Date: Wed, 19 Feb 2003 10:47:11 +0000 (GMT)
From: Benzedrine Bedlam <benzedrine_bedlam@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Photographer 8 - 15

For those of you who were reading this story many moons ago, I appologise
for taking so long to finish it. I'm a bum.  I hope you enjoy the rest of
the story, this is the final posting, so no more promises to break!
Finally, thanks to Rob, for more encouragement than I really deserve.

If you enjoy this tale, I'd love to hear from you.

benzedrine_bedlam@yahoo.co.uk


Part 8

We returned to the flat laden with groceries and weekend papers, Serge
fished in his pocket for the keys, juggling the bags and dropping the
paper.

"Here, let me get that" I said, taking his keys from him and letting us
into the flat.

Serge moved around me, taking the groceries into the kitchen. From the
living room I heard him making coffee.  Looking around, I was drawn to the
photo of the girl once more.

"Is she older or younger that you?" I asked Serge when he returned to me
with two mugs in his hands.

"Older, by 4 years." He said, handing me the coffee.

"What does she do?"

"She married well." Serge replied, he sounded curt, as if reluctant to talk
about her.

"What?"

Serge smiled and sat down. He looked up at me with a resigned
expression. "She married, she doesn't do anything. Hasn't even produced any
mini Harving- Montisourirs."

"Harving what?  You don't have a name like that do you?" I was dreading the
answer.

"Oh yes, Harving-Dryden-Wilsden-Wahtsit"

I laughed out loud. "Come on, what is it really?"

"Just Harving, the full family name is Harving-Dryden but as it's a
dreadful name and we tend to drop the last bit and just be Harving."

"So your sister combined her name, that's very modern."

"No, she is officially Mrs. Segress- Montisouris." He said with a flourish.

I suppressed a giggle.

"But likes to refer to herself as Cassandra Harving-Montisouris when her
husband is not around. She still rides as Cassandra Harving."

"Rides?" I asked flatly.

"Horses."

"Well yes, duh! Is she a jockey then?"

"Hardly." Serge said disdainfully. "She does gymkhana, and hacks, but for
fun, not for money. Only the men in our family are expected to work."

"Long live the revolution!"

"It hasn't quite made it to Surrey."

"Tell me about uncle Philip's law firm."  Serge seemed to have loosened up
a little, and now seemed like a good time to find out what was troubling
him so much.

"Oh Mike, don't lets spoil the afternoon."

"If you hate it so much why don't you leave?"

"I told, you I can't."

"Why not?" I asked. I was beginning to detect a stubborn streak in Serge.

Serge sighed, he rose and took our empty coffee cups into the kitchen. I
went to him and put my arms around him.

"So, why can't you leave?"

"Why can't you leave it alone?" He pushed me away, scowling.

"You won't even talk about it!"

"What difference would it make? I can't leave, my family would cast me out,
and I would never work in this town again." He said with a rather pitiful
fake Western accent. Serge's feeble attempt at humour touched me, he looked
unhappy, even scared.

"Oh come on, really Serge, he can't completely scupper your career, I mean,
what' s he going to do?"

Serge sighed, "It's a closed world, corporate law, if he bad mouthed me,
I'd never be employed by any of the top firms, and he'd do it, he's never
been fond of me."

"Black sheep of the family?"

"Hah! No, well not yet anyway." Serge grinned briefly." No the black sheep
was Uncle Rupert. Pity, I always liked him."  He sounded wistful.

"Was?" I asked, "What happened?"

"I never really found out. When I was a kid, 9 or 10, I remember this huge
family row, crockery flying, the works. When it was over Uncle Rupert was
gone. My father said he would never be allowed back in the house. He was
cut out of the will, all of it.  I asked a few years ago what happened to
him. I was told he was dead, but somehow I don't think he is."

"I wonder what he did."

"I guess I'll never know."


"Ahhh."  Serge stretched and yawned.  "What do you want to do with the
evening, sexy?" he smiled, cat like, and licked his lips, leaving me in no
doubt what he wanted to do.

"Well..." I decided to tease him. "We could go into town, go to a club,
dance all night..." I grinned at Serge's disappointed expression.

 "Mmmm, no lets stay here, just the two of us. We can get a take away, and
some wine..." as he spoke Serge twined his fingers with mine, seductively
licking his lips.

"I'll even provide desert." he promised

We decided to go out and collect our take away, picking up wine from the
off- licence. The Indian was busy and said our meal would take 1/2 hour, so
we stopped in the pub to wait, rather than go all the way back to the flat.

"Hey, Mike, how ya doin?"

"Hi Tommy, how's things?" Tommy was an old friend, we had briefly been
lovers, but well, it hadn't really worked out, and while Tommy was happy to
remain fuck buddies, I really wasn't into sex for it's own sake any more. I
had forgotten that he lived close by, so was a little taken aback when he
sauntered over to us.

"You not out on the town tonight?" I asked him

"Oh, yeah, just warming up, we're going to Harmony, new place just opened
up on Frith Street, know it?"

"No, well if it's new, I wouldn't; would I?" Tommy was such a fashion
victim, if a new club was opening up, he was there. If you wanted to be in
with the in crowd, Tommy was the guy to hang around with.

"Why don't' you come along, Mike, and..." he raised his eyebrows at Serge,
discretely checking him out.

"Serge." My man said, holding out his hand.  I turned to him, "You wanna go
out?"

Serge expressed reluctance, and I was rather looking forward to our quiet
night in. The vision of Serge's body filled my mind.

"I think we'll pass, Tommy. Maybe next time."

"Oh, I see." Tommy said, his eyebrows moving yet higher. "Well, I'll just
leave you two love-birds to yourselves then!"  he said with a smirk.

We had left Tommy and gone home with our curry. Serge grinned at me as I
licked up the last of the Tikka Masala.

"You seem to have a healthy appetite for curry." He said, laughing at my
demolished dinner.

"I have a healthy appetite for lots of things." I responded, transferring
my efforts to his body. He shrieked as a pounced on him, pinning him to the
sofa, I yanked at his trousers and pressed my face to his crotch. He
groaned as I nibbled and sucked his cock thorough his shorts, I could feel
my own growing as I soared higher on his scent. Serge ditched his shirt and
pushed me away long enough to strip his shoes and socks off, followed by
the trousers. He tugged at my t-shirt, pulling it off my chest. Serge ran
his fingers through the sparse hair, then, sighing in delight, leaned in
and licked me, sucking at my nipples. His hands roved around my body,
stroking, pinching, exploring every inch of flesh.  I stood and shed my
jeans and shorts, Serge leaned forward and took my hard cock into his
mouth.

Lightening bolted up my spine, exploding in my brain as Serge's tongue
worked its magic on my swollen prick. I moaned and sighed incoherently,
thrusting my cock into his face. I felt Serge's hands kneading my ass, I
spread my legs, encouraging him further.

Serge pulled back, so I took the opportunity to pull him up and dragged him
towards the bedroom. As he pushed me onto the bed I held onto him, and we
dropped onto the big, soft bed, a tangle of limbs. Serge climbed on top of
me, pushing me onto my belly, he kissed and bit my firm, pale flesh, moving
down from my shoulders to my ass. I gasped as I felt his tongue slide
between my cheeks, my head spinning as he worked his way towards my
pucker. Serge took my hips firmly in his hands and raised me to my
knees. He positioned himself behind me, and went to town on my ass.

My senses soared as Serge lapped at my twitching hole. He wiggled his
tongue past the tight entrance, eagerly thrusting into my warm chute, his
lips pressed to my ass. Serge tongue-fucked me till I thought I would cum,
just from the pleasure of his mouth. He pulled off, kissing my throbbing
ring. As I collapsed onto the bed, Serge reached past me into a drawer by
the bed. He pulled out a bottle of lubricant and grinned at me.

"Ready lover?"

I grabbed him, pulling him down on top of me, my mouth seeking his. I could
taste myself on his lips, the musky scent of my own body drove me yet
higher. Serge took advantage of my lustful swoon; he reached down and
pushed a finger into my aching ass. I moaned and writhed, pushing my body
towards Serge, yelling for more. He gave, sliding another finger into my
horny passage. I squeezed, trying to pleasure myself, humping against my
lover's hand, craving more stimulation.  Serge bent down taking my dick
into his mouth, he sucked deeply, sighing with pleasure as he tasted my
pre-cum, thrusting three fingers now into my man- cunt.

I pulled him off, my eyes shining with lust, Serge didn't ask permission to
enter me, it was written on my face. We moaned together as he slid gently
into me, his dick filling me, making me whole.  Serge laid still for a
moment, and stared deeply into my eyes. I wrapped my long legs around his
back and pulled him yet deeper into my ass. He smiled down at me.

"Mike, I think you might be the most wonderful person I have ever met."

"Don't talk -- fuck me." I said thrusting my pelvis up, my ass hungry for
its fucking now. Serge drew back slowly, almost withdrawing completely, and
slid back into me. We were made for each other; my chute fitted around him
like a glove. Serge reached for a pillow to stuff under my bum, levering me
up and giving him better access to ream my hole.  Now he had me where he
wanted me, Serge began to pump harder and faster.

"Oh, yes, Serge! Fuck me! I want it... oh YES!" I panted, encouraging him
as he strained to please me. Serge threw his head back and began to yell.

"Fuck! Fuck!" punctuating each obscenity with a thrust into my ass.

We groaned and panted throwing our sweaty bodies together, each movement
more determined, more co-ordinated hurling ourselves towards...

"YES!!" Serge screamed -- or was it me? I felt my cock explode as my ass
filled with liquid fire. Serge collapsed onto my chest, gluing us together
with my cum.


We woke late on Sunday. Content just to laze in bed, chatting of
inconsequential things -- pillow talk. I smiled at my lover, Christ he was
beautiful! Sleepy green eyes blinked at me, his strong, brown legs
entangled with my own, I had discovered during the night that Serge
suffered from cold feet -- his preferred cure was to snuggle up to me, and
to warm his icy feet on me! And I didn't mind! I smiled and realised that
I'd never been happier.

Eventually Serge got up and made coffee and breakfast. He sulked a bit and
said I didn't play fair as I had tickled him out of the bed during our
wrestling match to decide who got up. We sat in bed together, dropping
toast crumbs in the bed. I asked Serge about his job, I didn't want to
stress him out, but the words just slipped out.

"What were you doing in Birmingham last week? Do you travel a lot?"

"No, not really. The job is pretty dull, I always wanted to do something a
bit more honourable with my career. That's why I took the bar exams, I want
to train to be a defence lawyer. Corporate law is all about banks and
making sure big corporations don't step over the line."  He looked
cynical. "It's all so sleazy."

"You could leave." I suggested.

He turned to me; hope blossoming on his face for just a moment before it
died.

"What are you so scared of Serge?" I took his hand.

He sighed. "Do you remember I told you about my Uncle Rupert?"

I nodded.

"Well, he used to live in part of the house. My grandfather was still alive
then, and both sons stayed in the house.  My father moved my mother in, and
we had one wing."

"Wing? How big is the joint?"

"It's an eighteenth century country manor house -- quite big." He said.

"Jeez, your family must be loaded then."

"Yes." He answered simply. I was a bit taken aback; I'd never met anyone
really rich before. I looked around the flat; it was nicely decorated, but
not expensively.

"You don't appear to share in this great wealth."

"I um, did inherit quite a bit when my grandfather died. I've never touched
the money."

"Why not?"

"Well, I was telling you about Uncle Rupert. When he left -- was thrown
out, my grandfather disinherited him, said he was 'no son of mine' and
demanded that Rupert pay back every penny the family had ever given
him. I'm not sure if he did or not, but I know he left with nothing, just
the clothes on his back. He never even had the chance to pack."

"He must have done something pretty awful."

Serge looked at me, and I saw dread in his eyes. "I won't touch my
inheritance, because one day I may be asked to give it back."

I was about to protest that once given it could not be taken back, but I
realised Serge would know the legal position better than I did. He was
talking about a far less tangible law -- that of blood- ties.



It was late, and despite my reluctance I knew I would be up at 7 the next
morning to go into work. I gathered my jacket and turned to Serge.

"Thank you for a wonderful weekend." I said, taking him in my arms.

He smiled sadly at me. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I know. Friday?" I asked? Unsure if I could wait that long.

"I'll starve without you."

We arranged to meet the following Friday, and sorrowfully parted. After a
lonely tube ride home, I let myself into my flat, yawning. I headed for the
kitchen to make a cup of tea; figuring Sara would have gone to bed, I crept
around quietly, trying not to disturb her. She made me jump when she came
in a moment later.

"Well look what the cat dragged in!" Sara exclaimed. "Good weekend?"

I grinned in response and took my tired, well-fucked body off to bed.


Part 9

"Oh Mike, can I borrow your room this weekend? You're off to see lover boy
I take it?" Sara asked me as I headed off to work.

"Yup, no problem, who's visiting?" I asked

"Friend from school, Cathy, I think you met her at the party last
Christmas?"

I hedged, I had never been able to keep track of Sara's wide circle of
friends.

"Blonde, petite?"

"Oh yeah I remember her."  I lied, I really didn't mind, as I would be
spending the weekend in a warmer, much less lonely bed. It was really
beginning to get to me that Serge and I could not meet in the week. We had
met for lunch a couple of times, but those hurried meetings and snatched
gropes under the table had left us more frustrated than ever. Our usual
pattern now was to meet on Friday after work, then after a few drinks
excuse ourselves from the crowd of friends we would inevitably bump into at
the King Richard, and go back to Serge's flat to fuck ourselves silly. I
smiled as I packed my weekend bag, another wonderful weekend was waiting
for me, my ass could not suppress a wiggle of anticipation!


I sighed as I reached the bottom of my beer, Serge must be tied up at work,
he had been late before, but it was nearly 7 now, surely he could have
taken a moment to call me. I took out my mobile and checked it again, not
that I could have missed it going off. I toyed with the idea of calling
him, maybe he was in a meeting, but then he would turn it off.  Oh what the
hell, he's late, it's his lookout for not calling me. I found Serge's
number and hit dial, the voicemail cut in immediately.

I stared into my 3rd beer, and decided to head home, 2 hours and 3 messages
later, still no Serge. As I trudged towards the bus stop I passed crowds of
people out for a Friday night on the town. I looked on, a spectator.

"Mike, what are you doing here, Cathy is staying in your room, why aren't
you with Serge, have you two had a fight?" The questions poured out of
Sara.

"Don't worry, I'll sleep on the couch." I told her.

"Mike, are you ok?"

No. I thought, but I brushed Sara off and sent her back to her
friend. Serge had called, just as I was beginning to cross the line between
pissed off and worried sick.

"Mike, I'm so sorry, this was the first opportunity I've had to get to my
phone."

"Where are you? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, Mike, I'm in a hospital in Kent, that's why I didn't get your
messages, I had my phone turned off." He had explained.

"Serge, what happened?" I had been frantic by this point, crying down the
phone.  "Are you ok?"

"I'm not hurt, I'm visiting." He had said, as if that made everything ok.
"Mike, my uncle Rupert has turned up.  He's dying Mike. I had to go to
him."

Serge had been so sorry for worrying me, he sounded devastated, and I
hadn't the heart to make him suffer any more. I had accepted his apologies,
and his promise to come to me on Sunday. I settled myself down on the sofa
and tried to sleep, struggling to throw off the feeling that a storm was
brewing.

Part 10 Serge arrived just as I was putting the final touches to the Sunday
lunch. I love to cook, particularly when I'm stressed, I find I can never
really be upset when I'm cooking. Sara's friend Cathy was laying the table,
and Sara was on the phone, leaving me to answer the door when Serge finally
arrived. Wet from the rain, and grey with exhaustion, he looked thoroughly
bedraggled. Serge held out a slightly limp bunch of flowers to me.

"Forgive me?"

I smiled and pulled him inside, hugging him.

"You poor thing, you're soaked." Or did I really mean to say 'you're hurt'?
I sent Serge upstairs to shower and change while I finished the dinner.


Chatty Cathy, I had christened her by this time. She lived up to my label
and filled the lunch with light amusing comments. Serge looked utterly
dejected, but tried hard to smile, my heart went out to him as I saw him
trying so hard to be brave.  After dinner, with Sara and Cathy washing up,
I finally got my chance to talk to Serge. We left the flat and walked to
the park, Serge explained how Uncle Rupert had tried to contact the family,
but had been blanked -- his messages went unanswered.

"He finally looked up Uncle Philip's firm, and luckily the message came to
me, the receptionist couldn't get Philip, so she just assumed we were a
normal family and passed Rupert over to me. I'm glad she did, if Philip had
have received the call, he would never have told me. Rupert would have died
without me ever knowing why he was outcast."

"You found out why then?" I asked

"Yes. And it's worse than I could ever have imagined."

I held my breath -- what might Rupert have done that was so awful. Robbing
a bank just didn't seem to justify such an extreme reaction, what about
murdering the housemaid? Raping the butler? With that thought I was closer
to the truth than I could have imagined.

"Rupert was caught having sex with the gardener." Serge confessed
miserably.

I couldn't help it -- I laughed! "I'm sorry Serge." I guffawed, seeing his
hurt expression. "Come on, it's pretty funny -- Lord Chatterley's Lover!"

Serge began to smile. "He said he might have been forgiven, but the
gardener was topping him -- a servant!" He laughed tragically. "Oh Mike,
what an awful waste of a life. Philip threatened to prosecute him, he's
been afraid to return to England for years. You realise Mike, I can never
tell them the truth now."

I was worried by that, but I let the matter drop. There would be time to
reason with Serge later, when he had calmed down. I let him talk.

"Rupert told me how he went to Italy, he's been living in Naples for the
past 15 years. He's never really settled down with anyone and now he's
alone. All he wants is to make peace before he dies."

"What is it? Is there no hope?"

"Cancer. It's terminal, he only has a few weeks left I think, it's taken a
lot of his strength to even come here. I don't know why he bothered -- who
would want the approval of a family of monsters?"

We walked in silence for a bit, Serge was absorbed in thought, I could
sense the tension in his body as he paced beside me.

"Mike, I have to try to reason with my family, Rupert deserves peace if
nothing else -- I owe it to him to try." He sighed and turned to me. "He
wants to meet you too." Serge said, smiling at me, "I said we'd visit next
weekend."

"Of course we'll go." I smiled back at Serge.

Serge decided he would speak to Philip first, and then go to his parent's
house later in the week. We arranged to meet in Margate, where the hospice
was, on Saturday. Returning to my flat Serge was pensive. The storm I had
sensed was drawing closer.


Part 11

The train down to Kent was old and slow, I watched the countryside roll by
and tried not to brood on the weekend to come. Serge had not sounded happy
on the phone; he was already in Margate, having left his parent's house on
Friday. He said Rupert was fading fast and had sounded worried and
miserable. I sat back and tried to absorb the last of the calm I might have
for days.

I decided to walk to the guesthouse Serge had booked us into, it was a
beautiful day -- summer in England is worth all the miserable winters, it
may not last long, but it's all the more appreciated for that. It seemed
that half the county had come to Margate for the day, boys showing off
their legs in shorts, girls showing off even more, I saw an elderly couple
walking along holding hands, and wondered if Serge and I would walk
together hand in hand in 40 years time. The guesthouse was on the seafront,
all pink and candy- stripes, with potted geraniums at the front door. I
found Serge waiting for me in the tiny bar, sipping a cup of tea and
staring broodingly out at the sea.

I joined him and fetched my own cup of tea. Serge told me of his failure to
bring his father around to the idea of a reconciliation.

"He was vile. He called Rupert a pervert, a disgrace to his class. He
sounded so fucking pompous."

I blinked at that. I'd never heard Serge swear before, he was normally so
calm and I'd got used to his gentle, polite speech.

"I'll have to tell Rupert today, that it's no good, he won't get the small
mercy he asks for."

"Maybe you shouldn't tell him." I said.  "At least tell him you haven't
given up, at least let him die with some hope."

"I don't think I can get away with that."  he said, "Rupert knows he
doesn't have long, he would know I was stalling. I couldn't do it to him."

We didn't reach any resolution and left to visit Rupert with Serge still
worried about what to tell his uncle.

The hospice was a little way along the sea front and was even more
cutesy-pie than the guesthouse had been. I think there's something about
the seaside that brings out the fluffy side of all of us.  I smiled to
myself, we'd be eating ice cream and paddling before we knew it; I glanced
at Serge, his face was a picture of stress and misery -- maybe not I
decided.

Rupert seemed to be well looked after, the sunny room had vases of fresh
flowers, and a nurse fussed over him as we arrived. But no amount of
disinfectant or air-freshener could mask the smell of death. Rupert had not
long to live. Serge was gentle with him but Rupert was barely conscious and
seemed hardly aware we were there. We sat with him, talking quietly until a
nurse arrived to politely throw us out. I wondered if Rupert had even known
we were there, but I was mistaken, as we made to leave, he reached for
Serge's hand.

"You have a good man here, my boy. Don't let that family ruin it -- you
must tell them. Don't allow yourself to hide as I did, and let your love be
ruined by falsity and fear." He implored, his voice a mere whisper, but
with a sincerity borne of suffering.

Serge had been very quiet for the remainder of the day, brooding on
Rupert's words. We went to bed early, exhausted by the mental strain of the
day. Serge fell asleep quickly, but was restless tossing and turning in his
sleep. I sighed and put my book down, trying to get some rest for what
promised to be another stressful day tomorrow.


The room is dim, with long shadows hiding grim things. I can feel eyes
watching me, threatening, I feel small and vulnerable.  Then there is
shouting, but I don't understand what is being said. The world turns mad,
and I am fighting hands all over me, trying to escape, a thousand unseen
hands grabbing me, holding me down, pulling, tearing...

"Serge, Serge, it's ok, it's just a dream, shh."

I took him into my arms, he was sweating and shaking with the memory of the
nightmare. He lay in my arms as I stroked his back. Gradually he began to
calm down.

"Rupert told me, last week, that when... when he left, he was arguing with
my father in the library. My father caught me behind a chair, I'd hidden
when I heard them come in, shouting and screaming at each other."  Serge
was almost crying now, his body cold and clammy. "He dragged me out and
walloped me, berating me for eavesdropping. Rupert tried to stop him,
accused him of battery, to take his anger out on a child. So he turned on
Rupert." Serge was sobbing now. "He hit his brother, and told Rupert he'd
kill him if he ever set foot in the house again."

I soothed Serge, holding him and gently stroking his hair. We laid together
for a while, Serge told me more of the tensions he had grown up with.

"I suppose you had nothing like this in your family." He asked.

"Not really." I said. "We had rows of course, everyone does, but I suppose
deep down, we all love each other."

Serge turned towards me and pressed his lips to mine. As he kissed me, I
could feel the tension melting from his body. I gathered him into my arms,
my hands roaming over his body, he responded, sighing gently as passion
replaced tension. I stroked his chest and down his belly to caress his
cock.

"Ahh, yes." He hissed, giving his body up to pleasure. My own dick was
craving the touch of his skin, I laid myself on top of Serge, rubbing our
hard cocks together, kissing him between our moans and sighs. Serge began
to buck against me, drawing his legs up to expose his crack. Taking his
cue, I leaned over my love and plucked the bottle of lube from the bag by
the bed. I smeared the cool gel over my fingers and began to stroke circles
around his ring. He moaned gently and moved his legs to grant me better
access. Serge sighed gently as I slid my fingers into his hole. He sat up,
allowing my fingers to slip from his ass.  He took the lube and spread it
onto my cock, stroking it to full hardness. His talented fingers teased my
dick, now firm, now just a feather touch. I pulled him towards me seeking
his mouth with mine. As we kissed, Serge lowered himself onto my steely
tool, impaling himself on me. I hugged him, gently rocking him up and down
as our tongues danced.

"Deeper." Serge murmured. Wanting only to please him, I rolled him onto his
back and continued to make love to him, it was so gentle and tender, I
never wanted the moment to end.

As I moved slowly within Serge I could feel his desire growing, and my own
with it. I leaned back and began to thrust a little harder.

"Mmm, yes. Mike..." he gasped, beginning to move his body to force my
thrusts deeper into his ass. My dick was throbbing, I felt my whole being
focus at the point where we were joined. I moaned and cried out as my
essence poured into my lover, willing myself to keep fucking him till he
too arched his back and shouted my name, shooting his cream onto us
both. We collapsed onto the bed both sated and drained by our
love-making. I felt Serge begin to shiver, and drew the blankets over us
both, taking my man into my arms as we drifted off to sleep together.


I was awoken by the insistent ring of Serge's mobile. He sat up and
answered it.

"Hello... yes... I'll come at once... yes... I understand." He put the
phone down and turned to me.

"That was the hospice, they said to come straight away, Rupert is dying."
He said, a desperate urgency in his voice.

We were out of bed and dressing before Serge had finished speaking. But to
no avail, when we arrived at the hospice we were told Rupert was already
dead. The nurse was kind and gentle. But although Serge had not seen his
uncle for so long, he was devastated; his grief no less real for being
entangled with fear for himself. I left Serge to speak to his parents while
I sorted out the administrative details with the hospice staff.

"They said the funeral could take place as soon as we could organise it." I
told Serge. He seemed distant, almost lost, as if the awful tension of the
past week was all that had been holding him up. I suppose that's what
funerals are for, really, to give grief-stricken relatives something to do
in those dreadful few days after a death.


Part 12

There was nothing we could do for the rest of the day. It felt like I
dragged Serge through Sunday, he was distant and quiet, seeming content
just to follow where I led him. We walked along the beach, an isolated
bubble of grief amid the holiday town. Later we returned to the guesthouse,
Serge slept, fully clothed on the bed, worn out with sorrow.  I sat and
watched the clamour of an English resort on a sunny day and pondered what
the next week would bring.  I had a feeling the storm had not yet passed.

I called my office on Monday morning and arranged to take a week's
'compassionate leave' though I didn't expect to get paid for it, I realised
Serge needed me more now than ever. Serge's parents had insisted the
funeral take place at their house. Now that Rupert was safely dead he could
have his rehabilitation into the family. We had packed up and departed
Margate by mid-morning and left for Surrey. Serge said his family pad was
in a small town near Guildford, we arrived there in time for a late
lunch. Serge took me to an olde-worlde café in the centre of Worplesdon
where he said he had escaped as a teenager.

"It used to be run by this lovely old lady, she made all the cakes herself,
and used to bustle around in a frilly white pinny, trying to feed everyone
up. I think she thought the solution to the world's problems was a cup of
tea and a large slice of parkin."

"Perhaps she had a point." I said smiling.

The café no longer had the old lady, but was run by an attractive blonde
woman.  There was still lots of cake though.

Our respite was brief, after lunch we headed to a funeral directors to make
the arrangements. We booked the funeral for Wednesday, wanting to get it
over with, then headed for Serge's parent's house to finalise the
details. I was apprehensive about the visit, but Serge wanted me to stay
with him, and I wasn't about to let him down. The taxi took us deeper into
the countryside, and my sense of isolation grew. At Serge's direction, the
cab pulled into a long driveway, then the house appeared from behind the
row of fir trees. He hadn't been kidding when he said it was a manor
house. Although not huge, it was nonetheless impressive and grandiose. I
felt like a poor relation.

We were greeted stiffly by a tall, elegant woman. The resemblance to her
daughter was strong, for this must surely be Serge's mother. My guess was
confirmed when Serge awkwardly introduced me as his friend. We suffered
through the rest of the day, with little to do as Mrs.  Harving-Dryden had
decided as hostess, she should be organising the funeral of her husband's
brother. All animosity seemed to have evaporated with Rupert's passing. He
was no longer the outcast sinner, but the poor departed brother. I couldn't
figure it.

Dinner was a stilted affair, with Mr.  Harving-Dryden slurring over his
sherry, and lecturing me on the correct technique for plucking a
partridge. I managed to disgrace myself by asking for the recipe for the
delicious casserole and was firmly put in my place with a sharp, "It's a
family secret."  After that everything I did was out of place. I used the
wrong fork, and then dropped it on the floor. I felt like a peasant at a
garden party.

Afterwards Serge and I escaped the stifling atmosphere and went for a walk
in the extensive gardens. Serge delighted in showing me all his favourite
childhood hiding places. He seemed to have rather a lot of them.

"Did you spend a lot of your childhood hiding?" I asked.

He looked at me quizzically. "I never really thought of it like that, but I
suppose I did. Hiding seemed like a better idea than fighting a battle I
wasn't ready for and couldn't win."

"Are you ready for it now?"

He didn't answer me.

We were walking through a wooded grove, which, quite suddenly opened up to
reveal a tiny tumble-down stone building.

"What was it?" I asked, moving around the little ruin, fervently wishing I
had my camera.

"Admiral Benjamin Dryden, who had the house from 1803 to his death in 1834
decided the house needed a folly." Serge sounded like he was rattling off a
history lesson, he added, rather more cynically, "He was a little late with
the fashion, but then the Drydens have never been the most modern of
creatures. The Follies came pre-ruined, it was quite the thing, echoes of
Greco-Roman cultural supremacy and all that." Serge kicked one of the
stones absently.

"Cass and I used to pretend there was a goddess living here, we brought
offerings to her and asked her for favours."

"Did she ever grant them?"

"Well, she seems to have granted one of them." He said, taking me into his
arms.  I smiled at Serge, and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were warm and
soft, and I deepened the kiss, my hands caressing his body. Serge murmured
softly as I slipped my hands under his shirt and stroked the smooth, firm
flesh of his back.

"I wonder if the Goddess is watching us."  He said.

"Well, you know how the Greeks felt about gay love -- I'm sure she'd
approve."

I pulled off my t-shirt, revealing my broad toned chest. Serge just loved
to run his hands over my pecs -- twitching the light hairs that grew
there. He leaned his head on my shoulder, softly kissing my neck.

We stood for a moment drinking in the peace of the grotto. Then Serge stood
back, and slowly undressed, dropping his clothes to the springy turf. I
followed him, and naked, we lay together on the grass before the 'temple'
and made it ours. I kissed Serge over his entire body -- I kissed his chin,
and his elbows; I kissed my way down to his knees, and his toes --
worshipping every inch of my beautiful lover. I turned him onto his belly
and kissed his shoulders and down his spine, and into his ass. I buried my
face in his trench and licked its length from the base of his smoothly
shave balls to the tip of his spine. He wriggled, encouraging me, murmuring
how much he wanted me -- my lips, my tongue, my cock.  I lubed his ass with
my tongue, then moved to offer my hard tool to his mouth.  Lying on one
side, he licked my length, laving me with his saliva. I covered him again,
gently sliding my dick into him in one slow, smooth thrust.

Our sighs of pleasure mingled with the birds' evensong. I thrust myself
into Serge, lying on top of him, holding his warm body in my arms. Serge
began to push his ass up to greet my thrusts, his moans growing more
urgent. I pulled my lover to his knees, and reached around him to stroke
his dick.

"Mike, ahh, yes!" he panted, squeezing his ass around my cock as I fucked
him.  Unable to resist any longer, I grabbed his hips firmly and started to
pound his delicious ass. Our cries drowned out the birdsong now, as we
strove towards...

"Serge, Serge, oh fuck! Yes, I'm cumming!  Yes, take it, take my cum!" I
panted as I felt my cock fire its essence into him.

I took Serge's swollen prick in my hands as I came down, stroking it, my
dick still throbbing in his ass. He cried out as he reached his own climax,
his jizz watering the earth beneath us.

We dressed quietly and returned to the house as the sun set. Serge and I
had been put in separate rooms in totally different parts of the house, and
said our goodnights discretely in the hallway.

"Sleep well." I said quietly. "Things won't seem so bad in the morning." I
tried to convince him. Serge smiled back at me.  "Goodnight." He whispered,
as he turned and went to his room.

Tuesday disappeared in a blur. I had woken dreading another day of stiff,
awkward boredom, but found myself roped into a dozen little jobs to prepare
for the next day's wake. Not that I minded, being busy kept both Serge and
me occupied, and left little time to worry about suspicion falling on our
relationship.

I wondered if we might get a little time to ourselves, perhaps we could go
for another walk in the gardens. Having Serge so close, yet totally
inaccessible was doing my hormone levels no good at all.

We left the house by late afternoon, we had not brought enough clothes for
an extended stay, and had to collect funeral suits. I asked Serge if he
wanted me at the funeral.

"I mean, it's a family thing now, really." I said, I wanted to support
Serge, but was not keen to experience another visit to that cold, unhappy
house.

"You don't have to, Mike." Serge said, sounding just a little dejected.

"I'll do what you want, Serge. I just wasn't sure if you'd want me there."

He looked up at me. "I always want you with me Mike."


We stopped by my flat, so I could collect my suit (weddings and funerals
only -- I hate looking like a banker) and then went home to Serge's
flat. The tiny flat felt like home after the past few days. We spend a
quiet evening relaxing, flopped on the sofa together eating Chinese
takeaway. Serge seemed tired, the hot, humid city air seeming to stifle
after the fresh warmth of the seaside. We went to bed early, and set the
alarm for a cruel 6am start.

I tossed around, throwing the thin sheet from my body, restless in the heat
of the night, this was not the sultry air of a tropical paradise, but hot,
sticky and breathless. I felt Serge's hand on my stomach, cool and
strong. His fingers stirred, I was disturbing him with my restlessness. He
was disturbing me with his body. He turned towards me brushing his lips
against mine, I took him in my arms and deepened our kiss, my tongue
delving, searching, and finding. I felt him rise up against me, I was
already hard, hot and horny with this gorgeous man in my bed. I laid him on
his back, and began to kiss him, feverishly pressing my mouth against his
cool, tanned flesh.

"Lower" he breathed

Obediently I moved down, kissing the sides of his taut abdomen, and down,
his strong, shapely thighs. As I passed his cock flexed and twitched in
anticipation, I needed no more invitation. Taking his hard tool deep into
my mouth. He gasped as I kept going down, taking him to the root. Once he
was in my mouth I caressed him with my tongue, licking, nibbling and
sucking on him. He was moaning, and thrusting his cock into my face, I
pulled back to look at him. God he was beautiful, his firm, clean jaw-line
swept up to pitch black hair, left just slightly too long, so the dark
strands flopped into his eyes as threw his head around, moaning -

"Yes, yes, take me, swallow me, umm, I want you, love me, oh oh Fuck!
Ohhh!"

I could tell he was getting close, his movements became more frenzied, he
thrashed on the bed. I felt his cock tense, his body bucked and heaved, and
with a yell he shot into my mouth, his cum was sweet, I swallowed it,
tasting him, milking the last drops from him.

Part 13

Wednesday morning dawned bright and warm, but without the stifling heat of
the day before. Serge and I showered and dressed quickly, the funeral was
due to start at 10:00, and we had to be out before 7:00 to make it.

The funeral was something of a hypocrisy, none of those present, other than
Serge had seen Rupert for 15 years. There were less than a dozen present,
and none showed any pretence of grief. Serge stifled his own sorrow, he
seemed almost afraid to break ranks with the rest of his family. If the
funeral had been odd, the wake was bizarre. No mention was made of Rupert,
the family seeming to use the occasion to aim barbed comments at each
other. It seemed that despite being an outsider, I was not to be spared.

"Serge tells me you are some sort of artist." Mrs. Harving-Dryden had said,
her mouth pursed with disdain.

"Well, I trained as a photographer, but I haven't really broken in to the
field yet." I tried to keep my comments neutral. "I work in a bank at the
moment, doing graphics."

"So am I to suppose you are a failed artist then?" she had sneered.

The conversation continued along this vein for a while, with several more
from other family members, before I could make my escape. I slunk outside
and sheltered from the poisonous atmosphere. I sat for a while, content
just to be alone and away from the nastiness of the Harving- Dryden's
conversational gambits. How could such a family produce someone so sweet
and gentle as Serge? I wondered.

After a while Serge appeared. "Oh there you are." He said. "What are you
doing out here?" he asked.

I smiled at him. "It's a beautiful day, it seems a shame to spend it
inside."

"Yes. It's too nice for a funeral.  They're supposed to happen in the
rain."  He bit his lip.

Serge sat down on the step next to me. I turned to face him.

"What's the matter?" he asked, seeing the look on my face as I saw his
sister emerge from the house and stride towards us.

"Hiding boys?" she said, her voice dripping suspicion and disapproval.

"Just getting some air, Cass." Serge answered, his voice neutral.

She lit a cigarette. "Don't stay out here too long, people might start
talking."  she replied, blowing the smoke into Serge's face.

"And what will they say, sister?"

"I didn't think you would be so cruel as to remind Father of Rupert's sins
by bringing one here." Her voice was low and harsh -- did she think I
couldn't hear her? "I suggest you return to your family instead of skulking
out here with your 'artist' friend. Really Serge, I thought you had more
taste."

Serge's face was pale with anger, but he had not the chance to answer, as
Cassandra turned on her heel and swept back into the house.

"Is this why you're out here? Because they've been saying such things..."
Serge was upset, his voice choked with anger and shame.

"I'm sorry Serge, I don't know what I said, but your family are fairly
convinced I'm queer, and they're not happy about it."

"They have no right to treat you like that! Whatever they think."

"Serge, I'm nobody to them, I'm not your partner, I'm just a 'friend' a
hanger on."

"Then I'll tell them who you are."

I tried to stop him, telling him not to react in anger, but Serge had had
enough.  He grabbed my hand and dragged me back into the house, and taking
Rupert's dying words literally, confronted his family.

"Mike is my guest here." His voice loud in the sudden silence which greeted
us.

"I thought this house had better manners than to treat a guest so badly."

His challenge went unanswered.

"Am I no longer welcome to bring a friend into this house?"

"Decent sorts, yes." Mr. Harving-Dryden finally answered his son. "But not
these types. We've had enough of that sort. I made that clear to my
un-natural brother, we'll have no such things in this house."  His voice
was stern, and he refused to meet my eye.

"Then you will have to bar me from this house." Serge shouted. "For you are
right, Mike is gay. And he is my lover!"  he turned to look at the
horrified faces around him, white with shock.

"I am GAY!"

Serge grabbed my hand, he looked triumphant. We took advantage of the
moment of shock to make a dignified, if rapid exit.


Part 14

I looked down at my sleeping lover. His face was calm and free of tension,
he stirred and rolled away from me.

We had left the Harving's house, summoning a taxi to take us to the
station, and home. The uproar had started before we were out of the door,
with Mrs.  Harving-Dryden disowning Serge and Philip sacking him. I smiled,
it had been almost comical, the way they had threatened to 'ruin' him. As
if being gay was a crime.  I sighed - for them it still was. We had gone to
Soho instead of going home. I think we both felt the need to ground
ourselves in our community. We also needed to get drunk. Sitting in the
King Richard, we implored those we knew, and some we didn't, to celebrate
Rupert's life, and Serge's freedom.

Now, much later, as I watched Serge sleep, I wondered what was to come
next.  I wanted Serge to meet my parents, I wasn't sure if I wanted to show
him off to them, or them to him. Perhaps a bit of both.  I yawned. What we
both really needed was a holiday, somewhere special, just the two of us. A
plan began to form in the back of my mind.


"... beeeeb... Mr Harving, my name is Franz Jenson, I represent Jenson,
Lewis and Marvel, we are the executors of Mr Rupert Harving's will. As you
are a beneficiary of the will, I would be grateful if you could contact
me..."

Serge returned from seeing the solicitor and let himself into the flat. I
had stayed home to unpack. Yes, I had made the move, and told Sara it was
time to hunt for a new flatmate. She was sad of course, but happy for me
and Serge.

"Well?" I asked, as he negotiated the room full of boxes.

"He left me a nice little sum. Not the Harving fortune, but he left
everything to me. I wonder if he knew..."

"Knew what?" I asked

"Well, he left a stipulation in the will, it seems he only wrote it after
he came to England. It stipulates that I spend all the money on celebrating
my life and my love." Serge looked at me, perplexed.  "Now, what do you
make of that?"

I grinned at him, "I have just the thing."


I had refused to explain myself to Serge, and now I had him just where I
wanted him. Right in the middle of Hyde Park. I felt rather self-conscious
as I dropped to one knee, and took Serge's hand.

He had agreed of course, and we had whooped and jumped, and shocked the
tourists as we kissed, the whole of the park - the whole of the world -
revolving around us.

Part 15

"Mike, do be careful with those glasses.  Now where did I put my hat..."
my Mum was in full wedding preparation mode. She loved it.

I had taken Serge up to Cheshire to meet my folks the weekend after we got
engaged. They took to each other immediately, and my Mum, of course,
launched into wedding planning. We weren't going for anything huge, or even
really a 'wedding', just a party, for all our friends and family, to
celebrate our love -- just as Rupert had instructed. The money he left to
Serge would pay for the party, and our honeymoon. We both agreed, it was
exactly what he had intended, the only regret was that he could not be with
us to see it.


Perched on a table, I sipped champagne and watched the party. Sara was
hitting on Lewis, a truly gorgeous hunk of man- flesh, but utterly gay. I
wondered which of them I should be rescuing. Serge was dancing with my Mum,
both of them laughing as they tripped and lurched around the small dance
floor in the middle of the marquee. I felt someone join me at my vantage
point.

"Happy, son?" my Dad asked.

The smile on my face was all the answer he needed.

"It's not quite the wedding I envisaged -- but I suppose we've known there
would be no blushing bride for a while."

"Isn't Serge all you could want for a son-in-law?"

Dad smiled, "I dare say he is at that.  Nice boy, you've made a good match
Michael. I'm happy for you."

With that Dad took his pint and returned to the party.  I was allowed my
quiet detachment no more. Tommy appeared and dragged me back into the fray,
not that I was complaining. The party was in full swing, the hotel had done
a great job, they had put up a marquee in the garden, decorated with
ribbons and flowers and open at the sides to let in the balmy night
air. We'd held a simple ceremony earlier in the day. Serge and I, with just
close family and friends, had gone to Hyde Park.  Standing beneath two
ancient, entwined trees, we had exchanged rings and made simple vows to
each other.

And now my lover -- my husband -- was dancing in my arms.

"Serge." I whispered to him. "Stay with me."

 He smiled back at me. "Always."



I hope you enjoyed this little story.  I'd love to hear your comments.

Ben

benzedrine_bedlam@yahoo.co.uk