Date: Thu, 21 Feb 2002 19:14:26 +0000
From: Jeffrey Fletcher <jeffyrks@hotmail.com>
Subject: Countrymen  Part 10

This story contains consenting sex between young boys, teenagers, and adult
men.  If it is illegal to read such material where you live, or you dislike
such material, then surf elsewhere.  All the characters are entirely
fictitious, some of the places where incidents take place do exist.

Thanks to those who have communicated with me.  I am realising from those
who have contacted me that the majority of my readers do not live in the
UK.  To help with some of the background information I have provided some
footnotes at the end of the section.  If there are other matters that you
would like explaining, or to discuss do feel free to get in contact.  I
believe I have replied to all who have done so.  My email is
jeffyrks@hotmail.com



 Resume:- Phil, the narrator, is a man in his 60s has met Colin, and begun
a sexual friendship with him.  Colin is a member of a small gay group,
called the Countrymen, and wants Phil to become a member.  He has met two
other members, Kevin a man in his 20s, who had a hard time at school, and
Tom an older man, who spent all his working life as a farm labourer, and in
a long standing relationship with Colin.  Phil has arranged to spend a day
out walking with Vic, who was also called Archie, or just Arch, the fourth
member of the group.

The Countrymen Part 10

As I was comparatively new to Yorkshire Vic had decided where we should go
for our walk.  `I'll take you on one of my favourite walks,' he had said
over the phone.  We arranged to meet at the car park just outside the small
village of Muker towards the top of Swaledale.  We said that we would meet
at 10.00am, this involved me leaving York shortly after 8.00am, as I was
unsure how long the journey would take.

It was one of those wonderful late May mornings.  The sun was shining from
a cloudless sky, and from early on there was a feeling of warmth in the
air.  It looked as though it was going to be the first really summer's day
of the year.  The trees were fully into leaf, and had not yet lost that
bright fresh green, which gives way to the heavy darker green of the full
summer.  I enjoyed the drive, except for the stretch on the A1, which was
as busy and full of lorries as ever.  But I turned off the A1 just before
Catterick, and the land began to rise as I approached the hills.  The
hedgerows, gave way to the dry stone walls that are such a feature of the
Pennines.  Then the road plunged down into Swaledale.  This was new
territory for me.  Across the valley I saw the remains of Marrick Priory.
On I drove through Grinton where I crossed over to the north side of the
valley, and then through Reeth to Gunnerside.  I knew that was the last
village before Muker.  The road took me back over to the south side of the
valley again for nearly three miles, and then I saw the sign saying I was
approaching Muker.  The car park was easy to find, and I drove straight in.
There was no other car there.  I looked at my watch, it was 9.55am.

I got out of the car and stretched.  The sun was warm, and the sky still
the palest of blues.  I got my boots out of the back of the car, and went
to sit on the bench that is in the car park, and looked across the river
Swale to the church and jumble of roofs that make up Muker.

It was about two minutes past ten when a battered landrover came tearing up
the road, into the car park, where it stopped alongside my car.  The door
opened and out stepped a man.  He looked in his early to mid forties, but I
knew from Kevin he was about fifty.  He was about three or four inches
shorter than me.  But whereas I am fairly slim, he was thick set.  I think
the words sturdy or stocky can best describe his physique.  He was not in
any way fat, but he had broad shoulders on him, and looked a powerful man.
The first glance made me think of scrum half in rugby football; I later
found that I was correct about that.  He had brown hair, perhaps beginning
to go grey, and a small patch where his hair was decidedly thin.  He looked
at me with a broad grin, "Phil, I presume.  I'm Archie Montgomery-Owen."
We shook hands.  "Sorry I'm late.  Last minute phone call."

We were both dressed in shorts, and his revealed a couple of strong
muscular walking legs.  He got his boots from the back of the landrover,
and we both sat on the bench putting our boots on.  Our talk while doing
that, was about the weather and the journey and the traffic on the A1.
Soon we were ready for off.  Ruck sacs were swung onto our backs, and then
we started walking.  We went across the road bridge and up through the
village of Muker.

As we walked through the village I asked the first question, "What is the
difference between a vicar and a rector?"  He laughed.  `I wish I got paid
for every time I got asked that question.  The ancient historic difference
goes back centuries.  Rector's received all the tithes that were due to the
them, vicar's received just the lesser tithes.  Today that means some
parishes have rectors and others vicars.  Practically, there is no
difference at all.  We all get paid the same.  At the end of the twentieth
century they started making team ministries, and the head man was the team
rector, and the others team vicars."

I thought I understood, so asked a second question, "I notice you have a
hyphenated surname, how come?"

"How do you know that?  Did that young whipper-snapper Kevin tell you?"

"No.  I went and looked you up in Crockford's Clerical Directory.  That
told me all about you."

"I see.  My surname goes back to my great grandfather, in the nineteenth
century. He was called Horatio Montgomery.  When he was a young, and very
poor sub lieutenant in the Navy, he fell in love with the only daughter of
an exceedingly wealthy industrialist, called Penelope Owen.  Her father
thought that Horatio was out to get his sticky hands on his daughter's
money.  He forbade them to see each other again.  They refused and ran off
together and got married.  Great great grandfather Owen was furious, and
stopped the allowance that he gave his daughter, and threatened to leave
all his wealth to the nineteenth century equivalent of the Battersea Dog's
Home.  The married couple scraped along without two pennies to rub
together.  But then Horatio distinguished himself in a naval action in some
far off corner of the Empire.  He was the hero of the month.  He was
slightly wounded, but returned to Britain in glory.  He timed his return
well, for almost as his feet touched English soil at Plymouth, Penelope
gave birth to a healthy son.  In an attempt to butter up old man Owen they
called the child Archibald, after the old man.  The combination of a heroic
son-in-law and a grandson named after him softened the old man up, and he
restored and I believe increased the allowance to his daughter.  Horatio
came out of the navy, much to the disappointment of his side of the family,
but set up in business, and he in turn made a fortune."

"And so you are named after your great great grandfather?"

"For my sins, yes.  But on the Owen side of the family there are Archibalds
stretching still further back."

"So there was a naval tradition in your family?"

"Still is, Phil.  My father was in the navy.  My brother is in the Navy.
My sister is married to a naval officer.  It used to be said of the
Montgomeries that out of any six men, three would go into the navy, two
into the army and one into the church.  I have a brace of bishops in my
Montgomery history, and a choir of Archdeacons."

"I thought it was a bench of bishops?"

"That is linguistically correct, but as there were only two of them in the
family so I say they made a brace, like pheasants."

We laughed.

We started up the spur of Kisdon Hill, turning every so often to admire the
view.  We looked back down Swaledale, and down onto the small village of
Muker.

"So when did it start for you?" asked Archie.

I told him briefly the early part of my story.  "And when did it start for
you?"  I asked in return.

"Very early on.  I was enjoying getting physically close to boys at a very
early age.  My first experience was one Christmas when I must have been
about seven.  We always spent Christmas in Wiltshire, at an aunt and
uncles.  They lived in Crippleshanks Manor, a large old house.  There would
be between twenty and thirty members of the family there."

"You certainly come from a large family!"

"Yes, the Montgomery-Owens are good breeders.  Up until that Christmas I
had always slept on a small made up bed in my parent's room, but that year
my aunt decided that I should sleep in my cousin's room.  He was about
eighteen months older than me.  He was the nearest cousin to me in age, and
we'd always got on well.  His bedroom was fairly big, and easily took a
couple of beds.  For the first two nights nothing happened.  I slept in his
bed, and he slept in the bed that had been brought in.  The aunt said that
my cousin, Chris, should give the bigger bed to me, as the guest.  Chris
always called me `little cousin' because he was a couple of inches taller
than me.  I never caught him up, even when I was fully grown.  On Christmas
night, after all the excitement, we were late to bed, and lay in our beds
talking.  Eventually the house quietened down, as some of the adults played
cards well into the early hours, and other like our parents went off to
bed.  Then Chris said, `Little cousin, can I get into bed with you, this
bed isn't very comfortable.'  I said he could, and in he climbed.  There
was plenty of room for us.  We continued talking softly to each other,
mainly about the presents we had received, and also about our relations.
There were so many of them they were an endless topic of conversation.
Then completely out of the blue Chris asked, `Does your dickie ever get
hard?'  Now getting a hard cock was something that was beginning to happen
to me.  So I said, `Yes sometimes, does yours?'  `Yes,' he said, `A lot.
It is now.'  I think I said something like is it really.  Then he said,
`Would you like to feel it?'  `If you like,' was my reply.  He got hold of
my hand and placed it on his cock, which I could feel strong and hard
through his pyjama trousers.  `Does yours get as hard as that?' he asked.
`Yes, its getting hard now.'  He reached over and felt my cock.  But he
soon found the opening and put his hand in and grasped my cock."

"Did you like that?'

"I should say.  We lay there just holding cocks for a while.  `I know,'
said Chris, `Let's put our cocks together.'  So that's what we did.  Two
small prepubescent boys, lying close with their cocks together, but with
their pyjamas still on."

"How bold of you!"

"The next night we got a little bolder, Chris suggested that we tried lying
on top of each other.  Still with our pyjamas on we did that, though our
cocks were poking out of our pyjama openings.  The final night we actually
took off our pyjamas, tops as well as bottoms.  We slept in the nude."

"How rash of you!' I said with a laugh, `And you enjoyed it?"

"I felt it was the naughtiest and yet the most enjoyable thing I had ever
done in my whole life!"

We both laughed.

"We didn't sleep much that night, there was just a lot of cuddling."

"Any kissing?"

"No we regarded that as sissy and girlish.  Boys who wanted to be
considered men did not kiss anybody except mothers, grandmothers and of
course the innumerable aunts."

"So that was how it started for you?"

"Yes, it was a wonderful experience, I thought about it a lot over the next
twelve months.  Though we met up for a few days in the summer, there was
just no opportunity to find out whether Chris would want to do it again.
In the September he started at a Prep School [See footnote at end] so I was
very conscious that he becoming the bigger boy.  Next Christmas we were
back at Crippleshanks again.  When we arrived my aunt said to me, `Chris is
insisting that you share a bedroom again, you don't have to, as there is a
room you can have on your own.'  I said I'd like to share.  Sure enough the
first night, while we were undressing, Chris said, `Sleeping arrangements
as last year?'  I said `Okay'. Then when I went to put my pyjamas on he
said, `Little cousin, what do you need those for?'  I noticed that he
already had a hard on as he climbed into bed.  `I've been wanting to do
this all the year,' he said.  `So have I,' I replied.  We had a good cuddle
and a lot of rubbing cocks together.  Then he told me a bit about his prep
school, and about the boys showering all together.  `Some of them have big
cocks, and sometime they get quite stiff when under the shower.  One or two
of the older boys have got hair growing just above their dickies.'  This
was all new to me with my sheltered upbringing.  We found that there were
things we liked doing together, holding each others balls and stroking each
others perineum, though we would not have known that word.  It was the
beginning of the discovery of erogenous zones."

"Did you kiss yet?"

"We were very slow getting into that.  I kissed Chris first, got sort of
carried away, and he was quite shocked.  Then decided why not.  And gave me
one back.  It was just peck kisses, nothing more."

"Was it same again the next Christmas?"

"Yes.  But things had happened for both of us over the year.  For me at the
ripe age of eight and a half I started as a boarder at my Prep School, not
the same one as Chris.  His was some where down in the West Country and
mine in Norfolk."

"Did you enjoy your prep School?"

"In some ways, yes; in others, no.  The headmaster was a retired naval
officer.  One of the reasons why I was sent to that school.  He was a bit
of a sadist.  Prone to loose his temper, and soundly beat boys.  I was
scared stiff of him.  One eight year old boy received thirteen lashes with
a cane on his bare buttocks for talking after lights out.  Six or seven of
the lashes drew blood.  Marks were made by the other lashes.  Fortunately I
never got on the wrong side of the Head.  Though I have an idea now, he
would not have beaten me like that because he knew my Dad, and my parents
were in this country.  Poor young Wren, that was the boy's surname, his
parents were in Singapore or somewhere.  The other masters were alright.
They all had their nicknames.  Spitfire, Fungus were two of them.  I did
quite well at school.  Academically the work came easily, and I enjoyed
team sport, rugby and cricket.  It was a small school, only about 45 boys.
I soon experienced taking a shower with a lot of other lads.  Immediately
saw the difference between cut and uncut pricks.  Though did not understand
why for some time.  They were all very small, except as Chris had said some
of the older boys, all of the age of thirteen, had bigger ones, and that
intriguing patch of hair."

"Did you have any close encounters of a sexual kind?"

"Yes.  The school had been a small stately home.  The original owning
family had fallen on hard times.  Death duties, heavy taxation during the
war and such like.  They had moved out and lived in the dower house, and
let their original house to the school.  The old bedrooms were dormitories.
The one I was first in was a small one, and had only seven beds in it, four
along one wall, and three and the door on the opposite side.  The bed
closest to the door was always the bed of the dorm prefect.  He was an
older boy and he was responsible for law and order.  I slept in the bed
next to him, the middle one of the three.  The dorm prefect was a thirteen
year old.  We went to bed earlier than he did, we were seen into bed by the
matron, she would see that we dealt with our clothes properly, putting out
those to be washed, and getting others ready for the morning.  Sometimes,
if she was in a good mood, she would read us a story.  Then she would say
prayers, before going off to the next dormitory to do the same thing.  The
dorm prefect would then come in, undress and get into bed.  I think he was
supposed to say his own prayers!  Then it was lights out.  Sometime between
a half hour to an hour later, matron or another member of staff, sometimes
the head, would come round, and look in to make sure all was well."

"What was this dorm prefect like?"

"To me he was a big boy.  Second or third night I watched him getting
undressed.  I was very close to him, so got a good view.  He saw I was
watching, and turned his back on me, but not before I got a glimpse of what
seemed to me then a big dickie.  I was still thinking in terms of that
word. Now days, of course, children tend to call it their willie.  Next
night he had put his pyjamas on before he realised I had been watching him.
When he went to turn out the light before getting into bed, he turned,
looked at me and gave me a wink.  Third night, he was much slower getting
undressed, and gave me a full view of his equipment, it was a deliberate
show for my benefit."

"What about the other guys in the dorm?"

"They were either already asleep, or reading a book.  This show went on for
several more nights.  Then one day we met in one of the passage ways.  He
spoke to me, `You enjoy watching me undress don't you?'  I nodded.  `Well
then, tonight, after final rounds, I am going to get into your bed!  No
shouting, or screaming.  No talking even.  And I will give you a nice time.
Okay?'  That night I watched him undress as usual, before turning off the
light he looked at me, and jerking his head raised his eyebrows, as if to
say, `Are you ready for it?'  I gave him a slight nod and smile in return.
It seemed ages lying there trying to keep awake.  Eventually the headmaster
came round, opening the door and looking in.  I immediately closed my eyes.
The door shut and I heard his footsteps retreating.  I lay there for what
seemed a further age.  Then I heard the prefect, Soames, was his surname.
We only used surnames at that school.  I heard Soames stir, and get out of
bed.  I felt his hand feel on the edge of my bed.  He pulled open the
covers, and climbed in.  We had to lie close as they were single beds.  He
took hold of my hand and put it on his cock which was sticking hard out of
his pyjamas.  His hand then went searching my dick, which he found easily
and was hard.  We played with each other for a while.  He turned so his
mouth was very close to my ear.  `Like that?  Want some more tomorrow?"  I
turned and whispered, `Yes, please.'  he then went back to his own bed."

"I suppose that became a regular thing every night?"

"Most nights.  Some nights Soames would drop off to sleep.  If I went to
sleep he'd wake me getting into my bed."

"Did any of the other boys realise what was going on?"

"Not as far as I know.  Then there was one memorable night.  We had found
out how enjoyable it was for one to lie on top of the other, cocks
together, pyjama trousers round our knees, and jackets undone.  We'd been
quietly rubbing ourselves together.  He was on top of me.  He began to move
a lot more than usual, then his body went rigid, and his breathing deep.  I
felt his cock jerk, and then there was this hot wet feeling on my tummy.  I
thought for a moment he'd wee'd.  But I knew that it was something
different. There was a smell I'd not encountered before.  He whispered in
my ear, `I think I've spunked over you.'  `What?'  I asked.  I didn't know
anything about sperm, spunk or cum, whatever you're going to call it.  He
whispered again, `I'll get a hanky so you can mop yourself up.  I'll tell
you what it was in the morning.'  He got out of bed, and in a few moments
handed me a hanky.  I mopped myself up, and eventually dropped off to sleep
wondering what ever it was, and hoping it wasn't like blood, which would
take some explaining."

"Did it leave a stain?"

"First thing in the morning I looked.  There were some marks, but not too
bad.  We always made our own beds.  Fortunately once a week we had to put
out our dirty sheets, and collect cleaned ones to make our own beds.  So
those stained sheets got screwed up and put in the laundry basket with
everybody else's."

"Did Soames explain?"

"Yes.  Next morning during break, he took me on one side.  `Thanks for last
night.  I'll always remember you.  That was my first time!'  `First time
what?' I asked.  `I shot my load.  I'm a man now!'  he said.  `I don't
understand,' I said.  `Don't you know about babies, where they come from,
and so on?' he asked.  `Not really.'  He took a deep breath.  `Well it's
like this.  To get a baby, a Father has to put his seed inside a Mother,
and there it grows into a baby, and after nine months in the mother's tummy
she pushes it out, and they have a baby boy or a baby girl.  Didn't you
know that?'  `No.'  `Haven't you any younger brothers or sisters?' Soames
asked.  `Yes, a younger sister.'  `Didn't your mother get a big tummy
before she was born?'  `I don't remember,' I replied, `But how does the
father put a seed in the mother.' I asked.  `Well, the father's dickie gets
hard, like ours do, and he pokes it into a special hole between where she
poohs and where she wees, then he does what I did last night, his dickie
shoots out a lot of seed, called sperm, into the mother, and one of them
grows and becomes a baby, like a seed planted in the ground.  Sometimes two
grow and they are twins.'  So I was told the reproductive facts of life.
It may have been a couple of centuries out of date in some respects, but at
least it wasn't about gooseberry bushes or storks."

We laughed at the simplicities of childhood.  The track on which we were
walking became a grassy path, and the slope began to ease as we approached
the rounded summit of Kisdon Hill.  We stood and admired the view, before
beginning to walk down towards Keld. We looked down into the valley on the
scattered farmsteads with their nearby sycamore trees, that make up the
community of Angram.  The path steadily became a more defined track as it
cut down the hillside, with steeper ground to our left, and occasional
small crags to our right.

"So how long did your relationship with Soames last?"

"Just the one term.  He was now cumming regularly, he would come into a bed
with a couple of hankies for the mopping up afterwards.  One night, he got
into bed, and whispered in my ear, `Keep still, I am going to give you a
treat.' He wriggled down the bed.  I wondered what ever was going to
happen.  I felt his hand feeling for my cock, and then holding it he moved
some more.  Suddenly there was this wonderful warm wet feeling all over my
cock.  I was receiving my first blow job.  It was wonderful.  Sometimes we
would lie face to face, but also I would lie face down and he would put his
cock between my buttocks and cum that way.  There was no thought of
penetration."

"Which way did you prefer?"

"I liked both ways.  Both had their good points."

"So it only lasted one term?"

"Yes.  Then there were the Christmas holidays.  I couldn't wait to tell
cousin Chris what had happened.  It was Christmas at Crippleshanks as
usual.  I think we surprised the adults by going to bed early that first
night.  We only needed to be told to go to bed the once, not the usual
three or four times.  We rushed up stairs, and into bed."

"Naked?"

"Of course.  We both had a lot to tell each other.  I told him all that had
happened with Soames.  He too had had a good term.  He had discovered the
delights of blow jobs.  He also thought he was beginning to get some pubic
hair.  I looked hard, and maybe there was!  We were both still pre-puberty,
but getting closer.  I realised that he was eighteen months older than me,
and was likely to get to that important stage before me.  But for that
Christmas it was a lot more of everything."

"What happened when you went back to school?"

"The next two terms were totally inactive.  There was a new dorm prefect,
and he caught me looking at him.  He was angry.  `If you look at me again
when I am undressing I'll report you to the head!'  After that he only saw
the back of my head when he was undressing.  I missed my sessions with
Soames.  He was busy with Common Entrance, [See footnote at end].  He
always gave me a conspiratorial grin.  Sometimes he would whisper, `Miss
you'.  I certainly missed him.  The summer holidays came and went.  Then in
September it was back to school.  I was now no longer a new boy, I was in a
different dormitory.  I was given a bed in the corner, well away from the
door.  Nothing happened that term either.  Then it was Christmas.  I was
ten, and Chris was twelve, and yes there was now an undeniable trace of
pubic hair.  It was as before.  It was recognised by everybody that we were
good friends as well as just cousins.  Chris's mother made the suggestion
that as we got on so well, I should come and stay at Crippleshanks in the
summer.  So in January 1960 it was back to school again.  Someone in my
year left, and there was a new boy in our year, so there was a shifting
round of sleeping.  I still had my bed in the corner, but another boy was
next to me.  On the second night we were alone together in the washroom
cleaning our teeth.  `I gather we have something important in common,' he
said.  `What's that?'  I expected him to say something like a father in the
navy, but instead he said softly, `Soames.'  `Soames?' I replied.  `Yea, I
was in his dorm at one stage last year, and he used to come into my bed.
He told me that he first shot his load all over you.  I miss him.  Can I
come into your bed? Though I don't cum like him yet.'  `Okay, if you're
quiet.'  `Like it was with Soames?'  I nodded.  It was safer in my bed, as
I was in the corner, and we didn't do it as often as we both had done with
Soames.  We both went off to sleep too often before final rounds.  We just
fiddled and played with each other's cocks, and cuddled.  It was just nice.
It somehow helped the loneliness and lack of physical affection at Prep
School.  So the years went by.  Chris always eighteen months ahead.  He
passed Common Entrance and went off to Public School.  He had a lot to tell
that Christmas.  I did well at school.  Always at the top of the form,
quite good at sport.  Sometimes with sexual activity, sometimes not.  I
took my Common Entrance and passed, and was all set for Public School."

"I suppose that marked a big change?"

"Yes, but something else happened during the summer holidays that was
important.  My part of the family lived in a late Victorian House set in
its own grounds, in the Essex countryside.  We were about a mile from the
Blackwater estuary, near a village called Silverhanger.  Do you know that
part of the world?"

"No not at all."

"It is very flat.  The Blackwater estuary fills with tidal water from the
North Sea twice a day, otherwise most of it is just mud.  The sea is kept
off the land by a sea wall.  There was one place down a track where there
was some sand and it was possible to go for a swim for an hour either side
of high tide.  It is a landscape of flat fields, and broad skies.  Our
house was set in its own grounds.  My father had bought it when I was
young. My parents believed in giving their children a firm home base, and
not travel around to all the places to which my father was posted.  Also it
was possible for him to live at home if and when he was posted to serve at
the Admiralty in London, which he could expect to do in the course of a
naval career.  We had an old man, we always thought of him as ancient, but
he was probably younger than I am now, who was the gardener.  He was called
Charlie.  But in the summer he needed help with the grass cutting.  In the
late winter he would ask my father if he wanted him to find a boy to help
with the grass.  He would then find a lad in his late teens, possibly still
at school, who jumped at the chance to earn some extra money cutting our
grass. So a boy from the village was found.  This lad was always refered to
as `the boy'.  The boy that year was called Bobby.  I had been very keen on
cricket that last summer term at prep school, and I persuaded my father to
set out some nets where we could practise cricket.  Often on a summer
evening Dad and I would take a turn in the nets with bat and ball.  It was
one of the few times when I did anything alone with my father.

"I was discouraged from making friends with boys from the village.  I might
pick up their terrible Essex accents, and that would not do!  My nearest
acceptable, and correctly spoken, friend lived four or five miles away, and
we would cycle over to one or another's house for an afternoon together
about once or twice a week.  One afternoon this friend had come over and we
were in the nets, taking turns with the bat and the ball.  Bobby was
cutting the grass.  He kept coming over and watching us for a few minutes.
`Do you play cricket?' I asked.  `Yep, I play for the village.'  `Do you
bowl or bat?' asked my friend.  `Bit of both.' was the answer.  `Come and
give us a bowl then,' I invited.  He was quite good.  Certainly tested our
batting.  When he had a turn with the bat he slogged our bowling all over
the place.  Then my friend had to go home as it was beginning to look like
rain.  Bobby said that he had to get on with the grass, as he wanted to
finish cutting it before it started to rain.  I managed to persuade him to
bowl a few balls at me.  He kept on getting me foxed.  I would play at a
ball, expecting a leg break, and instead it would be an off break.  `You
can't spot my googly [See note at end] can you?' he said.  But before he
could get back to his grass cutting it began to rain.  He ran off to get
the mower put away, and I grabbed the stumps, bat and ball.  It was a
sudden heavy downpour of rain.  The nearest shelter was the outhouse where
the mower and other garden equipment was kept.  We both ran there, both
rather wet.  We stood there with the water dripping down over our faces
from our hair, but laughing.

"Well, you know what often happens when you're rather wet, and there is the
sound of water, pouring off the roof and gurgling down the drain.  You want
to have a piss.  I was desperate.  But I knew if I went outside to pee I'd
get soaked.  `I need a pee,' I said, and I'll get soaked if I go out in the
rain.'  `Just do it out of the door,' said Bobby.  It was a sensible
suggestion; but suddenly I was shy and I didn't want Bobby to see my cock.
It was not to be seen by a village boy!  Anyway, I went to the door, and
got my cock out, and with all the force I could muster added to the torrent
outside.  I pulled my cock firmly back into the safe seclusion of my
trousers, before turning round to face Bobby.  He was standing there
laughing quietly, `You shy, or summat?'  I did not reply.  `Fraid I'll see
you prick?' There was a short silence.  `I've got un too, you know.'
Another pause.  I'd show you mine, if you wanted to see it.'  I looked at
him in the face.  `Go on then.  Show me yours,' I said.  He promptly undid
his trousers, and pulled out his cock.  To me it seems huge.  Far bigger
than mine, and mine was as big as any I'd seen at school, and Chris's was
not much bigger.  It was uncut, and most of the boys at school were
circumcised.  Soames, Chris and the other guys at school I'd played around
with had all been cut.  Bobby's cock was thick at the base, and in its
flaccid state, the foreskin tapered towards the tip.  At the end there was
the hole through which he would piss.  As I watched his penis began to
move, it thickened, hardened and grew.  I watched as the head of his cock
emerged into the light of day.  I watched it spell bound.  `Now I've shown
you mine, show me your un,' asked Bobby.  Slowly, I got mine out.  He moved
closer and reached out and took mine in his hand.  `Do you cum yet?' asked
Bobby.  `No, not yet.' He felt my cock, and balls, and the hair which I was
beginning to acquire in that pubic region.  `Any day now I'd think.'  Both
our cocks were hard by now.  I took hold of his.  It seemed a real handful,
and was warm, and had that hard and soft at the same time feeling that even
the most hardened cocks seems to have when you hold them.  `That's nice,'
said Bobby and he pulled me close to him.  Our cocks came together.
`That's very nice,' said Bobby.  Then to my surprise he gave me a kiss, but
this was unlike any kiss I'd experienced before, he nibbled at my lips, and
I felt his tongue going between my lips.  When I opened my mouth, his
tongue slipped in and felt my tongue.  `Like that, young master?' he asked.
I nodded.  `There's lot of good things two young men like us can do.  `ave
you done anything like this afore?' he asked.  `Yes,' I replied, `I have
done quite a lot with my cousin, and with some of the boys at school.'
`Have you done this afore?' he asked, going down on his knees and putting
his mouth to my cock.  `Yes,' I replied, `Its great, you do it nice.'  `Ave
you been fucked?' he asked.  `How do you mean?' I said.  `'Ave you `ad a
cock up your arse?'  `No.  Doesn't it hurt?' I said rather frightened at
the prospect.  `Does a bit. `Specially first time.  But its great.  I like
being fucked by a man, and I like fucking.' said Bobby enthusiastically.
He went back to attending to my cock.  He licked it, he kissed it, and he
sucked it.  With his finger he stroked my balls.  `Take your trousers down,
so I can do it proper.'  I took my trousers down, and he resumed his
attention, and this time one hand was at my balls, and his other hand was
feeling my buttocks and his fingers beginning to feel around.  I had not
realised how sensitive that part of me was, and how arousing it was.  My
cock seemed harder than ever.  He continued for a while, and then he got
up.  `Would you like to suck at me, or just tossed me off?'  Slowly I sank
down on to my knees.  His cock seemed larger than ever.  I put the helmet
to my lips and kissed it, and then opened my mouth and sucked it in.  `Good
lad!  That's great.'  I had only sucked for a few minutes, and he pulled me
to my feet, `I'm going to cum,' he said.  He wanked at his cock, and
suddenly out shot a great jet of white thick spunk.  It lay on the ground
like a dollop of whipped cream.  Bobby grinned at me.  `That was good,
young Archie.'  We pulled our trousers up, and made ourselves presentable.
`Would you like to do that again?'  `Yes.  Tomorrow?'  `Can't be, I don't
come here tomorrow.  But the day after?'  To say that I looked forward to
the day after was the understatement of the year."

"So that was the beginning of something?"

"I should say.  The next time Bobby came was the Friday afternoon.  Charlie
also came in on Fridays, and I reckoned that that might make things
difficult.  Soon after I heard the mower at work cutting the lawns, I went
out, and went over to speak to Bobby.  `How are you today, young Archie?
You okay after Wednesday?'  `Yes, Bobby.  Can we do it again?'  `Good, I'd
hoped you say that.  We can't do anything while old Charlie is around, but
once he's gone!  I've been thinking.  We needed somewhere safer.  What
about the old pig sties?'  `No one goes there now.  Okay then, about 5.30
see you there.'  I went back into the house, and he restarted the mower,
and soon he was making those marvellous straight lines on the newly cut
lawn.  I need to explain a little about the lay out of the grounds of our
house at Silverhanger.  The house stood in several acres of land.  Some of
it was garden.  Then there was a thick patch of scrubby woodland.  Then
beyond that were the old pig sties.  A previous owner had kept pigs, but
had sited the sties as far from the house as he could for olfactory
reasons.  The main access was up an overgrown track which came off the
lane.  The sties had fallen into disuse, the whole area was over grown with
nettles and brambles, they were very very rarely visited by anyone."

"Except at 5.30pm that Friday afternoon."

"Just after 5.00 I saw Charlie put his tools away, and get on his bike to
cycle home.  Bobby continued cutting the grass for another quarter of an
hour.  Then he too got his bike and appeared to go home.  I slipped out of
the house, through the woods, and pushed a way through the nettles and
under undergrowth to the sties.  I soon saw Bobby waiting there.  When he
saw me, he went into one of the old sties.  We could just stand up in it.
`This'll do' he said.  The floor was still solid, so no plants had grown up
inside, it was just very dusty, and seemed to have a considerable
population of spiders.  But they didn't worry us.  `Let me see you without
any clothes on,' said Bobby.  `If you do the same,' I replied.  we both
undressed, watching each other.  The only things we kept on were shoes and
socks. Bobby was eighteen or nineteen.  He had a strong muscular body, much
of it brown where the sun had got to it, only his equatorial regions were
paler, and they looked as though they had seen some sun.  On his chest was
quite a patch of dark hair.  `You're a good looking lad,' he said, `You've
got a lovely bum.  Come `ere and let me get my hands on you.'  I stepped
closer, and he pulled me to him, I felt our hardened cocks pressing into
each other.  I just put my hands round him, but his hands went down and
felt my buttocks.  Then he started kissing me.  This time I was ready, and
responded.  Just feeling him close to me was the most wonderful feeling.
`Archie, I want to put my prick up your bum!'  It was expressed so crudely,
and yet with a tenderness in his voice.  `Won't it hurt?' I asked.  `If
you'll let me, I'll be as gentle as I can.  I'll stop whenever you want,
and then we could try to get a bit further another time.  I don't want to
`urt you.'  `Your cock is so big,' I said, while my hand played with it.  I
knelt down and kissed it and took it again into my mouth.  I stood up, now
resolved, `Okay.  We'll try, but promise to stop if I say so.'  `I
promise.'  He fished into his pocket and got out a jar of hair cream.
`This'll `ave to do,' he said.  `Bend over and I'll get you ready,' I leant
against a wall bending slightly forward.  He got a dollop of hair cream on
his fingers, and began to apply it to my bum.  It felt cold, and I must
have tightened up.  `Try to relax.  I am going to put a finger in.'  His
finger circled my anus, and I found how enjoyable it was, and I felt the
tension go out of my muscles.  `Good lad, that's the idea,' said Bobby.
Then his finger began to push, and slowly he got it in. Any pain was
minimal.  `I'm going to try and get two fingers in,' he said.  This time it
did hurt a bit, but he took it slowly, and suddenly I felt the two finger
go in.  `That's great.  You're doing well Arch.  You've got a wonderful
bum, I love it.'  I felt him start kissing my buttocks.  He started parting
his fingers, gently widening the access.  What I did not see, was that he
was also applying hair cream to his cock.  I felt his fingers come out, and
almost immediately I felt something different pressing into me.  It felt
hard, but smooth, there were no finger nails, though it was of course
thicker than his fingers.  It hurt a bit, and then I felt it sliding into
me, slowly bit by bit all his wondrous huge cock entered me.  I then felt
his hairs against my bum, and his stomach against my buttocks and lower
back.  He was fully in.  He stayed still.  `How's that, Archie?'  `I think
I like it,' I said.

Archie and I laughed.

"And you have liked it ever since?"

"Yes, in that grotty sty down in Essex I had that first defining
experience.  `You've got a lovely young body, Arch,' he said, running his
hands over my front, and feeling my cock.  He began to move his cock inside
me.  The sensations increased.  He wanked at my cock a little, and then put
his hands on my hips and began to thrust in and out.  I am not sure to this
day the exact sequence of events.  I had this most incredible feeling all
over, my legs went weak.  The sensation centred into my groin, and then
into my cock.  I felt it jerk, and when I looked down I saw a jet of spunk
shoot out onto the floor.  Whether Bobby's cuming triggered mine, or mine
triggered his I do not know.  I nearly passed out.  He was holding me up
kissing my neck, and muttering words of endearment, mingled with kisses
into my neck."

"What a first time!"

"True, what a first time!  I felt his cock go limp and it slipped out, he
turned me round, and we kissed and just delighted in the feel of each
other.  `You're a wonderful lad, Archie.  It don't come much better than
that.'  `And I came too!'  said proudly.  `Yes, You cummed too, I said
you'd be cuming any day.  Today's the day.  Remember it, the date 30th July
1963, and it were with Bobby Emory, a lad from the village.' `When will I
be able to cum again?' I asked eager to repeat the sensation.  `I reckon
you could wank yourself off tomorrow alright.  Soon you'll be able to do it
three or four times a day.'  `Do you?  That often?' I asked.  `Sometimes.'
`Can I put my cock up you sometime?'  `Yes, I'd like that.  Then we can
have some real good times together, enjoying each other both ways.  I had a
further question, `I do know the facts of life, at least most of them.  But
is a man like a woman?'  `In what way?' asked Bobby, with a puzzled look on
his face.  `Well my mother was telling me the other day she could no longer
have any more babies, because of her age, and not producing any more eggs,
or ova, she called it.  Does a man stop producing seed.'  `Sometimes,
through being ill, or just generally unwell, or I think just by letting all
this gear,' he touched my cock and balls, `fall into disuse.  There was one
old guy at the pub the other night, he's over 80 saying that he could still
father a child if he wanted to, because he could still shoot a load.  If a
married guy can still fuck his wife at 80, why shouldn't a guy who likes
men not still be able to have sex with another man?' `I don't know I'd want
to do it with a man as old as that,' I said.  Bobby laughed, `But when
you're 80 you might like to do it with a guy of similar age.'  I thought I
might if I got to that age, but of course, when you are about fourteen you
never think you're going to get old."

"Were you able to see much of each other that holiday?"

"I should say.  It was marvellous.  I was old enough to get out and do
things by myself.  On the Saturday afternoon I cycled down to the village
cricket ground, and watched the cricket.  Bobby did a lot of bowling.  His
googlies were highly successful in getting out several of the other side's
batsmen.  In the tea interval, he came along to me with his plate of
sandwiches and glass of lemonade.  `You alright?' he asked.  `A little
sore,' I replied.  `That'll soon go.'  Then I asked him if he'd show me how
to bowl a googly.  `I'll try, but not everyone can bowl a good googly.  I
try to show you on Monday.  But same time, same place, for some fun?'
`I'll be there,' I assured him."

"What exactly is a googly?" I asked, not being well up in cricketing
terminology.

"A googly is an off break bowled with a leg break action.  Many batsmen
watch the bowler's hand and think that a leg break is coming down, and play
the ball accordingly.  They expect it to bounce one way, but when it
bounces the other way they are liable to miss it, in which case it may hit
the stumps, or they snick it and give a catch to the wicketkeeper or to the
slips."

"Did he teach you?"

"Yes, very well.  I played a lot of cricket over the years, and took a lot
of wickets with my googly.  Another cause for me to remember Bobby.  On
Tuesday evening I dragged my father out to the nets.  To his surprise I let
him bat.  I bowled three orthodox legs breaks, and then sent down a googly.
He missed it completely.  He just went and patted the ground where the ball
had bounced, thinking it was caused by unevenness in the ground.  After a
couple more leg breaks I sent down another googly, and bowled him, middle
stump.  `Was that intended?'  he asked.  `Yes,' I replied with a triumphant
grin.  `It was a googly then?'  `Yes,' I said, jumping up and down with
excitement.  `Who taught you how to bowl googlies?' he asked.  `Bobby.'
`Who on earth is Bobby?'  `Bobby is the boy.  You know the village lad who
cuts the grass.'  `He plays cricket then?'  `Yes, for the village, I saw
him take some wickets at the match on Saturday.'  We continued to practise
for sometime and he seemed completely unable to spot my googly, much to my
triumphant delight.

"Dad was working in this country at that time.  On Wednesday he came back
early.  I had my friend round, and we were in the nets.  Bobby was cutting
the grass, and kept breaking off doing that to bowl a few balls.  Dad came
out to join us.  He went over to Bobby, and talked to him for about a
quarter of an hour, and then got his wallet out, and handed Bobby
something.  Then Bobby came over and the four of us had a good time bowling
and batting together.  Bobby's googlies fixed Dad good and proper.  That
little incident opened up a whole new horizon.  Over dinner that night my
father told my mother about Bobby, how he'd taught me how to bowl googlies.
That led to the usual extremely lengthy explanations of cricket to my
mother.  Why is cricket a game that so many women find impossible to
understand?  Anyway from that day on Bobby was regarded as completely
persona grata in the family.  I was even encouraged to be with him.  He was
deemed to be a good influence.  I was allowed to go off swimming and such
like with him, but with a double instruction not to pester him, as he was
older than me, and not to pick up his dreadful accent."

"Do you know what your father gave Bobby?"

"Yes, he gave him a fiver [£5] for teaching me how to bowl googlies.
When Bobby told me that, I said he ought to have paid him much more for
teaching me to cum, to fuck and a whole lot of other things."

"It sounds as though you had a great summer?"

"Bo bby didn't mind being pestered.  A couple of days later, when I went
round to the sty to meet up with him, I found him stark naked lying on a
mattress.  `Where did that come from?'  I asked.  `A neighbour was wanting
to get rid of it.  I said I'd take it to the dump for her.  I thought we
could use it here.'  By the time he'd finished saying that I'd stripped off
and we were lying down on the mattress together.  Much better, in every
way.  Often we went swimming, catching the tide when it was in.  Often we
were there alone, and we'd swim in the nude.  Afterwards as the tide went
out, out cocks would come up, and in a thick patch of reeds, cocks would be
going in and out faster than any tide.  There was something wonderful about
those occasions in the open air.  Our bodies still had the tang of salt on
them from swimming in the sea.  The sun dried us, and warmed us.  We could
lie on our towels, and just enjoy looking at each other, touching each
other.  We spent long periods sucking each others cocks.  I got to know
every bit of his body, especially that wonderful central region of a man's
body.  Bobby liked to kiss me all over.  He would mutter endearments all
the time, saying how much each part of my anatomy turned him on.  But it
was not all sex, he took me along to the village green where the local team
played and practised.  I joined in the practise, so that the next summer I
played a few games with the village."

"Did your relationship with Bobby go on?"

"A little.  Most of the Christmas holiday we were away.  Crippleshanks as
usual.  Easter we were both around for about four days, and had one quick
time together in the sty, but it was a bitterly cold day, with the wind
straight off the sea.  The mattress was too damp to lie on; so it was not
as could as both of would've liked.  The following summer we were around at
the same time for about a week.  After that he moved away.  His mother
moved into Colchester, and I lost track of him.  I've often wondered how he
got on."

By this stage the track Archie and I were on turned to the left to cross a
small stream, the map calls it the Skeb Skeugh.  Then up to the road and a
right turn towards Keld.  For a while we walked in silence.  In Keld Archie
took me into the small United Reform Church.  It had been built in the 18th
Century.  Very small and full of pews.  There was even a small gallery.
Then further down to the small square, and there we went over to a
farmhouse and enjoyed some coffee.

After a quick look at Catrake Force, a waterfall, we went off following the
Swale for a short distance, before crossing it.  We didn't follow the
Pennine Way [See footnote] further north, but went south east on a track
that climbed steadily above the river.

I asked the question to get Archie's story going again.  "So after that
summer with Bobby, it was to a new school?"

"Marlanton is situated in the midlands.  It is a typical English Public
School.  A Victorian foundation, with largely Victorian buildings, with
Victorian plumbing and heating."

"Spartan?"

"In some ways, yes.  My father had been there, so that is why I was sent
there.  I enjoyed my school days.  They say they are the happiest days of
your life, perhaps they are."

"They weren't for Kevin!"

"No.  He had a grim time.  But I was fortunate.  I was good academically,
no problems on that score.  I was good at rugger and cricket, so I was not
regarded just as a swat, or as a weed.  I believe that word has largely
fallen into disuse, now it is wimp.  I was no wimp, too much built like a
tank, even in my teens."

"And sex?" I asked.

"Oh, plenty of that.  A community of boys secluded from females, newly into
puberty.  There was masses of testosterone flying around.  It was
wonderful."

"Straight away?"

"Second day.  The old system of fagging, whereby a new boy is a sort of
servant to a monitor had almost, but not quite passed away.  Monitors, or
mons as we usually called them, were the very senior boys in the school.  I
was to fag Sam.  He was an Indian, South Indian, so he was very dark. His
name was multisyallabic, hence the abbreviation to Sam.  I think that was
the last syllable.  He was the third generation of Sams at the school.  He
came from one of those princely families, that had at one time ruled some
small state in the subcontinent.  I knew that a lot, even in those more
enlightened days, could depend on how you got on with your mon.  I remember
coming into his room, and seeing him standing there.  He was not very tall,
but he was very dark, brown eyes, and jet black hair.  `So I've got to put
up with you?'  was his greeting.  `Yes, sir.!'  `You don't need to call me
sir, my name is Sam.  A shorter form of my surname, its not my forename.
What do you call yourself?' he asked.  `My name is Archibald
Montgomery-Owen.'  `What a bloody mouthful.  What are you usually called?'
he asked.  `Arch, Mont or Monty.'  `I shall call you Monty.'  He looked at
me carefully, surveying me from head to foot.  `It is said that there are
two sorts of monitors, we are either sadists or sex maniacs.  Which would
you like me to be?'  I was silent.  `Answer me, Monty?'  `I would certainly
prefer you not to be a sadist.'  I did not dare say that a sex maniac
sounded more interesting.  `You will be relieved to know that I am not a
sadist.  I do not enjoy afflicting pain, even on young boys.'  He walked
over to the door and locked it.  `Let me have a proper look at you, Monty.
Undress.'  I looked at him with some surprise.  `Yes, I said, undress.'  I
stripped off until I stood before him in pants and socks.  `I said undress.
I want to see all of you.'  I took off my socks, and rather reluctantly
lowered my pants.  `That's better,' said Sam.  He walked up to me, and ran
his hand down my back.  I found it arousing, and felt my penis stir.  `Does
the feel of a brown hand on your white skin offend you?'  `No, Sam,' I
answered.  His hand cupped my buttocks, and my hardening cock was obvious
for him to see.  `I see you like that.  Does the thought of a dark Indian
penis penetrating your soft white posterior repulse you?' he asked.  `No
Sam.' I replied.  he felt my cock and balls.  `If then you are telling me
the truth, then I think we are going to get on well.  very well indeed.'
He walked round me a couple of times. `Your first task this afternoon is to
undress me.'  I undressed him, when he was standing dressed only in some
blue underpants, I felt his cock.  `I didn't tell you to fondle my cock.
Not yet, anyway.'  I pulled his pants down, and put them on one side.  He
was almost completely hairless.  Just a small patch of pubic hair, and some
under his arms, but none elsewhere on his body.  Yet he had a prolific mass
off wavy black hair on his head.  His uncut cock was standing out proudly
from his body.  He had a large foreskin, so that even when erect only the
tip of the helmet was visible, unless you pulled the skin back.  Then a
glistening mixture of purple and black was revealed.  It was a fascinating
colour."

"That all sounds very sudden.  Almost unbelievable."

"Said like I have so far told it, it sounds like it.  It certainly seemed
utterly beyond comprehension to me when it happened.  It came very easy to
understand shortly after.  Anyway, he continued to look at and feel me.
Then he said, `I want to fuck you, Monty.  Have you been fucked before?'  I
nodded.  `Recently?'  `Yes, very recently,' I answered.  `When exactly?'
Sam asked.  `The day before yesterday.' It had been my final glorious
session with Bobby, prolonged and tearful, on both sides, at our parting.
Sam went and got a jar with some lubricant in it.  `Prepare yourself, and
then get on the table.  On your back, legs raised.'  I did so, while he
prepared himself.  With the oil on his cock, it shone like a highly
polished stick of hard wood.  He approached me, and I felt his cock against
my puckered entrance.  Then he pushed , and in one steady movement he was
fully in me.  He smiled.  `I thought you would like it.  We are going to
get on well together.'  `Why did you think I would like it,' I asked.  `A
little bird told me about you,' said Sam.  `A little bird?'  `Do you
remember Garry Soames?' he asked.  `Was at my prep school?'  `Yes, he told
me all about the two of you.  He reckoned that by now you'd have graduated
to better things, like this.  So I made sure that you became my fag.'  `How
do you know Soames?' I asked.  `I stay in this country for the Christmas
and Easter holidays, and he lives near where I stay,' answered Sam.  `Do
you and Soames...?'  `Yes, a lot.  He remembers one night in your bed
especially.'  `So do I,' I replied with a grin.  Sam smiled back at me, and
bent over between my open legs, and gave me a kiss, the first of a great
many.

He continued with a steady action to pump into me.  I was getting very
roused.  Then I saw a sweat break out all over him.  He pumped harder, and
then I felt a gush of hot spunk deposited deep within me.  He stopped
moving, and then took hold of my cock.  He only had to wank it two or three
times before my spunk was shooting out on to my chest.  Sam grinned at me.
`That was good.  Very good.  I hope we do it often.  I'll even allow you to
fuck me, if you are very good.'

As we cleaned ourselves up and got dressed he continued talking.  `In the
good old days, before you Brits came to India, my forebears ruled, and did
what they liked.  In my family palace there were two harems.  One for the
women, and one for the men and the boys.  If the ruling prince preferred
boys he kept those to himself, but allowed friends to have their way with
the women.  Then you Brits came and interfered.  Some captain in the John
Company's [See footnote 3] army learnt that my great great great
grandfather had got an East India Company merchant to bring out a white boy
for him.  This captain came and freed most of the boys in the harem.  I say
most because he kept some, the most beautiful ones for himself, including
the poor white lad.  He kept them in far far worse conditions than that of
the palace.  You Brits interfered far too much world wide when you had your
Empire.  You know why you had an Empire on which the sun never set, don't
you?'  `No, I don't' I answered.  `It was because God couldn't trust a Brit
in the dark!!'  He laughed, I just smiled.  `But at least you Brits gave us
railways and cricket before your Imperial wings were clipped.  Now it is
your English speaking cousins who do the interfering, and what have they
given us - Macdonalds and Coca Cola!!  We Indians were civilised when you
were running around daubed in woad.  Still I mustn't grumble, there is a
nice English bum here for me to fuck, and a nice English cock for me to
play with."

"And presumably he did?"

"Yes, we had a wonderful year with a lot of action together."

The path did a couple of bends to gain some height.  Where it crossed the
bed of a small, almost dry stream, Archie led the way up the side valley.
We went on to the top of Beldi Hill, where we admired the view of Upper
Swaledale.  Archie pointed out the next stage of our walk.  We did not
follow the Coast to Coast path, as Archie wanted to make our walk path more
interesting.  We cut down a track towards the bend in the River Swale.

"Did you have a lot of sexual activity at school?" I asked.

"For that first year I was more that fulfilled with what I was getting with
Sam.  I think we were both insatiable.  I think it was more or less every
day, except for when he had a bout of `flu after Christmas, I injured a leg
and was in the Sickers for a couple of days.  Phil, I think it is true to
say that, with one notable exception, I have always had several sessions
with any guy I have had sex with.  I am not one for one night stands, and
cruising to get a guy I've never done."

"What happened after Sam left school?  Which I presume he did after your
first year."

"There were three or four guys in my year who used to go together at times.
Almost forerunners of the Countrymen.  I soon found that my strong point at
school was languages.  I did Latin, and even a little Greek, but I
especially liked and was good at French and German.  It was arranged that I
did a holiday exchange with a guy from France, to help me with my French
accent and so on."

"And I suppose you soon had him?"

"No, he was a dead loss.  Totally into girls.  Every girl was eyed up and
down, and he loved to talk about girls he had screwed.  Walking down the
streets of his small town, a girl would pass and he'd whisper, `I've had
her,' `she likes her tits sucked,' or `I tried to get her, but she's a
frigid bird.'  I tried, but it was hopeless.  That is the story of my live.
Times of feverish sexual action followed by periods of total abstinence."

"Poor, old you," I said, and put my arm round him.  Arch responded by
giving one of my buttocks and gentle squeeze.  From then on we walked more
closely together.

"At that stage my life was mapped out for me."

"Royal Navy?"

"Yes, I was to follow the family tradition and go into the Royal Navy.  As
I was good at languages the plan was for me to study modern languages at
University.  That is always a good qualification for the services, and can
lead into the intelligence side of things.  I knew that the family
tradition in the Navy set me a high target at which to aim."

"Nothing less than an admiral?"

"Nothing less.  I was beginning to think of myself as gay.  I thought my
sexual orientation might be a problem.  Fortunately it was only later I
realised how much of a problem it would have been.  There is one thing I
must tell you about.  I was all set to go up to Cambridge to read Modern
Languages at Queens' in October `68.  But that summer Dad was in the U.K.
and it was decided we would have a family holiday in France.  We were to
rent a place down in the Dordogne.  I don't think I have told you about my
family.  I have a sister, five years younger than me, and a brother ten
years younger.  When you are eighteen you do not have much in common with a
thirteen year old sister, and an eight year old brother.  When I left
school early in July Dad gave me permission to get a car.  I had already
passed my test.  After much persuading I got him to agree to let me take my
own car to France.  He agreed on condition that we all drove down in
convoy.  In some ways it made travelling much easier, rather than five of
us in the family car, we could spread ourselves out more in two cars.
Before going to France I played a couple of games of cricket with the
village team."

"Googlies still working?"

"Very much so.  Some cricket coaching from a pro at school, had improved
both my bowling and batting a great deal. So off we went for the whole of
August.  The place we had was great.  In its own grounds, swimming pool,
tennis court and so on.  But I was soon rather bored, I went with the
family on some of their trips, but I wanted to find out things for myself.
I spoke French very well, I was sometimes taken for a native.  So off I
went."

"And?"

"Well, I did quite a bit of walking.  On one or two occasions Dad came with
me, but most times I was on my own.  Don't think I cut myself off from the
family, there was a lot of swimming in the pool.  A lot of tennis.  I spent
quite a time teaching my brother and sister how to play.  Dad and I played
a lot, usually at least one set each day.  There was some needle in our
games.  I had just begun to take the odd set off him; and he was as eager
to show that he could still beat me as I was to show that my success was
not a fluke.  Anyway, one day I had ventured further afield and gone to
look round Montaubon, which was some was from where we were staying the
other side of Cahors.  I must admit that I was feeling randy.  I was really
missing have some action with the lads at school.  I suppose I was looking
for it.  I was wandering round, and I suppose some sixth sense led me to
spot a cafe in one of the back streets.  I knew I did not look like a
tourist, and not particularly English.  I knew that my French was good
enough for me to pass as a Frenchman, though not from those parts.  I went
in and ordered a drink.  There were about twenty men in there, nothing
unduly surprising in that.  A silence fell as I went in, and I felt myself
being looked over.  The man at the bar started talking.  `Visitor?'  `Yes,'
I replied.  `Where are you from?'  `From the north.'  Now that was true,
England is north of France, but my answer could've implied northern France,
and I knew my French accent was of the north, as that was the part of the
country where I had stayed twice on the exchanges.  I introduced several
matters into my conversation which showed I knew the area near Rouen and
Amiens.  While I was talking a couple of men came through a door at the
back, nodded to the bar man and left.  But there was one man sitting in the
corner who kept looking at me.  He was a man in his early forties I
reckoned.  He had wavy brown hair.  He had a sort of puzzled look on his
face.  I half felt I recognised him.  When I returned his look he looked
away.  This happened several times.  Then another couple emerged from the
back, and two men in quick succession disappeared into the back. There were
some knowing grins on one or two of the men's faces.  I wondered what was
going on, as they had been in the back far longer than was required for any
visit to the loo.  I soon got up and left.  Yes, I did wonder what was
going on there, and I think the idea that it might have been a gay meeting
place did go through my mind, but I put that down to my randiness.

"The next day I was in the little town, or perhaps it could better be
described as a large village, where we did most of our shopping.  I did
almost all the shopping because my French was better than any of the
others.  Sometimes my sister came with me in a half hearted attempt to
improve her colloquial French.  But that day I went alone.  I went round
the stalls in the square and purchased the various items on my mother's
list.  The final errand was to collect a copy of the Times for my father,
from the newsagents and bookshop. Dad had placed an order, even though it
was the paper of two days before.  I went into the shop and there saw the
man from Mountaubon, standing behind the counter.  We both obviously
recognised each other.  I purchased the copy of the Times, and then the man
said, `You know we sell all sorts of books, and there are some second hand
books you may like too.'  He paused for a moment, and must have seen that I
was interested.  Buying books has been a perpetual weakness of mine, almost
a vice.  He continued, `Upstairs in the corner on the far right.'  I went
upstairs, and found a room with books on shelves all the way round, and
some back to back book shelves in the middle of the room.  I wandered
round, slowly making my way to the corner on the far right.  It was the
darkest corner of the room but there I discovered a whole lot of gay
literature.  Some were books, but there were also a pile of magazines
standing on the floor.  I picked up a magazine, and saw the usual pictures
of men, young men in suggestive poses.  I was looking at some of these,
when the man with the wavy hair appeared at the top of the stairs, `You
have found them, I see.'  I felt rather embarrassed, and put the magazine
back on the top of the pile.  He continued, `Did you enjoy your visit to
that bar in Montaubon?'  `It was interesting,' I said, with a grin.  Then
we heard the door of the shop below being opened, and he went back down
stairs.  I heard the sound of voices from below, and picked up another
magazine.  Then the door went again, and I heard footsteps coming back up
the stairs.  He came and stood near me.  `You are staying at ---,'
mentioning the place where we were staying.  `You like those mags?  You can
borrow some of those, if you'd like,' he offered.  `Thanks.'  We looked at
each other and smiled.  I bent over to pick up some more magazines, and I
immediately felt a hand on my buttocks.  Straight away, almost as a reflex
action, I stood up straight.  `You do not like?' `You surprised me, that's
all,' I replied.  His hand went back, `You speak excellent French, unlike
most of your countrymen.'  `I've spent two summers living with a French
family; that's why.  I am going to study French at Cambridge in the
autumn.'  All the time he was feeling my bum.  `You have a nice firm arse.'
He paused.  `I suspect you have a nice firm cock.'  We both looked down and
could see a pronounced tenting in my shorts.  His other hand reached for my
groin, and I felt him finger my cock through the thickness of my shorts.
He pulled down my zip, and I felt his hand go in, and his finger searching
for my cock.  `I have never made love to an Englishman,' he said.  `And I
have never made love to a Frenchman,' I replied.  He held my cock, keeping
his hand inside my shorts.  He leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss.  I
decided I was rather liking this, so I bent forward and returned his kiss.
`I'd like to make love to you, Englishman, but now is not the time.
Customers will be coming into the shop.  Can you come round in the
afternoon or evening?'  `Yes,' I replied.  `My name is Archie, by the way.'
`Mine is Andre,' he said.  We kissed again, and he continued to hold my
cock.  There was the sound of the door again.  He pulled his hand out.  `I
will be back in a minute.'  I zipped myself up, and started looking at some
of the more substantial gay fiction.  After about five minutes Andre
returned carrying a plastic bag.  `For the magazines,' he explained.  `Can
you come again, for a longer, proper time together?  An afternoon?  Or an
evening?'  `I'll try to come this afternoon, but if not today, tomorrow.'
`I'll show you a better way than through the shop.  If people see you at
the door of my shop some will be wondering what an Englishman is doing
there, and the rest will know what you have come for.  Many in the village
know that I am a homosexual, that does not matter for me, but it would be
unfair for you to be known as one as well.' "

"Was it that afternoon, or the evening you were round at Andre's?"

"That afternoon.  Evenings were always difficult as we went out as a family
for a meal, and as you may know in France that is always a lengthy
procedure.  In the afternoon, when the day was at it warmest we all did our
own things.  Mum would read by the pool, so she could keep an eyes on my
brother and sister if they went in for a swim.  Dad used to go to bed for a
sleep.  I used to read, so I took a book, and walked into the village."

"How far out of the village were you?"

"Only about a mile and a half.

"So that afternoon I made my way into the village.  I did not have to go
into the square.  I found my way to Andre's.  I rang the door bell, and
very soon he was opening the door.  His face lit up with a smile.  `I
hardly dared to hope that you would come,' he said.  I went in.  He locked
the door, and led the way upstairs to a sitting room.  It was crammed full
of old furniture, and books all over the place.  The largest item of
furniture was a chaise longue.  I was to get to know it well.  Andre went
over to a corner and poured out a couple of glasses of wine.  As he handed
me a glass, he said, `To the Entente Cordiale.'  Fortunately my history O
levels [See footnote at the end] had covered the period leading up to the
first world war.  So I raised my glass in response, `To the Entente
Cordiale,' `Reinforced this 4th August 1968.  A memorable date,' said
Andre.  I must have looked puzzled.  `4th August 1914 was the day that the
Entente Cordiale became operational, the Kingdom of Great Britain and the
Republic of France were standing together in the first war with the Boche,'
explained Andre.  `All over a Scrap of Paper,' I replied.  It was Andre's
turn to look mystified.  `In England someone called the treaty guaranteeing
the neutrality of Belgium signed back in the 1830s, a Scrap of Paper,' I
now explained.  We began to drink our wine.  Andre spoke, `Ever since this
morning my hands have been itching to hold your cock again.'  He put the
glass into his left hand, while with his right he began to feel my crotch.
He pulled down the zip, and his hand slipped in, and was soon holding my
cock.  Before setting out to walk into the village I had taken off my
pants.  He looked at me.  `You have come prepared.'  I drank my glass of
wine, and put it down on a small pile of books that were on a small table.
I reached for his crotch.  We drew closer.  Our arms went round each other
and slowly and gently we kissed.  `I would like to see my Englishman
without any clothes on.'  `What is sauce of the English goose is sauce for
the French gander,' I replied.  Whether he knew the English proverb I
doubt, but after a moments hesitation he had worked it out and got the
meaning.  He invited me to undo his shirt.  I slowly undid the buttons, and
pulled the shirt out of his trousers.  I saw an almost hairless white
chest, except for the V where the sun had bronzed his skin through the open
neck of his shirt.  When I had taken off his shirt, he undid mine and
removed it.  By this time I was beginning to acquire a small patch of body
hair in the middle of my chest.  I was quite proud of it.  Andre's hand
went to it, and felt it.  `You're going to end up quite a hairy man,' he
said.  He kissed my chest, and fondled my nipples with his lips and tongue.
He pulled away, and undid the belt that was holding my shorts in place,
with zip already undone they fell to the ground.  I stepped out of them.
Andre stood back and looked at me.  My cock was standing out hard and
proud.  I stepped up to him, and undid his trouser belt, and lowered the
trousers.  He had some white pants on underneath.  I briefly felt his cock
through the material, before taking them off.  We stood in our stocking
feet looking at each other.  Andre's cock was slightly longer than mine.
It was not yet fully erect, and the glans was covered by his foreskin.  It
was surrounded by an extensive and profuse mass of thick wiry black hair.
It stood out so much against the fairness of his skin.  As I watched he
hardened and the helmet started to appear out of its sheath.  I reached
across and held it.  `You know where that wants to go, don't you?' he said,
indicating his prick.  `I think so,' I said with a grin, `And I'd like to
have it in there.'  We again got close, and kissed and our hands roamed all
over each other.

" `Kneel down,' ordered Andre.  I knelt down supporting myself on the
chaise longue.  `I will prepare you.'  With great gentleness he lubricated
my arse.  Then I felt his cock, pause in position.  Slowly he pushed, and
slowly he entered, fully, until I felt his wiry pubic hair tickling my
buttocks.  It was a wonderful filling.  I wriggled my bum, to feel as much
of him as possible.  He kept pausing whenever I felt he was approaching his
climax.  His hands wandered all over me.  He positioned his legs so that
they were against mine.  I felt as though I was being slowly wound up.  A
spring inside me was getting tighter and tighter and was getting closer to
the point where it could hold out no longer.  He came first, I felt his
tension rise, at the final moment his body was still, so I felt every part
his cock pulse inside me, and a great lavish gush of the cream of life flow
out into me.  As his cock fell still, I passed that point of no return and
I poured out my seed onto his chaise longue.  We stayed there panting for
several minutes.  When our breath and heart rate had returned to normal, he
pulled his limp cock out of me.  His glans was now totally covered by his
foreskin.  We looked into each other's eyes and smiled.  `Coffee?' Andre
asked.  `Yes, please'.  He disappeared down stairs, and with my
handkerchief I mopped up my spunk from the chaise longue.  I went to the
door and saw the bathroom, so I went and washed out the handkerchief and
returned and wiped the chaise longue clean of all seminal remains.  While I
waited for Andre to return I started to look at some of the books.  That
led to the second part of the afternoon a discussion of French literature.
Eventually it was time for me to leave."

"I bet you were round there again?"

"As many afternoons as possible.  Sometimes when I was not able to visit
him in the afternoon I managed to call on Andre during the evening.  There
was an established ritual to my visits.  A glass of wine, toasting the
Entente Cordiale.  Our time of sex, the next time Andre said, `Last time
France gave his life force to England, this time England must give to
France.'  So we alternated.  Then there was coffee and literary chat.  Over
those few weeks he discovered what I had read, and suggested to me further
reading.  Over those weeks I worked my way through his pile of gay
magazines.  It was a wonderful summer, as memorable to me as that summer,
several years earlier, with Bobby, googlies and sex."

We laughed.

"I learnt a lot from Andre.  I think I learnt patience, gentleness, and
just how much of our bodies by gently persistent attention could be roused
to an ecstasy of sensation.  To put it technically, I had not realised
until then just how many erogenous zones we have.  When I walked round to
his place that first afternoon I thought, `What am I doing, he's old.'  But
I soon realised that that did not matter.  He was a vastly experienced
man. If I say he had good technique, it sounds rather cold and calculating,
and he was never that.  He was a very loving man.  At every stage he was
concerned about me.  I soon realised he would never hurt me.  I felt
secure.  I felt loved."

"You must have been sorry to go home?"

"Eventually the final day of our holiday in France arrived.  For the last
time we toasted the Entente. Our love making was longer, and France gave to
England, and I gave to France. Coffee time came all too soon.  The literary
discussion was short.  The time came for me to go.  When I stood up to
leave, Andre brought out a heavy cardboard box.  `This is for you,' he
said, `Open it when you get back to England, they will remind you of me.'
I put my arms round him. `I'll never forget you, Andre. You have given me
so much.'  `Spunk?' he interjected.  We laughed. `You have taught me so
much about sex.  And also about French literature.  If I get a good degree,
part of it will be thanks to you.' I said.  Andre gave a small bow, before
adding, `Does not your poet Shakespeare say, parting is such sweet sorrow,
but I don't know where the sweetness is.'  We kissed for a while, and
eventually I dragged myself away.  The cardboard parcel was a load to carry
back."

"What had he given you?"

"He'd given me a whole load of books.  All books I had never read, and that
we had talked about.  Inside each one he had written.  `From Andre with
happy memories' and then a date.  The date was different in each one.
There was a book for each of the days we had met.  I still have those
books, I must show you sometime."

"So there ended the Andre episode."

"Not quite.  We all went to bed fairly early, i.e. about half past ten that
night.  By eleven the house was still, and I was awake, tossing from side
to side.  I could not sleep.  So I got out of bed, got dressed and walked
down to the village.  Everywhere was dark and silent.  I rang Andre's bell.
I had to ring a couple of times.  Eventually I could see a light go on, and
the voice came from inside, `Who's there?'  `Arch' I replied.  The bolts
were pulled and the door opened.  There was Andre with a towel wrapped
round his waist.  I went in.  He led the way to his bedroom.  The bed was
in a dishevelled state.  I just got undressed and got into bed.  We said
almost nothing to each other.  No words were needed.  We made love to each
other for some three or four hours.  Eventually we dozed off.  I woke with
the first stirring of dawn.  Andre was fast asleep.  I wriggled out of his
arms, and got dressed.  I bent over him and gave him a kiss, `Goodbye, my
friend.  Thank you, and God bless.'  I made my way out of his house, and
back to the place where we were staying. I stumbled into bed, and got about
an hour and half's sleep before my father called me."

"Fortunately we were not going back to Silverhanger in one go.  We stopped
at a nice hotel near Rheims, and returned home the next day.  Those few
weeks of September and October were a drag.  played some cricket.  I
prepared for Cambridge.  All was set for the great love of my life."

By this time we had walked down the track to where Swinner Gill enters the
Swale.  The Swale at this point curves round to flow in a more southerly
direction.  Swinner Gill tumbles down from a side valley in a series of
small waterfalls and rapids.  It is quite a small stream, with plenty of
places where it is easy to cross without getting your feet wet, unless of
course it is in spate.  We stood on the foot bridge and looked around.  The
track crossed as a ford, and we continued walking on it.

Our conversation continued.  "How did you find becoming an undergrad?" I
asked.

"Great.  My mother drove me up to Cambridge from Silverhanger.  It is not
very far.  I had a room in the Fisher Building.  It is the part of Queens',
on the far side of the Cam from most of the college.  It is pleasant, and
modern when compared with the rest of the college.  I unpacked the car.
Mother and I went off for a pub lunch and then she went home and I was left
to my own devises.  I felt free, in a way I had never felt free in all my
school days.  I was looking forward to work, to play, and of course, to
meeting some like minded guys in the sexual field.  I was pretty sure
Cambridge was going to be a great three years for me in every way.  They
were, but not quite in the way I expected.  That first evening when I was
still getting myself sorted, putting the books Andre had given me on the
bookshelves among other things, there was a knock on the door.  I called
out to whoever it was to come in.  The door opened and the most wonderful
looking guy came into the room.  He was just over six foot.  He had blond
wavy hair.  Good physique.  I thought, he looks a great guy I would like to
get into his pants."

Notes:-

1.  Prep school and Common Entrance.  For those unacquainted with the
English education system.  There is the free State system which educates
the majority of schoolchildren.  Alongside that is the Independent Sector,
which in England educates 7.4% of schoolchildren.  This is fee paying and
expensive, and in effect only open to those who can afford it.  Terminology
makes things more confusing.  Preparatory [Prep] Schools cater for fee
paying children from the age of 7.  At 13 such children will take the
Common Entrance Exam for a place in their next stage of education at what
is often called a Public School.  Some Public Schools, like Eton, Harrow,
Rugby, Winchester etc have a world wide reputation.  But such schools vary
greatly in size and quality.  Archie coming from a prosperous family with
plenty of money would naturally be educated in the private sector.  Many of
the Public Schools were founded by a benefactor to provide free education
for poor boys.  Over the years and for various reasons they have become
expensive and elite establishments.  I went to a minor Public School, that
was originally founded to provide education for poor boys, but over the
years, and under some dynamic headmasters became a largely fee paying
establishment.  Though it must be said that the founders original
intentions have not been totally forgotten.

2.  Pennine Way and Coast to Coast Path.  The Pennine Way is a long
distance footpath stretching from Derbyshire to the Scottish border. The
Coast to Coast crosses the country west to east, through Cumbria and
Yorkshire.

3.  John Company.  The nick name for the East India Company that in fact
ruled increasing parts of India until the end of the 18th Century, and in
name until middle of the 19th century.

4. O levels.  In the 1960s there were two levels of state examinations.
They were taken by pupils at Independent or Public Schools as well as by
those in the State system.  O [Ordinary] levels were taken in a number of
subjects at 15/16.  A [Advanced] were taken two years later in three or
four subjects.

This section is probably more English that any of theprevious ones.  If you
have any questions do ask.  jeffyrks@hotmail.com