Date: Wed, 29 Jun 2005 15:20:50 +0100
From: Mike Arram <marram@wanadoo.co.uk>
Subject: Terry & the Peachers 9

This story follows on from an earlier Nifty story published on the College
site -- 'The Decent Inn'.  It follows up on some of the loose ends and some
of the marginal characters in the earlier story, as well as continuing the
story of the rocky romance of Matthew White and Andy Peacher, and the story
of their friend Paul Oscott.  The institutions named in it are (almost) all
imaginary.  Matthew's home university is in an entirely fictional
university city in England somewhere between Reading and Swindon and its
resemblances to any real university are simply generic.  The persons
described in the story are also fictitious and bear no resemblance to any
living person.

The story contains graphic depictions of sex, mostly between young males.
If the reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your
place of residence please leave this site immediately and do not proceed
further.  If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.



IX


Terry groaned deeply as he came inside Ramon.  The boy was licking and
sucking wildly at his mouth, holding him as if he never meant to let him
go, clamping hard on his erection clasping him with his legs.  But
physiology had its limits.  Terry's penis shrank and fell out of his lover.
He fell on to his side, but Ramon kept frantically kissing his face,
between passionate endearments in Spanish, his hands caressing his back,
his buttocks, the entry to his anus.  Terry too found it hard to let him
go.
  'I love you, Terry.  God, so much.  I never thought I'd ever feel like
this about anyone.'
  But was it true?  Was this beautiful boy a consummate liar and seducer?
How could you tell?  Once think that, and it could all sound so false.  And
then Ramon said the one thing that it was better he had not, 'I wish you
could take me with you, my love.'
  Terry sat up, breaking Ramon's grasp.  All the suspicion that Matt had
planted in his mind sprang up like tangled and sinister weeds.  But he
said, 'I wish it was possible, Ramon, but it isn't.  But you know I'll be
back.'  Now who's the liar, he thought.  The house in Pasadena was on a
let, and in September Andy was moving back to England for two years.  He
knew that, but Ramon didn't.  Mrs Fuentas was engaged for another six
months, but for most of that time she was now just going to be a caretaker
in Pasadena, she might well get bored and quit, then what would happen to
Ramon?
  Something of what he was thinking must have showed in Terry's face.
Tears sparkled in Ramon's dark and liquid eyes, 'You do love me?' he
pleaded.  Had he only asked that yesterday, thought Terry, he would have
got the answer he wanted.  But not now.
  'Gotta get packed, Ramon.'  He got up and looked down at the boy.  He
looked desolate.  Then he sat up and held his ankles looking up at Terry,
tears now streaking his cheeks; so beautiful, so very tragic.  How could
anyone act love this well, he thought.  Then he remembered his night with
Anson, and realised that given the right motivation, people could do
anything.  Terry pulled on his clothes rather than continue to torment
himself.  He filled his shoulder bag and put it with the rest of the
luggage.  Ramon was where he had left him, but something had changed in his
face.
  'I'm goin' now, kid.  See you when I see you.  I'll write, honest.'  He
kissed the boy gently on the lips, lingered there and broke away, feeling
like the biggest bastard on the North American continent.
  As he passed the pool, he heard the slap of bare feet behind him.  Still
naked, Ramon caught at his shoulder and turned him round.  'Terry, I know
you don't love me the way I do you.  But remember this.  I'll never change.
I'll always be waiting for you.  There'll never be anyone else, ever.  You
are the one love of my life.'  Then he slowly turned, and walked away with
the grace that never left him.  Terry had no words.  He was wrung dry of
emotion.

Andy watched Terry carefully throughout the flight, worried and guilty.  He
recognised heartbreak when he saw it, and knew that, once again, he'd
damaged someone he cared for.  But Paul had told him it was unavoidable,
and he knew that such things could be repaired in time, if there was time.
He also watched Sylvia Powicke, his PA, another problem, and one they were
carrying with them.
  What did he know about her?  His father had told him that she was a
Stanford graduate, and that she had been three years in the Peacher office
in New York, before his father transferred her to Pasadena in January as
his PA.  He knew that there was a mother in Chicago and a father in
Milwaukee.  He also knew that in New York she had dealt with public
relations including dealing with the Stepmom's United Nations activities;
there was a personal link, although a slight one.  In some ways she was a
more obvious suspect than Ramon, but on the other hand, there was no
obvious motive.  She was a career executive on a fast track, with nothing
to gain from such a betrayal of her employer.  She would be earning enough
in a few years to make any attempted bribe look absurd.  Was it blackmail?
Had Anson or his accomplices seduced her in other ways?
  Andy tormented himself all the way to Paris, and then on the TGV to
Poitiers.  They got out at the station in the spring-like afternoon, Terry
marshalling the bags and loading them on carts.  They were a sombre group.
Terry looked across at the dun coloured houses climbing up the hill of the
ancient city.  He liked France, but nothing was going to lift his heart
that day.  He found a way to get the baggage cart by lift to the station
concourse, Sylvia was already there chattering away in French at the car
hire desk.  Andy and Matt were apparently not too proficient in the
language.
  Finally, they loaded up the Citroen saloon, and Sylvia navigated them out
on to the autoroute to the south.  It was dark by the time they got to
Courcon and the Domaine Peacher.  Matt and Andy's spirits began rising the
closer they got.  >From snatches of conversation, Terry worked out that
they had had a brilliant time there last summer, and couldn't wait to get
back.
  A middle-aged vinegary woman in black was waiting on the step.  'Chere
Madame Cirier!' cried Matt, giving her a huge hug and lifting her off the
ground.  She double kissed him and patted his shoulders, 'Monsieur Vwit!
Toujours enchantant!' she answered.  She also kissed Andy, who introduced
Sylvia and Terry.  Terry toiled with the bags after all three up the
shallow steps and into the modest chateau.
  Dinner was waiting, and Sylvia ate with Matt and Andy in the tapestried
dining room, with its log fire and mounted boars' heads.  Mme Cirier
categorised Terry as below-stairs material, and he ate in the kitchen with
Madame and her husband, who kindly laboured to converse in English, but
then were enchanted to discover that Terry actually spoke quite reasonable
French.  Nobody had asked him, but his parents loved the Midi and he had
spent many summers there as a boy, before they'd got the Ibiza villa.  He'd
wanted to do A level French, but his school hadn't offered it as an option
and a blinkered sixth form tutor had pushed him towards vocational
subjects.
  A new sort of routine grew up.  Terry was drafted on to the housekeeping
side of things under Mme Cirier's direction, and spent his mornings in a
waistcoat and blue apron, dusting, shifting furniture and polishing.  It
was a very big job, and Mme Cirier was going to make the most of having an
able-bodied assistant for a while.  In the afternoon, he sometimes
toughened his hands helping M. Cirier in the gardens, when he was needed,
or went shopping with Madame in the local markets.  The work was good for
him, and took his mind off things.  Andy was keen to do his own driving,
now he was in France, so Terry was rarely needed.  In fact he saw very
little of Matt and Andy at all, and in his present mood, that suited him
fine.
  Before the end of the first week he discovered the conference suite and
its communications facilities.  He hesitated for a while, and then rang
Pasadena.  Mrs Fuentas answered and was not too happy when he asked for
Ramon.
  'He's gone, Terry.'
  'What?'
  'He left two days ago.  Gone to my sister in the Valley.'
  'When's he back?'
  'I don't know.  He was talking of going on to Houston for a while.  He's
been very unsettled since you left,' she said with an air of accusation.
Terry hung up after some banal chit-chat.  He felt baffled.  Yes, Ramon
might leave because he was upset, but then, he might leave also if the job
he'd been bribed to do was over.  Should he mention it to Andy?  He decided
that he would not.  He despised himself for even considering the
possibility that Ramon was a suspect.
  That first Sunday he consolidated his position in the household by
arriving in his best uniform suit at the door to drive Mme Cirier and Matt
to 10.00am mass at St- Jean, and then joining them.  He found the French
liturgy no problem, and joined confidently in all the hymns, which
impressed Matt, who tended to stumble in them.  He also had a very fine
tenor voice, which carried above the congregation.  A number turned and
smiled at him; he smiled back.  They took communion, the first time Terry
had done since he had left school, and he was glad he had.  He found
himself praying rather earnestly for all his friends, but most specially
for Ramon, and he found prayer a comfort, although he couldn't say why.
They paused to introduce themselves to the priest at the door, and joined
the men drifting over to the cafes in the square.  Mme Cirier would be back
in an hour after visiting her sister-in-law, Matt said.
  They sat out in the chilly square with two big glasses of red wine, and
sat quietly for a while.  Terry was the first to find the silence
uncomfortable.  He asked, 'Andy's not a churchgoer?'
  Matt surfaced, 'No.  His father and mother are aggressive rationalists.
I think he went to chapel in his private school, but only when absolutely
necessary.  He's not baptised ... a modern pagan in fact.  He doesn't
understand why I believe, which is strange, because when you scratch the
surface of the boy he's full of odd superstitions and he has a love of the
supernatural.  He just can't make the jump to think that there really is
more to this world than appears on the surface, as the world itself
constantly tells him.  It's a pity.  It's the one gulf between us.  There's
a whole area of our lives we can't share and it makes me sad sometimes.
But he's tolerant of my beliefs, because he loves me.' Matt looked at Terry
speculatively.  'How you doin' Terry?'
  'Crap.'
  'I know.'
  'Know?  How do you know?'  Then Terry remembered exactly how Matt knew,
and his face must have looked apologetic, because Matt let the remark pass.
  'What hurts worse: the suspicion of Ramon or the fear that the suspicion
may be true?'
  'It's all one undifferentiated ache, Matt.  I miss him terribly, and the
last time I saw him, I was unable to tell him how much I love him, while
all the while he was sobbing out his adoration and devotion to me ... to me
for Chrissake, fuckin' useless me.  What sort of cunt am I?  I'll never
forgive Paul for his damned logic ...'
  '... or me for making you act on it.'
  Terry looked hard at him. 'You're not my favourite supermodel at the
moment.'
  'I don't blame you Terry.  It hurt me to have to say those things ... no
really.  You're a good guy and good for Andy, he trusts and likes you, and
you make him feel safer, which is an important thing if you know Andy.  Not
only that but his brother's your greatest fan.  So it staggered me that I
had the nerve to do it.  I of all people should know what the pain of
losing someone you love is all about.  But we can't leave out the
possibility.  Andy hasn't forgiven me for acting on it.  He says I've got
hard inside.'  Matt looked pensive and even a little unhappy too.  'His
heart was always the biggest thing about him, and it's why I love him so
very much, why I've given up so much for him, and maybe ... oh, never
mind.'
  Terry was intrigued.  This was the closest he had got to this awesome
man.  'Go on.'
  'What I was going to say was that you give up so much when you come out.
Come on Terry, you know the score.  We give up an entire future and what
society likes to consider normality.  Our parents -- yours and mine - were
OK with it, thank God, but the future we give up is theirs too.  Some take
it hard.  I know mates who've been thrown out.  Ben Craven's dad, for
instance, won't have anything to do with him, and his mum's left his dad as
a result.  Then there's friends.  Not all my friends were happy, some have
drifted away ... some were even downright hostile.  My biggest mate of all
time was my cousin Xavier.  He cuts me dead; not only that but he was
vicious about it and he's divided the White family.  It all hurt so much
... but it would have hurt much more if I'd tried to live a lie, and giving
up my Andy was not an option. I thought the pain would go away, or that
bridges could be built in the end, but neither has happened.  There's no
happy ever after in our lives, Terry.  It's a bleak thing finally to
realise it.'
  Terry saw down into the great gulf of depression inside Matt, and saw his
problem.  He also realised that the man had opened up to him because he
wanted Terry to know that he knew all about the pain he was feeling.  But
Terry was sensitive enough to realise that he had also revealed that his
relationship with Andy was under severe stress, which was more than perhaps
Matt had intended.
  Matt gave him a sombre smile, 'Friends?'
  Terry smiled back, feeling genuinely sorry for Matt, 'Yeah.  Friends.'
  Pain is of course an uncomfortable subject, especially for a normally
happy-go-lucky man like Terry, so he decided to change the subject.  'Any
more news about Anson and his associates, Matt?'
  'No.  Paul's virus was detected, and wiped, after it became clear that we
knew that they knew that we knew ... or something like that.  Must have
impressed the hell out of them.  No doubt Anson added that to his account
with you.  We've lost track of him entirely.  But at least we know where
he'll end up.  Here.  In pursuit of the dossier and you, Terry O'Brien.'
  'Can we do anything?'
  'Andy's got one or two things up his sleeve, and one of them will be here
tomorrow.'
  'Really?  What?'
  'Who, would be nearer to the point.'