I don't know where but somehow I managed to twist and
wriggle. I broke free but the turn caused me to crash to the floor. The fall
pulled Clive's arm from my rectum the duvet loosened and I leaped screaming
to my bedroom door, straight into the arms of my father who had beaten me to
it, I started punching him in the face. All I could here was his shouting

     "Pervert....Pervert... Pervert...Perget...Piger... Tiger... Tiger  ...
Tiger wake up  ... Tiger wake up... Wake up for Christ's sake... Tiger you're
alright... Tiger you're ok, Daddy's got you."

     As I stopped hitting and punching the one holding me the scene changed
in front of my eyes. Clive turned into one of the bedposts with my dressing
gown hanging limply from it, where Charles's head had been was my table lamp
Eric seemed to become my wardrobe and mother, Oh Mother, she was now part of
the design of my wall paper. Only one person was in the room with me, Dad.

      As I looked at him I knew I had done damage, his nose and jaw were
flowing blood unmercifully. One eye was cut and puffing up as I looked, the
room returned to being my safe haven but as I looked at my father, his face
broken, I saw my own lights dim darker and darker. I heard a voice saying,

     "Its ok Tiger, you are safe now"

     My light went out completely and my legs collapsed. I was vaguely aware
of being in somebody's arms. There was a sharp sting to my cheek, then
another. I shook my head away from the source but one came to the other
cheek then again. I turned my head the other way and felt something wet land
on my lips. I licked it, it was blood, and I opened my eyes and froze at
what I could see.

     The fact that Dads nose was broken was plain for anybody to see, but
one eye was closing up and blood was dripping from his lips. He still hugged
me to him as painful as it was for him. That was when I caught the first
whiff of a really nasty smell. Having now regained full consciousness, I
stood, I looked at my bed, The nightmare was still vivid in my mind, yes I
had released my bladder but Clive's mouth had not been there to receive its
contents, Nothing had passed my anal gland going in, but plenty had come
out. My bed was a mess, I was a mess and Dads face was a mess.

     Dad was now trying to talk to me but his tongue was swelling and he
made little in the way of comprehendible speech, I took him from my room and
just about made out a weak smile from him as I sat him on his own bed. I
kissed him on his forehead and picked up the phone by his bed.

     "Eric, Hi its Patrick here, Dads had a bit of an accident, can you come
round and give me a hand here please... No it's not that bad but it might be a
good idea if you could phone Clive and ask him to come too... yes Thanks, I
will leave the front door open for you, see you soon."

     I went down stairs and opened the door, then straight back up to dad,
taking a bowl and a facecloth along with the first aid kit from the
bathroom. I started gently cleaning his face. He was still trying to tell me
something when the door opened and Eric came in with Clive.

     Eric was used to seeing beaten faces, he worked at the local hospital
but as he looked at Dad the shock was obvious.

     "Hell Jack, You've been in a fight, I have never known you fight
before, what's been going on?"

     Eric took the first aid stuff from me and started doing a proper job of
cleaning him up; suddenly he stopped and looked at me. I looked at him. I
looked at Clive. He was looking at me. That was the moment I remembered two
things, firstly that I was as naked as a jaybird and secondly I was covered
in my own shit.

     Clive walked away and started to run a bath. Charles returned his
attention to Dad's face, but was talking to me.

     "You did this. Am I right?"

     I nodded.

     "Was it another Nightmare?"

     I nodded again.

     "Was it anything to do with your spending the weekend with Clive?"

     I didn't get time to either nod or shake my head. Clive came in and led
me to the bathroom. He had heard the questions though and it showed in his
face.

     "Well Patrick, Was your nightmare anything to do with spending the
weekend with me?"

     "No Clive, I don't think so, well sort of, but not the way you are
thinking"

     As Clive stood me in the bath and washed me down I told him everything.
Most importantly I confessed to him that I thought I must be gay as I had
started to enjoy the things that he had been doing to me. I was quite calm,
the words just flowed out. I knew that Dad and Eric were listening so I kept
my voice loud enough for them to hear clearly.

     Clean and much sweeter smelling I went into dad's room while Clive
stripped my bed, and prepared the spare bed in dad's room. That was when I
went into full detail of the nightmare. I had never meant to tell, it was
all so stupid, all so illogical, but all so damned frightening. I told the
lot, in full Technicolor. Stupidly I included the information that I was
enjoying it all till the point where Mum came into it.

     Dad was looking terrible and Eric told him so. The discussion had not
gone on long when Eric decided that Dad needed to go to casualty. It was
near midnight. I could hardly believe that this night was yet to run its
course. It was agreed that I would go home with Clive, and Eric would take
Dad to hospital. After which, Dad would stay with him for the rest of the
night. We would meet in the morning. Time off work would be arranged then.

     I walked to Clive's car wearing my dressing gown; it would not be long
where, back in Clive's flat, he would discover that my dressing gown was all
that I was wearing. Tonight, Clive really could do what ever he wanted with
me. Tonight I was Clive's.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------


That was   'The Knave of Diamonds'   by Angela Mynah

angela_mynah@msn.com

All comments welcome, even flamers. Its being ignored I can't stand.

Please do e-mail me; I get a lot of my ideas from what you say. (Including
corrections about the game Poker)

I have an idea for chapter 4 which would be the last for this story. Do I
have enough readers to make it worth my continuing? You tell me.