Date: Tue, 06 Apr 2004 22:06:26 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aladdin's Awakening:  Part 103

Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws
of your country or district please desist.  If you are a bigot or
prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking
literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to
yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.

This is a very long tale.  It unfolds over a good number of years.  What is
true, is true: what is not is otherwise.

			    ALADDIN'S AWAKENING

				    By

				   Joel


				CHAPTER 62

			  Vignettes From My Life

		43.                             Summer 1994


               "I stuck my finger in a woodpecker's hole,
                 The woodpecker said, God bless my soul,
                 Take it out, take it out,
                 Take it out, Remove it!"

     A second voice started:

               "I took my finger from the woodpecker's hole,
                 The woodpecker said, God bless my soul,
                 Put it back, put it back,
                 Put it back, Replace it!"

     The first voice, a most pleasant light tenor, took over.

               "I replaced my finger in the woodpecker's hole,
                 The woodpecker said, God bless my soul,
                 Turn it round, turn it round,
                 Turn it round, Rotate it!"

     There were three giggles.  Two higher than the third.

     "That is a good song," said the third voice, it was Nicolai.  "I learn
all new words like that."

     "Yes," said the first voice, young James.  "We sing it all the time in
the Scouts.  I suppose it's rude really, but nobody minds."

     "Yep," came the third voice, it was young Jimbo.  "We've got to go
now, but you look at the dictionary and make a list of all the words
beginning with 'R' you could put in."  He laughed.  "You can sing it to us
later!  With the actions!"

     "Good, I will," said Nicolai.  "Thank you for helping me.  You look
very.... ...smart.  Is that right?"

     "Yes, we do," said Jimbo, "Mum's sewn my new First Aid badge on and
Jamie's got his Musician one."

     "Yes, you are very.... ..clever," said Nicolai.  "You tell me about
Scouts when you come back, eh?  My sister was a Pioneer.  They had red
scarf.  No, red scarves.  Your scarves are very good.  I am better, eh?"

     "Oh, Nick," said Jamie, "Another month and you'll be perfect!  As soon
as we finish school we'll be here all the time and we can go on the river.
You've got to learn to row as well.  I wish my body was as good as yours.
But you are older."

     "You are good now," said Nicolai.  "And him.  Tough guy."  This, I
assumed to the squat, broad-shouldered, Jimbo.  "Make good boxer!" He
laughed.  "You are here all time now!  You sleep last night and you make
noise.  Snore, isn't it?  You snore.
  Like pig!"

     I didn't catch what either Jimbo or Jamie said next but the three
laughed out loud.

     I was sitting in my study listening to this.  The three were sitting
on the corridor window-seat.  The two youngsters had already peeped in and
were dressed in their Scout uniforms ready for the parade at five o'clock.

     "Gotta go now, or we'll be late," said Jamie, "See you later, Nick."
The boys came to the door of my study.  "Bye, Gramps, gotta go!" said
Jamie, with Jimbo nodding behind him.

     This was the Friday of the first week in June a couple of days after
Nicolai had heard the results of his audition.  We'd had a little family
celebration on the Thursday evening and young James had insisted he stayed
to keep Nicolai company in his happiness and his loneliness, of course
Jimbo had volunteered to stay as well.  Nicolai was happy with the result
but he was missing Andrew who still had some time to go before he finally
finished school and would be home.  Whether young James and Jimbo were
satisfactory substitutes I didn't know but Nicolai and they were such good
friends I expect there was a little mutual support before Jimbo started to
snore.

     "Gramps," it was Nicolai at the door a little later.  I beckoned him
in.  He'd been at the dance studio all afternoon and had showered when he
arrived back and was now just in a tee shirt and a pair of running shorts
which the twins had given him.  He smiled as he sat down.  "I am so happy,"
he said for the millionth time since Wednesday.  "I think of it all the
time." He laughed.  "I like my new name, I will be good, so I am 'Good'!
Thank you for saying that."

     The manager who had taken all the details didn't bat an eyelid when I
said that Nicolai would take the new name.  I would arrange for the proper
work permit.  Or, I knew Lachs would!  In fact, I had the feeling it
wouldn't be too long before Nicolai would be a naturalised British subject
with a proper passport.  Oh, I mean, a British passport.

     Nicolai was holding a notebook and an English dictionary.  "I have
made list.  I mean, I have made a list," He emphasised the 'a'.  "Those
boys are so... ...nice.  They help so much.  They are so kind."

     I smiled.  "They like you, Nick.  You are nice to them as well.  They
are very fond of Andrew so they are very fond of you."

     He nodded.  "The English are so kind."

     I took the notebook from him.  He had listed, redeem, refit, refresh,
regress, rehouse, rejoin, release, renew, restore, retire, retouch,
retract, return, revolve.

     "I have these," he said, "There are so many words.  I learn these."

     We went through the list and he knew almost all the meanings.  I asked
him about 'retrieve'.  Would that be suitable for the song?  I found him to
be so attentive to detail and so willing to learn and so intelligent.  If
he had not shown so much talent for dancing I wondered how he would have
got on as a lad from a small Russian village.  'Some village Hampden, that
with dauntless breast the little tyrant of the fields withstood, some mute
inglorious Milton here may rest.....'  I thought I must take him to
Christ's College and show him the mulberry tree under which Milton was
supposed to have sat.

     We'd been talking for a while when the front doorbell rang.

     "I will go," offered Nicolai.  He got up and went downstairs.  He came
back a little later.  "There is a boy outside.  He asks if Dr Thomson lives
here.  I say 'Yes' and he smiles and says he is..."  He shook his head as
if trying to remember.  "....he is Christophe.  I say wait."

     Christophe!  He wasn't expected until next week and certainly not
here.
  I was under the impression that Safar and young James were going to
collect him from Heathrow or Gatwick.  I went downstairs.  On the doorstep
was a lad of about eighteen.  Five feet ten, black hair, dark eyes, needing
a shave and dressed in khaki shorts, tee-shirt and sandals.  The tee-shirt
showed off his muscular chest and arms.  He had a rucksack and a plastic
bag.

     "Dr Thomson?" he asked.  I nodded.  I had recognised him. "I am
Christophe Maugier."  He spoke good English with quite a detectable
Devonian accent.  "Mr Lascelles gives his compliments and these."  He held
up the plastic bag.  It had three litre bottles in it, gin, Cointreau and
Benedictine.

     I ushered him in.  He gave Nicolai a big smile as he came in and the
three of us went into the kitchen.  Before anything else, the English
ritual.

     "Coffee, tea?" I asked, as Nicolai, now almost as English as the
English, filled the kettle and turned it on.

     Christophe smiled.  "Tea, please.  English tea like Mr Terry makes."

     Over the next ten minutes we got his story.  He was fed up hanging
around at home so had left a note for his parents saying he would
hitch-hike.  He had hitched a lift from Grasse down to the coast to Cannes.
He thought he would stand a better chance there of a lift from returning
English.  He was thumbing for about ten minutes when an Englishman in a
Jaguar convertible drew up, asked him where he wanted to go and when he
said Cambridge in England the man had burst out laughing and said 'Hop in'.
They'd spent three or so days doing a leisurely jaunt up the centre of
France with Henry, as we learned the driver's name was, stopping off to
look at historic monuments and arranging unspecified deliveries in three or
four towns and staying overnight in motels.

     'Henry Lascelles'!  This was Bertie Lascelles' son.  Three daughters,
then Henry!  He'd been an undergraduate at Clare some years previously.
Luckily in History, so had crossed my path rarely and had spent most of his
time being hauled out of trouble by a very tolerant Dean.  From minor
escapades such as climbing on college roofs, through painting zebra
crossings on road ways during Rag Weeks, to firing condom water bombs at an
academic procession just about to enter the Senate House, he did manage to
spend one night in police custody when he and another lad had tried to blow
up the bogs on Parker's Piece in protest about police presence when young
men were seeking sexual release.  As the other miscreant was the son of a
prominent magistrate the charges were dropped through 'lack of evidence'.

     Henry had said if he had been charged and appeared in court he would
announce he had been in the stall for a quite legitimate purpose having
been taken short after a rather hot curry and had farted and somehow that
had been ignited by the cigarette lighter the policeman in the next stall
was holding against the glory-hole to peer at his genitalia and said
policeman was lucky it was only his eyebrows that got singed as he had the
hairiest pair of balls he'd ever seen when they were pressed against the
hole for Henry's inspection.

     So, Henry?  I knew from news from Garforth that Henry had settled down
and was working for a very up-market store in London and was their
representative in France arranging consignments of this, that and the
other.  Christophe said he'd brought him all the way to London and he'd
dropped him off at Liverpool Street Station and had given him fifty pounds
for being such a good companion.  I wondered slightly at that knowing
Henry's proclivities!

     I asked if his parents' knew.  He said he'd 'phoned home each evening.
I immediately 'phoned Francis at the villa and he said he would 'phone Dr
Maugier to let him know Christophe was safe and sound.

     Why had he landed at our house and not Safar and Charlotte's?  He'd
had the sense to 'phone there when he had arrived at Cambridge station but
got no reply.  He had our address in his diary and had taken a taxi, et
voila, il est arrivee!

     Safar, Charlotte and Anne were in London for the day, visiting an
exhibition and going to a concert in the evening and staying over at the
flat for the night with Ma, so that was why I was home.  I was going to
feed the boys, plus Khaled and Troy, on fish and chips and was going to the
chippy myself as soon as the younger two arrived home from Scouts.  Oh, I
suppose Christophe had better stay the night.  Nicolai and I took him
upstairs.  Luckily the bed in Francis's old room was made up.  He could be
in there and I expected young James would want to be in with him.  Nicolai
took him to the bathroom and Christophe got ready to have a shower and
shave himself.  I asked Nicolai if he minded sharing just with Jimbo and he
smiled and said it was OK.

     Nicolai took towels into the bathroom and as I made sure the bed was
OK I heard them talking in a mixture of French and English.  Nicolai was
smiling as he came out of the bathroom.  "Very strong," he said, holding
his fists up and flexing his biceps, "Very small," he said, screwing his
nose up.  I got the message!

     I went off leaving the pair to chat and was just getting into the car
when Khaled and the youngsters arrived.  The boys disappeared indoors like
greased lightning with young James whooping like a Red Indian.  Khaled said
he'd come with me as Troy would be a bit late and he wanted to chose his
own pickled gherkins and with the noise in the house it would be more
peaceful.  He laughed when I told him about Christophe's arrival on the
doorstep and even more when he heard that it was Henry Lascelles who had
given him a lift.  "Oh, God, Jacko, you'd better check if young Christophe
is virgo intacta!  Henry maintained he'd ravished every presentable
undergraduate in his three years and that was only the boys!  It was him
that said that Sidney Sussex was really a better fresh-meat counter than in
Sainsbury's opposite!"

     "Cally!" I said, "That's not the sort of thing to tell your old Dad."
I laughed.  He'd been instructed to call me Jacko as soon as he and Troy
had paired off.  "I'd heard the same.  And he did give Christophe fifty
pounds for being a good companion!"  Khaled giggled.  I paused.  "By the
way, he was one of your contemporaries, so?...."  I let the question hang.

     Khaled laughed.  "Not my type!  Though he did make an offer!  He liked
the big butch rugger types best.  So what is Christophe like?"

     "You'd better ask Nicolai, he's already made an inspection.  But he's
got muscles!"

     When we got back there was Bedlam.  The two Scouts were talking
nineteen to the dozen to Christophe, mainly in English, while Nicolai and
Troy were laying the table and putting out those essential accompaniments
to good fish and chips, - salt, vinegar and tomato ketchup.  The aroma was
delicious and Troy had remembered to heat some plates so a starving horde
devoured that staple diet with great gusto.  None more than Christophe who
was presented with the most misshapen green pickled gherkin as well and
thought it was a great treat!  As everyone had had a can or two of Heiniken
to wash everything down there was a general air of conviviality.

     The boys departed to their beds by ten o'clock, 'to sleep, perchance
to dream,' or whatever.  I sat with Khaled and Troy and we reviewed the
happenings of the past week.  We often did this and had done so from soon
after Khaled and Troy had hooked up together.  They were very open about
their relationship and from the hints dropped by Khaled I knew they were
having sex with each other very regularly but only fucked each other on
special occasions.  I never fathomed out what constituted a special
occasion but...  they had other sex frequently, like nightly!  So, our
talks often gravitated, or levitated, to some aspect of sexual content of
the week, real or imagined.  Khaled always was the lead in this.  He could
be counted on to come out with some interesting comment or observation -
like this evening's about Christophe and Henry.  He liked to tease Troy
with perhaps an observation about some hot undergraduate or two he'd seen
when he walked along the path across from the boathouses, keeping an eye on
the boaties or the runners, or some imagined infidelity, male or female,
amongst his work-mates.  Troy always rose to the bait with a 'Khaled, you
shouldn't say that!' or he'd look at me and shake his head.  Khaled like
the others had talked to me quite early on and said he'd come to the
conclusion that he was like James, he liked both.  Unlike James, he had
chosen what he called 'the easier way', no hassle with kids, although he
doted on his son, Iyad; no putting up with female emotions, why he thought
this in our house where Anne and he never had a cross word; no pandering to
every female whim, although he did admit he never stepped out of line with
Troy.  In fact, they were made for each other and I loved their company...
Which we made even more pleasant by our habit of tasting a glass or two of
some very good whisky.

     They were both so pleased about Nick's success as Andrew was a very
favourite 'nephew' and they felt so happy for him as well.  He'd be home
for a fortnight at the beginning of July before rehearsals for going on
tour in August, then home for a couple of weeks in September and the pair
would then be off to live in the flat together when Nick joined the company
with Andrew already there.  The three months up to Christmas would be
crucial for Nicolai.  Make or break!

                              *
     A fascinated Christophe sat and watched as Nicolai did class in the
morning.  Then the boys took him off to explore Cambridge and to take him
punting on the river.  Anne and the others arrived back after lunch but
young James had decided that Christophe and he would stay with us.  Safar
and Charlotte looked on resignedly and Anne just shook her head knowing
that she'd better search the freezer for supplies.  We were going to have a
houseful as Julio and Domenico were coming to stay at the beginning of July
as well as they were touting some new body-building supplement they'd
invented at a convention in Birmingham.  Khaled and Troy said, with mock
horror, they might make themselves scarce once the house started to fill
up.

     We then had to decide what to do with Christophe.  The boys were still
at school and he said he wasn't really interested in seeing much of London.
Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament, perhaps.  He'd just
completed his Baccalaureate and was going to a horticultural institute in
September.  The thought struck.  The Cambridge Botanic Garden.  Our pet
botanist on the staff might be able to help.  He was most helpful.
Christophe could help - no pay, perhaps something out of petty cash - but
he would learn a lot.  So, I arranged to take him up to London with Nicolai
on Monday.  I wanted to see Ma anyway.
  Stay at the flat two nights and take Christophe on a whistle-stop tour of
old London Town!  Then he could start on Thursday tending plants, digging
holes, watering seedlings, plucking fruit, or whatever.  He was delighted.
What experience before he went to college!  What relief for us!!

     He and Nicolai got on very well.  They practised their English
together and Terry Chatham, the assistant major-domo at the villa, had
taught Christophe well.  The Devonian burr was there as well.  James and
Jimbo were a bit miffed as they couldn't go to London with us as school
hadn't finished for them.  But, they were flying off to the villa when
Christophe went back to France.

     Jody and Peter were in residence at the flat with Ma, plus Stephen and
Lisa, all busy as ever, but Andrew was on a short tour with the company.
That meant Nicolai and Christophe shared and, from the giggles and
laughter, thoroughly enjoyed each other's company.  Ma and Nicolai got on
so well.  They did have a few conversations in Russian so all in all
everyone was happy.

                              *
     On the Thursday morning I went with Christophe to the Botanic Garden
and left him to it.  When I got back home Nicolai and Anne were in the
kitchen, with him recounting his visit to London.  He was now hesitating
over fewer and fewer words and, later, I took him into lunch at college and
there he chatted in Russian to Jake Abramovich who was off to Moscow the
next weekend.  I got Nicolai to write a note to his mother which Jake said
he would post while there.

     Christophe was full of his first day experiences.  He had been set to
pot off some seedlings and the gardener in charge had praised his
dexterity.  The gardener had said he would give him a tour of some of the
greenhouses the next day.  Bliss!  He liked hard work so had volunteered to
help dig as well.  He winked at Nicolai.  "Big strong boy?"  Nicolai
immediately said, "Strong boy!"

     That was apparent on Saturday morning after Nicolai had finished his
class.  I was in my study and Christophe must have teased Nicolai in some
way in the bathroom as there were thudding bare footsteps up the corridor
with Christophe cornered at the end.  Nicolai must have grabbed him and
tickled, not slapped, as Christophe started to screech.  I called out,
"Shut up!" and the noise went on so I came out.  There was Christophe on
his knees in the nude with Nicolai kneeling behind him, also nude, looking
rather wet, an arm round his neck and running the fingers of his other hand
up and down his ribs.  Yes, Christophe had quite a muscular torso not quite
matched by the barely three inches of flopping dick over a fair-sized pair
of balls.  Nicolai looked up over Christophe's head.  "He is a naughty boy.
He turned on the cold water when I was in the shower.  I punish him." He
stopped tickling him and released him.  Christophe stopped screeching and
both stood up.  Christophe was a good inch or so taller than Nicolai but
the big difference was in the heavy length Nicolai displayed against the
much shorter, thinner shaft jutting out from Christophe's bush of wiry
black curls.  Nicolai smiled and winked.  Strong boy, yes; big strong boy,
no!

     Young James and Jimbo turned up a bit later and the four disappeared
off for the day.  Khaled and Troy took pity on us and took all of us out to
a Greek restaurant off King's Parade that evening.  All four lads bundled
together that night.  Anne went off to bed too, leaving Khaled, Troy and me
to have a nightcap or two before retiring as well.

     "Gosh, Jacko," Khaled mused as we sipped our rather nice malt
whiskies, "Those four remind me of when I was their age."

     "Fifteen or eighteen?" asked Troy.

     "Any age," laughed Khaled.  He looked at me.  "I often wonder how you
put up with us."  He thought a moment.  "Actually, I've only seen you
really angry once and then it was more hurt than anger."  He looked across
at Troy.  "James told you about his contretemps with that woman." Troy
nodded.  He looked back at me.  "I wondered what you were going to do.  I
really expected you to wade in and belt James.  I nearly did.  I realised
that wasn't the answer.  If I had thumped him we would never have been
friends again."  He laughed.  "James said to me only the last time I saw
him he didn't know how you coped but you frightened him to death that day
just by your look and a few words."  He giggled.  "I think I was too scared
to misbehave.  That night we all got drunk Uncle Ludo only had to look at
me.  I don't think he told you, but three of us turned up just before
midnight.  The other two were worse for wear than I was and he let us all
in but we had to sleep on the bathroom floor in case we were sick.  He
'phoned the other lads' parents and said they were staying overnight and
that was that."  He laughed.  "One of the others, Bobby Parr, is a
clergyman now and he said what decided him was the way Uncle Ludo treated
us that night!"

     Humn.  Truth will out!

     Khaled took another sip.  "Have you found out anything yet?  You know,
about his journey?"  I shook my head.  Khaled went over again a few of
Henry's exploits which, no doubt, Troy had already heard, but I had heard
the first time the first evening Christophe arrived.  But they were worth
repeating.  Like the time he'd borrowed Khaled's Arab robes, which
generally were kept hidden away in a wardrobe, and had appeared at the
Garden House Hotel, brown-faced, with an entourage of three more robed
figures and four very scantily clad masked undergraduettes dressed as belly
dancers.  Henry had said he was some sheikh or other and wanted a large
bedroom where he could entertain his friends and waved a bundle of twenty
pound notes at the startled manager.  It wasn't until several hours later
when they had decamped that the manager discovered the bundle of notes
under the top two were fake and he was also not pleased when there were
photos of the grand arrival in the next issue of one of the Cambridge
newspapers.  Henry said it served him right as he and a few of his friends
had been refused entry some time before because the manager said they were
drunk.  As half the party, all male, were dressed as tarts and the other
half as vicars, Khaled said he didn't blame the manager.  He then giggled
and said he had been one of the vicars and had borrowed a spare dog collar
and black shirt off Uncle Ludo, of course, without him knowing.  Also, he'd
been one of the Arab entourage in the other exploit.

     Oh, Khaled!  And I thought you never misbehaved.  So, how friendly
were you with Henry?

                              *
     Time sped.  The beginning of July approached and Nicolai anxiously
looked forward to Andrew being home from tour and, of course, young Peter
home from ballet school.  Christophe was enjoying himself immensely and
insisted on making our garden look more presentable as well.  He certainly
was a bundle of energy.  Whatever went on in the bedroom at night kept a
self-satisfied smile on Nicolai's face, too.  Weekends we also had the two
younger lads around so all one could guess was that plenty of young seed
was shed to the satisfaction of all.

     Maureen had written and 'phoned several times with ideas for the
drawings.  We had sorted out that we needed a basic cast of fourteen, not
counting a few ugly and not-so-ugly retainers.  I had gathered together
photographs of all the older lads as teenagers.  Luckily the holiday in
Italy had provided a good number.  We decided the cast list as far as
facial features were concerned was quite easy to put together.  It was then
a case of Maureen doing plenty of sketches on her visit to get body
details.

     As a preliminary for the heads I had made a list:

     Neptune the fisherboy: Me - query face and body
     Robin the cellarer Francis - needs a muscular torso
     James the woodboy James - needs sculptured toes, trim ankles, swelling
thighs?
     Mars the farmer's boy Khaled - bronzed body
     John the blacksmith Safar - needs a very muscled body
     Allan the warrener Stephen - blond, but tall
      Will the butcher Jody - red-haired, just right
      Castor the sawyer Jak - twin
     Pollux the other sawyer Saf - twin
     Young Adonis, their brother Young James
     His friend Jimbo
     Madame Chevelue-Morue Pa's photo from the party
     Milord Tony - from photos taken at school
     Monsieur Roo - from photos taken at school

     Young retainers Matt, Tom, Mike, plus others from the Catholic XV
photo

     Of course we needed plenty of nice young bodies - and body parts!  My
other list included Nick, Andrew, Peter, young James and Jimbo from our
lot.  Of course, Christophe would be a muscular model and then Julio and
Domenico would be around as well as real hunky bodies, if the hair was
discounted.  I wondered if Saf and Jak would be suitable body models for
Milord and Monsieur.  They both had well-developed torsos and what my lot
referred to as 'six-packs'.  Maureen would have plenty to sketch.  I also
made a note for the lads to borrow a discus from school and to enquire
about a proper bow and arrows.  I would leave the clothing, when worn, to
Maureen's imagination.  Anne would be a help here and could point out
typical historical costumes in the textbooks.  My duty, otherwise, was to
prepare the translation which I had been revising since she mentioned doing
the drawings.  I would ask Tony to go over the English with me to get the
nuances right.

     Anyway, Andrew and Peter arrived back the same day.  There was no way
Andrew and Nicolai were sharing their room with anyone else, so, wham bam,
thank you ma'am, Christophe moved into Francis's old room with Peter.  He
didn't mind.  He and Peter had met at the villa so they were soon
discussing all manner of things.  Peter disappeared off with him to the
Botanic Garden a couple of times and came back with glowing reports.  It
was Peter, also, in his usual forthright way, who let out in a conversation
with Khaled, who'd told him a bit about Henry Lascelles, that Christophe
had paid back Henry for all his generosity by giving him a couple of
blow-jobs, Peter's terms, each day, night and morning on the journey and
nothing else had happened.  Khaled passed this on when we, i.e., Khaled,
Troy and I, were having one of our usual late-night, one for the road, good
malt whisky sessions.  "Bet he's not a virgin now," grunted Troy, "You
should have seen the look on his face a couple of mornings before Andy came
back.  He was humming some pop love-song and stumbling into the bathroom
with a stupid grin on his face.  And Nicolai's hung like a Cossack's
mount!"

     "Troy!" was a joint, non-shocked response.

                              *
     Maureen and Tim were staying at one of the main hotels while Tim waved
his arms about in front of the orchestra at the Guildhall, so I went and
fetched her on the five mornings she sketched our motley crew.  Boys are
vain creatures and there was much jockeying for who would be first, so on
the first morning she was confronted by six semi- nude youngsters all eager
to be drawn.  She'd also brought a camera so while young James and Jimbo
were standing on the dining room table being sketched from all angles I had
the other four in the garden being photographed fore and aft, stretching,
bending, pairs wrestling and holding the discus and bow.  What the
neighbours thought was anybody's business.  I saw Mr Cathcart, who'd moved
in next door when the Gibsons retired and went to Cornwall, peering through
the fence just as Nicolai was doing a good imitation of Rodin's 'Age of
Brass'.  At least his ears didn't stick out as much as the statue's!  And I
managed to stop him whipping off the skimpy pair of purple tanga briefs as
Mr Cathcart would probably have had a heart attack seeing a prick at least
three times the size of Rodin's young soldier's.

     It was Nicolai who was next on the podium, as it were.  It was his
toes, ankles, shins, knees, thighs which would adorn James the woodboy's
body.  Actually Maureen said his whole body with my James's head would be
perfect.  Christophe was a perfect poser.  Peter also found out he'd posed
for a couple of Germans who were collecting photos of boys.  He'd been
given a hundred marks for posing in the nude last summer.  Peter, again, in
conversation with Khaled, said they had liked Christophe's body but were a
bit disappointed in you know what.  I said, when this was relayed during
one of our nightcap sessions, perhaps he could have been a model for all
those Greek statues in a previous life?  Khaled was Peter's confidante -
not too confidential as the tales got told to me and Troy!  I told them
about the Stanhope collection and how quite a few of the Kerslake boys
would have been good models for characters in the book.  I also said, if
possible, to find out if young James was also involved as he was at the
villa for several weeks.

     Saf and Jak turned up one afternoon from Ulvescott where they were
busy setting up the computer system.  Maureen said they would be perfect
for Milord and Monsieur and Peter was sent off with young James and Jimbo
to Boots for two more rolls of film.  The twins said they were getting on
well.  In fact, the system was going to be tested at least a month earlier
than anticipated and they were just waiting for British Telecom to hook up
some more connections.  And, everyone there was waiting for the usual
invasion.  As Christophe hadn't been to Ulvescott arrangements would have
to be made soon as he and the two youngsters would be flying off in a week
or so.

     Then there were a few more delicate sketches to be made.  Boys may be
vain but their biggest fear is of getting an erection in public.  The boys
didn't mind being sketched in the nude but what if....?  Of course, it was
Peter who raised the problem.  I said I would stand by with a bucket of
cold water, two in his case.  He sneered.  Who got an erection while being
sketched in the nude?  That is, whose problem was raised?  Peter.  Who
never flinched?  Neither Maureen nor Peter.  He was secretly proud.  He
would be sixteen in a few months time and now sported the well-known
Cameron length.  The more I saw of Peter, and that included that almost
fully developed shaft, the more I saw his wonderful great-uncle, my
irrepressible Flea.  I think, too, as well as that rapport between him and
Khaled, there was a very close bond of friendship between us.  I was always
the first to hear his worries, or his triumphs.  I knew he and his father
also enjoyed that closeness but he was willing to open his heart with all
his feelings, joy, fears, insecurities, anger at perceived injustices; he
might speak out, but we all knew he would never harm.  He teased Andrew,
but he also idolised him and I noted his anger when we were in the town one
day and we heard a couple of yobs call out 'pouf' at a rather colourful
character well-known in the city for his flamboyant ways.  He muttered to
me that if anyone ever said that about his brother or Nicolai he'd kill
them!  I said that one should never take any notice of ignorance.  He
looked up at me and smiled.  "There are some ignorant people around
though." He put on the Dalek voice, "Exterminate, exterminate!"  I pointed
out the Daleks would be no use as the first flight of stairs they came
across would defeat them.  "Oh, Gramps!" he breathed, "I heard that one
years ago!"

     There were a few sketches which had to be rather circumspect.  Nine
boys in a ring sucking each other off would have only to be hinted at.  The
various couplings, wanking, sucking and fucking, would have to be suggested
but not fully portrayed.  The boys made the most of arranging themselves in
various poses in the garden.  There were many giggling conferences about
what they could do if allowed.  I had to tell Peter at one time not to bite
Nicolai's rather prominent bulge with such ferocity.  He should show a
tender side to his character.  The toad said what he was biting was
certainly not tender, it was just a bit of old gristle and then screamed,
drawing Mr Cathcart to the fence again, when Nicolai pinched him under the
ribs.  Oh, another solution!  Mr Cathcart, a retired dental surgeon, was
really a decent old boy.  He had a long-suffering wife who put up with
interminable visits from their host of married daughters each of whom
seemed to have a tribe of small, snotty-nosed children.  The sight of so
many lusty young men must have made his heart sink as the prospect of being
surrounded by tribes of lusty, snotty-nosed teenagers of his own loomed.
Still, his rather lugubrious countenance would do well for the elderly
retainer, although the 'pene languido senis' would have to be drawn from
elsewhere as we could hardly ask him to drop his trousers.

     Sketches and photos accrued.  Maureen stayed on for a couple more days
as Julio and Domenico arrived and she said they would be perfect as models
for younger retainers.  In all, she had a wonderful time and amassed a huge
portfolio of wonderful sketches.
  A few pencil strokes or a deftly applied charcoal stick was enough to
convey a whole message.

     The boys were hugely in favour of the Italian pair, especially when
cartons of special body-building concentrate were handed over.  Each tin
portrayed the most over developed torso one could imagine and when the pair
were stripped and posing in the garden for photos and sketches there was a
row of open-mouthed lads standing in awe as they weren't far short of their
advert.  What was also amusing was that they had shaved off their pelts so
that they could demonstrate the efficacy of their prized product without
all the hair getting in the way.  At least, that was their claim, but they
had been training and giving themselves all sorts of potions from when they
were teenagers.  In fact, Anne had to tell young Jamie at breakfast one
morning that he really shouldn't put four heaped tablespoons of the grey
powder on his cereal as she dreaded what effects it might have.  When she
went out of the room Peter commented, "It'll probably shrink your nuts,
'cause Julio's aren't all that big."  He looked at me.  "Sorry, Gramps, but
it's true."  I think I probably agreed having read of the effects of added
hormones on American athletes and the dire effects they had on their
genitalia.  Tins were confiscated and one teaspoon was allowed, only if
exercise was going to be taken.  Peter donated his consignment to Martin
the young boatie.  "I need my nuts," was his comment to Jamie who had
wondered at his generosity.
                              *

     The boys demanded they be taken to Ulvescott for a long weekend.
Khaled said he and Troy would take three of the urchins over in his car and
I could take the others.  Anne could have a rest at home!  I said what
about me?  Anne just laughed and said it all kept me young!  So Ulvescott
would be invaded.  It was arranged that Christophe and Peter should share
in Piers' room with Andrew and Nicolai in the Horsebox.  I would have my
usual African room with the other four paired off in two further rooms.
Oh, but Jak and Saf were also in residence!  I just wondered if the three
grandads would be able to cope, let alone the catering arrangements.

     No worries.  Hot July days and the boys were out exploring, visiting
the craft centre and swimming in the enclosed pool Sayed had insisted he
had installed.  In between they plagued Jak and Saf who were testing out
circuits and connections and re-programming because of glitches.  They had
set up games on a couple of spare computers so that was another attraction.
"Gramps, why don't we have these at home?"

     Christophe fell under the spell of the place.  He and Peter were in
Piers' room the first night but the other three nights young James and
Jimbo moved in with them.  It reminded me so much of those nights when
Tony, Roo, Matt and I shared the bed.  If their pleasures were as great as
ours I envied them their youth.  From the self-satisfied looks and nudges
there was no doubt that fun and games took place to everyone's contentment.

     Sayed, Lachs and I sat late with Khaled, Troy and Ibrahim each
evening.
  I told our little group the second night that I was retiring from my
Readership from the end of the next academic year.  I would be sixty-five
at the end of this September and it seemed right.  The Master had insisted
I retained my Fellowship and I was going to have the Easter term off in any
case as a sabbatical.  We were going to spend that in Rome as Mike had
arranged for Anne to consult documents in one of the libraries and she was
going to spend her retirement writing all the books and papers she hadn't
had time to do so far.

     They laughed and said they couldn't imagine me retiring.  What would I
do?  More music, I said.  Play the piano more and Safar had promised to
give me some organ lessons.  Then, I might also, still do a bit of French.
Kanga was always asking me to do take on translations and I enjoyed doing
them.  And there was young Jamie.  I said his ambition was to read French
at University and I would help him as much as I could.  And, anyway, I
still had to cope with all the inmates and their camp followers.  Troy
pointed out he didn't think he was camp, but he couldn't vouch for Cally.

     I found out Safar and Charlotte were coming to stay as soon as young
James went to France.  Stephen and Lisa with Jody and Peter were also
expected then so the family would be almost complete.  Lachs said the twins
were hoping James and Diane might be coming but they had already gone out
to the villa.  Mainly so James could deal with the sale of the Florida
house for Tony who was fed up with his present tenants and they had offered
to buy it.

     The computer system turned out to work perfectly.  I had to listen to
convoluted explanations in stereo about algorithms and private keys and
public keys and was shown how three screens of data could be viewed
simultaneously and how it was all updated almost minute by minute as each
Stock Exchange, Bourse or whatever shoved out acres of data and reams of
figures all with the intention of making certain people richer and richer.
Pennies from Heaven seemed to be the theme tune.  Anyway, it worked and two
very satisfied lads went off, dissertations written ready for their final
year.  A car each when required.

                              *
     While Maureen was with us doing the sketching she had said she had
often wondered why Mike hadn't got any further than Monsignor but she had
talked to a friend of Mike's when Tim was in Rome conducting some opera or
other.  This friend, also a Monsignor, said the reason was a report Mike
had written after a visit to Brazil which concluded with some
recommendations which did not go down well.  He had suggested, because of
the number of cases of AIDS amongst the priests, that dispensation might be
given for married priests to serve.  This had angered a couple of the very
conservative cardinals who wouldn't even accept the fact that priests were
dying other than from 'natural causes'.  Perhaps, one day, his worth might
be recognised.  Maureen said he was still happy in his post and had a
devoted following of younger priests who referred to him as 'Il Prete
Rosso', the 'Red Priest', perhaps not so much for his views as for his red
hair.  She said Fr Giovanni was a great friend of his as Mike still visited
the parish every week and still refereed the football matches.

                              *

     So summer passed.  Christophe went off back to France with young
James, Peter and Jimbo.  He had a very fulsome letter of thanks from the
head gardener and he was determined to return to learn more.  Because with
Andrew and Nicolai not wanting to be disturbed at night Peter would have
been all on his own.  So he went to the villa with strict instructions from
big brother that if he missed class once everyone would know.  We would
probably hear a few more choice French phrases when the three returned.

     In fact Nicolai and Andrew were split up.  Andrew had an urgent 'phone
call.  One of the principal dancers had injured himself and there was a
shuffle upwards.  Andrew would be dancing quite a different role from the
one he had been rehearsing so he was needed back immediately.  So Nick was
left high and dry again.  Not to worry.  I'd finished my revision of the
book.  Tony had a copy to look at and criticise.  I'd passed half my
lecture list on to a couple of others and would reuse last year's lectures
for the rest of my stint.  Lazy bugger!  Nick and I spent many hours
together just talking, going round Cambridge, shopping, me watching him at
the dance studio, him sitting in on a couple of tutorials.  Then, the week
before he was due to go to London he asked if I would take him to
Ulvescott.
  He wouldn't say why but I knew it was important for him.  Anne was busy
reading a thesis so she was quite happy for us to be off.  Sayed and Lachs
had taken to Nicolai from the start so the invite was there.

     He was quiet on the journey, content to look at the passing
countryside.  He smiled happily as we got to the guarded gate.  Surprise,
surprise, there was a guard dog as well.  A new, young version of Bran and
Finbar.  The guard signalled us through and as I drove slowly along the
drive the dog followed.  Waiting on the steps were Sayed and Lachs.  The
dog went up to them and sat.

     Sayed stepped forward all smiles and shook hands.  "You have to meet
Cathal."

     Lachs was stroking the dog's head as we approached.

     "This is Jacko and this is Nicolai," said Lachs.

     It was just like years before.  The dog put a paw up and we each shook
it.  I knelt down and hugged the dog.  I wouldn't have known it wasn't one
of those great friends of mine.  Then explanations.  Lachs had found out
from Charley and Bruce that Lady Ethne's progeny were still being bred.  He
had bought Cathal, who was six months old and quite immense already, and
he'd been at the Manor for a week and it was as if he had always been
there.

     Nicolai had been given Piers' room and he looked so pleased.  "I need
to say thanks," he whispered as we walked up the stairs to go to bed that
evening.  I said 'goodnight' and went into the African room where I
normally slept.

     A few moments later there was a tap on the door.  It was Nicolai
wearing just some boxer shorts.

     "Please, Gramps," he asked, his voice very emotional, "Please would
you sleep with me there's lots I want to tell you.  Please?"

     "Would that be wise?" I asked.  I wondered what he really meant.

     He smiled and shook his head.  "No, not that," he said, "I want just
to talk and I want to talk to you in that room."

     I said I would be along in a moment.  I was still dressed.  I usually
slept in the raw but had a pair of shortie pyjamas 'in case of fire'.  I
undressed and slipped them on and went along the corridor to Piers' room.
The door was ajar.  Nicolai was already in bed with just the two sidelights
on.

     "Please," he said, opening the bed clothes.  He had discarded his
boxers so I slipped off my shorties and poked them under the pillow.

     I felt very strange.  This was the first time I had been in bed with a
young male since that time when Lachs and I, not very young males, had
shared a bed while his 'piece of stuff' was being rather unprofessionally
fucked by the private eye.  And there was the time with Tony as well.  But
Nicolai was so much my junior.  At least he was over eighteen.  But no, the
whole atmosphere was not sexual.  Nicolai turned to me and held my hand.
  He wanted to say how much his life had changed, how he knew now what he
wanted to do.  How much he and Andrew were in love.  They had pledged their
commitment to each other and he had told Andrew what he intended to do in
telling me everything.  He wanted to talk and say it out loud because he
knew the boy would hear and he would always be grateful for the love and
affection all the family had shown him.  He was sad that his parents were
so far away but he had seen them rarely since he was eight.  Perhaps,
someday, if he couldn't go back I would go and see his mother.  I promised,
he talked on, and we hugged and we fell asleep.

     Sometime in the night he was murmuring to himself and, as he clung to
me, I felt his large prick rise and harden.  A few moments later he sprayed
his seed against me.  It ran, warm and copious in amount, while he clasped
me tightly and slept on.  I undid his grip on me and turned onto my back
and used my shorts to mop up some of his cum, then, for a brief moment, I
was aware of a bright shooting star I could see through the window.  In the
morning he woke first and must have realised what had happened.  As I woke
he leaned over and I kissed his cheek.

     "You are not angry with me?" he asked rather anxiously, "I did not
know."

     "Nicolai," I said, "That was a gift of love.  You must love Andrew for
ever and give him many gifts like that.  Thank you for that gift for me."

     We hugged each other and lay side by side with him, so content,
nestled with his head on my shoulder, my arms round him.

                              *

     When we arrived back in Cambridge we found a rather worried-looking
Francis with Anne.  He had been concerned about Tony for a little while.
Tony just about chain-smoked and had been coughing for some time.  Francis
had at last persuaded him to have an X-ray at the local hospital and it
showed a definite patch on the lung.  They had flown back to England and
Tony was now in the Royal Marsden Hospital in London having tests.  Francis
was not very optimistic.  What should be done?

     I knew Tony was a workaholic.  He had written a good number of books
which had been more than well-received.  His work for films and for
televison was well-known.  He was a popular lecturer.  I said that Francis
should keep him working whatever the outcome.  The first outcome came two
days later.  He was to be operated on to remove part of his left lung.

     Things went well.  He came and stayed with us for three weeks
convalescence before he went back to France.  We discussed the book and he
said there were very few changes he would recommend making, just make sure
I changed the bit about Will's 'chopper' which Ma had suggested!

     But before all this we had to get Nicholai ready for the start of his
career.  I took him up to the London flat on Saturday October the first
ready for him to go on the Monday with Andrew to his first rehearsals.  I
stayed overnight and told Ma to slow down a bit.  At least Lisa was home
three days a week and at weekends but Ma was in charge.  Sayed had opened a
bank account for Nicolai under his protests.  He vowed he would pay it all
back.  Sayed said nothing and I knew that Lachs had deposited a sum as well
for his grandson's partner.  As I left on Sunday Nicolai gave me one of his
hugs and promised he would be the best.

       Just before Tony went back to France Maureen came and stayed a
couple of days and showed the drawings she had already completed.  They
were magnificent.  I couldn't wait to hear Safar's comments about the
hammer-wielding very brawny body below his head for John the blacksmith.
When they saw it that evening Charlotte's comment was "Fancy going to bed
with that hunk!"  Khaled, who was peering over her shoulder, deliberately
misheard the emphasis, "Anytime!" he said, with a thump from Troy.

     Tony was very pleased with himself as Milord.  He said the body did
him proud, even if it was Jak's.  He was rather worried, so he said, with a
smile, about his reputation as one sketch showed him in side view, grinning
lasciviously, while he, without anything showing, was shagging James the
woodboy.  The ecstatic look on James' face made us all laugh.  His sons
would be pulling his leg over that one.  I guessed if any horny adolescents
got hold of the book they would be pulling something else while ogling that
picture of bliss.

     Maureen said she'd shown Stephen his representation as the tall,
willowy Allan the warrener and he said he just wondered what she'd tucked
under his coney-skins to display later.  She said Jody was equally pleased
with the red-haired, cleaver-carrying Will the butcher.  She had also
included his partner Peter as one of the young, more presentable,
retainers.

     She was worried about a couple of episodes.  How much should she
convey of the rather brutal beating.  Tony suggested a bent back and a
raised stick then concentrating on the loving anointing later.  Her piece
de resistance was the 'ghirlande de lis'.  Back views, but enough to
indicate that heads were tucked into groins and it was set around a
circular bed of stately lilies in the garden.  Khaled, ever forthright,
said that evening during our late night tete-a-tete that there were
twenty-seven lilies, all erect, so did that imply 'trois turlutes le
garcon'.  Troy grunted and said from the discussions he'd heard at the
villa three blow-jobs a night were a minimum.  Put teenagers in the sun and
they ripen faster than sweetpeas and they shoot their seeds everywhere.  We
thanked him for his horticultural metaphor.  He also said he was sure that
Christophe was a virgin no longer.  Khaled said he wondered that as well
and if he wasn't it was young James who deflowered him as he was sure
Nicolai hadn't penetrated the sacred portal.

     Troy nodded sagely, "Yep, that's my reading of the situation.  I think
I was mistaken about what might have taken place when that pair were
together.  Nicholai wouldn't because of his pact with Andy.  So, I put my
money on Jamie doing the deed on holiday this time.  That pair were always
together.  The other two were quite content to laze about around the pool
but Christophe and Jamie were always off supposedly working in the gardens
but spent a good deal of time in that shed."

     Khaled smiled.  "I noticed and did check one day and there were some
old sunbed cushions in there and they looked well used."  He looked at me.
"We're hedging this a bit but there's no doubt the pair ramonerent l'un
l'autre!"

     Swept each other's chimney!

     "Oui," said Troy, "C'est un couple bien assorti.  Deux queues solides,
mais tous deux un peu court."

     Khaled was grinning now.  "Better tell him all."  He looked at me.
"We'll confess, Jacko.  Actually we caught the pair at it.  We'd heard a
bit of conversation over lunch one day.  Young James asked Pete and Jimbo
rather pointedly what they were intending to do that afternoon.  As the
pair generally sunbathed in the nude, like we all did, they said they were
sticking by the pool soaking up the rays.  Jamie and Christophe went off
together rather ostentatiously carrying a couple of trowels and a pair of
secateurs."  He looked at Troy and grinned.

     Troy held out his glass to be topped up.  "Yup, 'twas so," he
continued the narration.  "We watched them saunter off and a few minutes
later told the other two we would have a stroll to shake our lunches down
and then we would have a swimming contest when we got back.  Me and Jimbo
against Fatty Arbuckle here and Peter the Pest."

     "Come off it, Troy, I'm not fat!" protested Khaled.

     "But you have got a good imitation of what Fatty was renowned for.
Christophe couldn't keep his eyes off it the first morning you shed your
swim trunks.  Good job you're not into youths or you would have been well
away!"

     "OK, you two," I interrupted, "We've all seen what Cally's got.  I got
first view and it was about an inch and a half then."

     They both snickered.  "Shrunk through fright," countered Khaled "And I
was a lot younger!"

     "I will proceed," said Troy, taking a sizeable swig.  "We set off
round the garden the other way and, as one does, we finally came upon the
shed.  No sign of the pair snipping, clipping or grubbing, but..."  He
grinned and took another sip and licked his lips, "...There in the shed
Young James was giving Christophe the full benefit of his five inches and
our muscly young gardener was on his back, legs in the air, eyes tight
shut, pulling on his own five inches and chanting rude things to urge him
on.  As Troy said, a well-matched couple."

     Intrigued.  "And did they know?"

     Khaled laughed.  "No.  They were too far lost in adolescent paradise
to know or care.  We stood and stared, then wended our way homewards."
Khaled was being rather poetic.  Must be the effect of the whisky!

     "As they didn't appear for another hour we guessed Christophe had his
turn as well," said Troy.  "We got back and me and Jimbo gave this old
warhorse and his pretty partner a real trouncing."  He smiled at Khaled.
"Actually, Pete's not a very good swimmer so it was a bit unfair.  Still,
Terry gave each of us a very nice tarte aux fraises and as the other two
were still nefariously engaged we shared theirs as well!"

     I looked from one to the other.  They just grinned.  "Boys are all the
same.  The other two knew why they weren't there.  It was shared, unspoken
knowledge." said Khaled.  "Anyway, Christophe and Jamie will always be
friends now and young James was learning a lot of new vocabulary as well.
Christophe was most insistent and kept saying things like 'tires ton coupe'
and 'baises moi!'. [Shoot your wad: Fuck me!]  He did rather look puzzled
when I asked him that evening for a translation of 'une cheminee qui tire
bien' which I said I'd read in a book.  Anyway, I think his flue drew well
from the satisfied look on Jamie's face!"

     Oh, so young James had surrendered his virginity to his friend.  I
wondered about Peter and the other one, Jimbo.  I knew Peter was adamant
that when he was ready he wanted to be the recipient of his brother's love.
Nicolai had laid down rules at Ulvescott.  Young James had followed his own
inclinations.  Christophe was a special friend.  A friendship begun on
previous visits and now sealed.  I also guessed when the time was ripe he
and Peter would share their love in that way.  First, though it would be
between Andrew and Peter.  I guessed it would be when he was sixteen in
just over a year's time.  He would wait.  He was patient.  Jimbo was
sixteen already but he was more attached to Jamie.

     "Of course, you realise it was Jimbo's turn a couple of day's later,"
said Troy.  "Peter said he wanted to go into Grasse to get presents to take
home so we drove him down one morning.  Christophe wasn't around that
particular day and the other two said they didn't need to go.  We got back
just before lunch and there was no sign of Jimbo and Jamie."

     "Strange, we thought," said Cally, "Food almost on the table and the
vultures not hovering.  No bare bums by the pool, either.  They were so
naive.  We were sitting on the terrace chatting to Terry and up they come
from quite opposite directions as if they hadn't realised it was lunchtime.
As the pair usually lived in each other's pockets it was quite self-
evident."

     "Yup," said Troy, "I watched Peter's face as Jimbo came up first.  He
was about to say something but, for once, kept his mouth shut.  Then Jamie
pops up, bold as brass, butter wouldn't melt in mouth, 'Sorry folks, had to
fait pi-pi', says he and Peter sniggered.  That toad gave the game away
good and proper.  Cally and dear old me had been hoodwinked into making
ourselves scarce with the all-knowing little Pete while the pair pleasured
themselves...."

     "No, Troy me love," said Cally, interrupting him, "They weren't just
pleasuring themselves....  It was more serious than that."

     "Sorry.  But you know what I mean," Troy said slowly, nodding his
head.
  He gave a little laugh.  "But neither of them shed their swim trunks that
afternoon although the three of us were fronts i grec as usual."

     Khaled grinned at me.  "So that's the end of tonight's bedtime story.
I expect you'll be told all in good time.  Let us know."

     "If it's in confidence, definitely not...., ..But..., ....there are
always ways of posing questions as if one already knows."

     "Well you do...." said Khaled with a mischievous grin on his face.

                         *

     Time did tell.  "Gramps," came a voice at the door of my study one
afternoon.  It was Jamie, home from school and waving his French exercise
book.  "Need some help.  Are you busy?"

     Never too busy to give help to a very favourite 'grandson'.  We went
through the constructions he'd been given for homework.  He was very fluent
now.  Next year GCSE's, then Sixth Form.  He was well ahead.  We tried a
bit of German.  That was coming on as well.  Then the news.

     "Gramps, you know what you and Nicolai said at Ulvescott?"

     I nodded.

     "Well, me and Christophe and then me and Jimbo.  Nicolai's right we
had to be ready.  I think I was."  He smiled his father's soft smile.
"They're my best friends now.  I was going to tell you as soon as we got
back from France but I wanted to see if Jimbo would still be my friend."
He nodded.  "He is.  He asked me yesterday if I regretted doing it and I
told him it was one of the best things I'd ever known.  He said it was for
him as well.  Should I tell Dad?"

     "Some time.  He'll understand.  I think your Uncle Cally knows."

     He smiled.  "Yes, Pete said we didn't hide it too well.  But, we were
happy.  That's important isn't it?"

     "Have a word with Uncle Cally first.  Tell him how you feel.  He'll
understand."

     He nodded.

                              *

     Christmas came with the usual house full.  None happier than Nicolai.
He'd made a very good impression and had been signed up.  He and Andrew
together were the perfect pair reminding us so much of Jody and the other
Peter who were there as well.  Ma was coming up to her eigthy-ninth
birthday and was adamant she still wanted to live at the flat.  Her old
ladies needed her.  As both were in their nineties that was that.  Stephen
and Lisa were so happy they had their son and his partner living at the
flat and with Lisa teaching at the ballet school two days a week there was
little young Peter could get away with.


                         44.  1995-1998

     Our time in Rome was glorious.  While Anne was closeted in some
archive with ancient manuscripts I visited and explored sites and saw
sights of all sorts.  Mr Forbes- Farquarson had done a good job on my knee
which carried me well, allowing me to dodge all those daredevil drivers
squealing around on the Roman streets.  My excursions were more often than
not accompanied by one or two of Mike's young assistants.  They, being
mainly French, German or Italian practised their English on me while I
caught up with 'modern usage' and made good progress with Italian.

     I was not unhappy to have relinquished my teaching in Cambridge.  I
still had three doctoral students almost ready to present but in the past
few years there were so many changes in University life it was less and
less to my liking.  Endless committees, quality control, lack of funds,
brains draining to America where salaries were higher and opportunities
more immediate and a general feeling that scholarship was something rathe
elite.  I supposed I joined the ranks of 'it was better in my day!'.  No.
I did miss the seminars, the meeting of quick and active minds, the quest
for knowledge, even the poorer essays where one could guide.  I had a
number of appreciative letters from old students once the news got round I
was retiring.  Some from students barely remembered but an impression had
been made.  Such is university teaching.  You never know when the magic
chord is struck and how it will reverberate over the years.

     But there were other changes.  Willy Roberts had already retired and
made a clean break moving with Maggy and stay-at-home son Jonathan to a
quiet Suffolk town.  Even Jonathan fell on his feet, transferring from the
Cambridge City Library to a senior post in the County Library there.
Dreamy Jonathan, so quiet, but a perfect foil for his father's rather
forthright ways.  Jem and Sam would be retiring soon and would rest in
their old age, as they put it, on their portfolio of properties with their
confederate in all matters, Luscious Lucius.  There was nothing young James
and Jimbo liked better than a trip in a punt taking Lucius upriver with one
of his celebrated hampers.

     While in Rome we had left Khaled and Troy in charge.  There were
transformations when we returned laden with notebooks full of precious
historical material - at least, I was laden with Anne's notebooks.  The
pair had had the whole place re-decorated.
  Anne had given her blessing before we went and what a difference!  I
suppose over the years with so many youngsters growing up in the place it
had become decidedly grubby.  Any visitors now were instructed to wipe
their feet and not put fingers on walls!

     Anne managed to complete another huge tome by Christmas.  This was on
the role of women in the church in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries
from the hierarchy's point of view which put quite a different slant on
particular opinions.  Another tome that was in production was 'O Audaciam
Immanem'.  Kanga had at long last persuaded Tristan to join the firm and he
was seeing this magnum opus through the press.  The proof copies were
astounding.  My text was matched by the most wonderful drawings.  Maureen
had not been elected an ARA for nothing.  Lithe young bodies flitted from
page to page.  Each character had a full-length pose as they were
introduced.  Even Nicholai's bent banana was displayed on the body of Robin
the cellarer, 'that hooded serpent' in reality, with Francis's head and
Christophe's muscly young body.

     Young Peter would be very proud that he was the body model for James
the woodboy and his balls and a hint of a raised appendage were there above
Nicolai's legs and feet in the scene with young Mars as well.  The happy
pair of young James and Jimbo, clothed and then naked were the final images
in the book.  My own appearance was firstly in the frontispiece.  A copy of
that original drawing by Mike.  My adventures as Neptune the fisherboy were
coupled with variations drawn by Maureen using that initial inspiration.
Even Mike stared out as one of the retainers.  Maureen said, in deference
to his position in the church, she hadn't portrayed him with such a
lascivious look as Bernie Doyle who appeared as Jacob the errant servant.
As Jacob was shown in one scene with his hand tucked firmly in his puffed
up pantaloons there was no doubt what he was doing while watching Monsieur,
in the shape of Jak with Roo's head, giving what appeared to be a massage
to John the blacksmith.  Safar's wide-eyed look of ecstasy as the head on
that very muscular nude body could only mean one thing.  Subterranean
rumblings had started!

     The book was ready for 'the Christmas market'.  As a more than fifty
pounds per copy coffee-table type production it sold very well.  It was
hailed by one reviewer as the very best in erotic art. However, in another
newspaper, which sent sales soaring, it was denounced as blatant
pornography designed to tempt our youth, ever ready to try the latest fad
and fancy, into endless sin and depravity.  As every boy as soon as he
entered puberty was immediately addicted to wanking and a goodly proportion
had experienced other joys, if the published studies were to be believed,
we hardly thought teenagers would fork out fifty five quid for an
up-market, superior quality wank-mag!  I thought that a minority of youth
who had recourse to the book through parental extravagance, or elder
brother prurience, might suffer from a new bane of youth, other than acne,
repetitive strain injury.  When I made this comment to Khaled and Troy a
couple of days after that review, Troy said he wondered if that was what
was wrong with Khaled who had difficulty, he always found, in flexing his
wrist to open his wallet.  Khaled just said that if Troy was to be
believed, he and his brother Jason should have figured prominently in the
Guinness Book of Records between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
"Khaled, that was in confidence!" was the not too serious, rather
proud-sounding retort.

     What did emerge a couple of weeks later was that the reviewer had
written to Maureen offering to buy a sketch or two 'surplus to
requirements'.  As the reviewer had been on the same stair in college with
Khaled he knew him well.  "If that stuck-up twit ever needed an arsehole
transplant I'd bet the arsehole would reject him!" said he, having had the
usual lubrication.  "Khaled!" was the giggled response by Troy and me.

       Nicolai was twenty and young Peter was sixteen that Christmas.  I
thought Nicolai was handsomer than ever and the way he treated his equally
handsome partner, Andrew, was so loving and they were so very protective
and caring towards Peter.  It was on Boxing Day that Peter shyly, that is
for the usually candid youngster, said to me that he and Andrew had shown
their brotherly love for each other that previous night and had been held
together throughout by the tender arms of Nicolai.  He shed a few tears as
I hugged him and he said he couldn't imagine a happier occasion, he was so
glad he had waited as he now felt he had been ready to share himself fully
with his beloved brother.

                              *
     Peter at sixteen now moved into the senior ballet school and in the
autumn of 1997 joined his brother and Nicolai, now both promoted to
soloists, in the company.  What a family grouping!  On his appointment they
all got together, Stephen and Lisa, Jody and Peter, Andrew and Nicolai and
Peter, all in costume, for a group photograph.  No one was prouder to see
them assemble and stand in the foyer of the Albert Hall than Ma.  She had
nurtured and cosseted them all, in sickness and in health, as Stephen said,
when the toasts were made afterwards.  They all adored Ma.  She did say to
me she thought her life's work was now done.

     In October, young James, with a full clutch of A levels, entered Clare
to read Modern Languages, French and German.  He lived in college but
appeared, with permission, at least twice a week with news and demands for
extra tuition.  He was a voracious reader and at Christmas I handed him the
ten volumes plus the others from Dr Blake.  I said he wasn't to read them
all at once or his eyesight might suffer.  He said if that was so he'd
already read 'Audaciem' several times and already had a reputation in
college of being the model for young Adonis.  He said he felt a bit like
that young brother of T E Lawrence must have been seeing his nude statue
outside the Scott Polar Institute.  He grinned and said at least Auntie
Maureen hadn't stinted on his equipment!  Jimbo was along the road at St
Caths reading geology so the pair were rivals on the river.

     In November Lisa 'phoned me one Saturday morning to say Ma had fallen
and was in St Stephen's Hospital in Chelsea.  I'd better come.  She died
that evening as I held her hand.  My Ma!

     Her obituaries in the newspapers were stupendous.  No one had ever
guessed that J T Fountain was a woman, let alone the wife, then widow, of a
famous scientist and not even English, to boot.  The papers had great fun
in quoting all the wrong-headed reviews of her nearly twenty books where
reviewers praised the masculinity, rawness and vividness of the writing.
They noted her books had sold in airports and railway bookstalls to
thousands of travellers as well as being read by the avid patrons of
detective novels borrowing from their local libraries and were loved by the
countless millions who had seen the film and television adaptations .  I
just wondered what the late, now long dead, Chief Constable Buchanan,
thought of his alter ego, Inspector Buck?  I know that Tom and Duncan
relished each succeeding volume as they appeared and did pull his leg a bit
and he always retorted, so Tom said, with that old Scots rejoinder,
'Pish!'.  Her Will was quite succinct.  Drawn up by her grandson James the
solicitor, it stated that all future royalties were hereby to be divided
equally between all the named lads, partners, wives, per stirpes.  After
considerable death duties I and Anne inherited a fair amount of cash.  All
I know was that new editions of the whole set were planned for issue over
the next few years and there were many viewer requests for televison
repeats.  The lads, wives, partners, offspring, etc, per stirpes in legal
terms, would have some income for some time.

     Of course, I was mentioned as the son who had produced the translated
text for 'the book'.  I even appeared on television with Maureen, beside
copies of Ma's books and the magnum opus open artfully at the frontispiece.
At least my cock appeared on television after the nine o'clock watershed.
I did get a few ribald letters and postcards from old students including
one from Philip Parks who happened just to be home on leave from one of his
Diplomatic postings.  "Still un braquemart assez considerable.  With the
fondest of memories, Philip.  p.s. You didn't know it but that essay you
made me write convinced me there was more to life than pointless
struggle. Thanks."

     At Christmas Francis broke the news that Tony's condition was
deteriorating.  He was not responding to treatment and secondaries were
suspected.  He said there was little hope.  But then, at the same time,
young Peter and Saf came up with more heartening news.  Peter announced he
was getting engaged to another young dancer in the company, Laura Marshall.
Saf 'phoned on Christmas Day to wish everyone the best....  Interrupted by
his brother who shouted that he was besotted with some young lady who had
rashly consented to be his wife....  Saf grabbed the 'phone back and said
the wedding would have to be on Saturday, January the thirty-first.....
Bitten by the Thomson bug, sang out Jak, cackling in the background.

     Chrissie Palliser was another computer expert and, according to
Khaled, who was highly amused, had pressed the <Enter> button too soon.
Still we all turned up in Chester to see the happy couple wed, not a moment
too soon.  I'm afraid names in the family got recycled rather a lot so
Jeremy (after Chrissie's dad) James Francis Thomson was born on February
the twenty-first 1998.  My first great grandson!  We all peered and
although the week old boy had signs of future Thomson endowment there was
no birthmark.  To a groan from the proud mother Jak said Saf had better try
again as soon as possible.

     In July Francis 'phoned from the villa to say Tony had taken a turn
for the worse.  We had arranged to go out in August so hurriedly made
arrangements to get there as soon as possible.

                    45 The rest of 1998

     There was an air of quiet efficiency when we arrived at the villa
having been picked up from the airport by Terry Chatham.  Francis was in
charge, ably assisted in all the domestic arrangements by Johnny McIver and
Terry.  Poor Brad was distraught.
  He had made the villa his home.  He had helped to run the social side
with the myriad of visitors who came to visit Tony over the years.  Tony,
Francis and he were very close.  But once he'd hugged us and assured us he
was OK he rallied and was once more the epitome of helpful efficiency.

     Kanga was much in evidence.  Tony had only recently completed, with
much effort, his final book.  According to Kanga it was a really thrilling
blockbuster guaranteed to wow the reading public who liked a good story,
well told.  He said he'd left Tris busy arranging a second edition of
'Audaciem'.  The American market had awoken to its charms and they were
planning a double size print run.  Not only that, his advisers 'over there'
had said readers might prefer a little more action in some of the drawings.
His opinion was that a little bit of suggestion set the readers' minds
working rather than a blatant display of full erections.  Anyway, Maureen
would be arriving with pictures for Tony and a set of reworked drawings for
my approval.

     What a gathering of old friends.  So many wanting to see Tony to say
their good-byes.  Matt and Jamie Evans were expected soon.  I hadn't seen
Matt for nearly five years.  He and Jamie had sold their yacht hire
business and had spent the years travelling the world visiting old
ship-mates and a few of their old haunts.  They had a superb villa just
outside Montpellier and still had one boat, ostensibly to be crewed by the
four husky young sailors who ran the villa for them.  I remembered Pa's
description years ago of 'acres of golden flesh' and wondered if Matt and
Jamie had a constant supply of young retainers and companions like Milord,
Monsieur and Uncle Lester!

     Last but not least was the news that Mike would be coming as well.
Although Tony had not specifically asked him to come we all knew that
Mike's presence would be both calming and also strengthening.  Not only
that, with Maureen and Anne, there would be three of the O'Brien family
present.

     A flurry of activity outside meant that Mike had arrived.  From the
window Francis and I had seen Christophe greet him after opening the gate.
I went into the bedroom with Francis where Kanga was chatting to Tony about
the book.  Tony gave me a smile which broadened when Francis said Mike had
arrived.

     Mike had arrived.  He hurried into the room and kissed Tony and we
left them to talk together.

     The news that Mike had at long last been made a bishop was something
the three of us discussed.  Francis said it was scandalous, he had heard
from Maureen the supposed reason for the delay.  "Two of our local priests
have died of AIDS," he said, "Never been accepted though.  And then they
wonder why so many priests get enjoyment from young boys.  They need love
and affection like everyone else and they're stuck as they were in
adolescence probably when they had their first fumblings and feelings
through curiosity.  And as we well know you can't suppress a male's sex
urges for ever and ever and he'll return to what he probably knew and
experienced first."  Once roused, Francis could get quite vehement.

     We had a rather subdued supper that evening.  Afterwards, I sat with
Tony and recalled many of our earlier adventures.  I wrote down lists of
people I had to contact with Tony's best wishes.  He said he had only heard
the previous week that his old friend from Cambridge days, Cas March had
died, would I write to his widow.  Tony was now finding it harder to speak
and Francis came in and turned up his oxygen supply.  As I got up to leave
to let him rest and sleep he whispered I should write up my own version of
'Paul's Odyssey'.  It would give another boy's view of the same events.  I
said perhaps sometime but I was so busy with the Music Club, my own playing
and keeping track of young Jamie soon to start his second year.

     Maureen and Tim arrived the next day.  She left me with the portfolio
of altered drawings while she, with Johnny and Terry's help, set up the
four paintings she had brought for Tony.  Tim sat with me while we leafed
through the revised versions.  Nothing too much out of the ordinary to
begin with.  Young Peter's erection on James the woodboy had a bit more
stem to it.  Oh, but then there was a more explicit side view of a
well-endowed Robin, Nicolai's prick in full bent, hooded glory, being
fucked by a equally well-endowed according to the size of the balls now
shown, Castor, while two others, Pollux and the fisherboy, stand by with
plumper cocks than before, watching intently, waiting their turn.  Tim
pointed at the heavy pair of bollocks.  "Nicolai should be pleased.
Maureen said he insisted on stripping off completely in case she ever
needed everything on show!  She said all the little buggers were vain and
in the end wanted to have everything drawn.  No different.  Remember tool-
happy Cleggy in the showers after he'd been circumcised?  Couldn't show it
off enough!  All the same!"

      In a couple of others there was definite evidence of the pools of cum
just expended on stomachs and chests but the best was the newly drawn
set-piece of a wrestling match between Mars and Robin where flapping pricks
were much in evidence and the surrounding boys gawping at, and cheering on
the contest, were now all in the nude themselves.  Two of the boys were so
engrossed that they were gripping their own balls in the same way that
Robin had Mars' goolies in his grasp.  That statue of the wrestlers came to
mind, except in that one rather meaty shafts were being grasped as they
grappled.  Here the look of anguish on poor Mars' face as his prime, prize
possessions were squeezed was even more graphic than the look on that
other, older wrestler's visage.  Yow, the Yanks would have plenty to yank
their tassels over!

     Nicolai was again much in evidence, or at least the banana was, as
there was a close- up of Robin in the act of bending to hoist a cask onto
his back with the 'hooded serpent' peeping out from the leg of his drawn-up
drawers.  "Nicolai's managed to intrude into plenty of the pictures, eh?"
Tim went on.  "He's a good lad though.  He's a real rising star with young
Andrew.  The new conductor at the House has asked me to arrange some
obscure Russian music for the pair of them.  Never seen two lads so
together. It'll be terrific.  I've discussed it with Peter DeLisle who's
choreographing it.  He thinks they're the tops.  Wonderful!"  He laughed.
"Got that wedding to look forward too."  Yes, Peter and Laura had arranged
everything for October the thirty-first so I hoped all would go to plan.

     Two more days went quietly by then the end came almost suddenly at
three in the morning on August the nineteenth.  Quietly, no fuss, my friend
was no more.  Another link with my boyhood gone.  We didn't weep.  We were
thankful for all the memories.

     We buried him, as he had wished, in the local graveyard.  The cure and
Mike conducted the committal, attended by a vast number of villagers and
friends.
  Memories were recalled as two particular people were there.  My cousin
Johann had made the journey from Switzerland.  It was Tony to whom he had
surrendered his virginity so willingly.  It was Johann who Tony had said at
the time was a boy he could fall in love with.  We had all kept up that
friendship and love forged in adolescence over all the intervening years.
The other well-loved person who was there was my 'cousin' Dodo, with his
three sons, all grown, now in their thirties, and all very solemn.  Daniel
and Tony had been friends from that first visit to Paris over forty years
previously.  Now he, like I, had become grey, but still felt young at
heart.  Johann and Daniel.  What memories flooded back.

     Young Christophe insisted he carried the crucifix and his tall, sturdy
body, in full white vestments, led the long procession.  The last words as
Mike made the sign of the Cross was a signal for me of time passing.

     Gradually we packed and departed.  Tony had tidied his affairs some
months before when James and Iyad had visited him.  The villa was left in
trust for Brad, Johnny and Terry with Christophe to be the residual owner
in the end.  Christophe was more than astounded but he had settled his
good-natured self in a niche in Tony's own good-natured heart and had made
the garden his own.  There was always a welcome for Christophe to visit us,
too.

     Francis had already decided to return to England.  His plans were to
live at Ulvescott with Ibrahim.  He just on fifty now and had been very
active as a doctor in the local community and with the growing number of
ex-pats.  He had made his plans known some months previously as soon it was
known that Tony was nearing the end.  I expect many of the crowd were at
the funeral not only to pay their respects to Tony but also to express
their gratitude to Francis.

     Other things had to be settled, too.  With Tony's death I was now sole
Trustee of the Ulvescott Estate.  However, Francis and James were appointed
joint Trustees as well with the provision that Jak and Saf would follow in
train.

                              *
     While at the villa Anne had remarked to Francis that she had a nagging
pain in her side which had come on over the past few weeks.  Francis
listened to her symptoms and the day before Tony died she had some blood
tests at the local hospital.  On the morning of our departure the results
came back.  Francis explained the diagnosis.  It was stunning.  It was
quite clear, Anne had cancer of the pancreas.  Unfortunately untreatable
and the prognosis was in weeks rather than in months.

     I think we were both very stoical about any ending for either of us.
We had discussed this, we felt, quite rationally as friends and family
passed away and we realised that at some time our own time would come.  We
knew we would have no regrets.  Our family was large, self supporting and
very cohesive.  That was our happy realisation.  But the news, so sudden,
so stark, was something neither had contemplated.  Francis advised that we
say nothing until after the wedding.  He would be with us within a week and
would manage everything.  He told me that the end would be swift and he
could guarantee no pain.  We arrived home and Anne began to put her affairs
in order.  She did say she felt weaker over the next month but we said
nothing.  I think Khaled and Troy were aware of Anne's gradual decline but
she went quietly about, shedding duties, disposing of books, articles, all
the accumulated dross of the busy academic.  As I was also thinning out my
considerable library perhaps it did not seem too strange to the onlookers.

     Peter and Laura's wedding was a stupendous affair and reminded us so
forcefully of the wedding of his father and mother, Stephen and Lisa.  It
was Kensington and Chelsea again.  Anne, boosted by some concoction of
Francis's, enjoyed it thoroughly as did the rest of us.  A stylish ceremony
and a huge reception the highlight of which was the appearance of a small
orchestra under the direction of Tim with danced excerpts from A Midsummer
Night's Dream.  Of course, only Jody could be Bottom with his partner Peter
as a stately Oberon.  Nicolai and Andrew were Lysander and Demetrius and
young Peter's friend Daz was Puck.

     Anne said it had been one of the happiest days of her life.  She was
content.  We told the family once the celebrations were over.  None too
soon.  The end came suddenly and swiftly.  On November the thirtieth she
died at home slipping away surrounded by many of our family and friends.
We had only music at the cremation.  Safar played the organ, Bach, of
course, the Allabreve, and the Parker string quartet played the last
Beethoven quartet, the F major, opus 135.  It was perfect.  The upbeat
harmonies symbolised a happy life, well spent, well loved, well remembered.
Anne might have preferred to stay in the background but the influence she
had over our sons and all connected to them was so, so immense.  My
companion in life for forty-five years.

                              *

     After the funeral Sayed and Lachs took me back to Ulvescott.  This
would now be my home.  Safar and Charlotte with Khaled and Troy bought the
old house.  Rory and Doug, his partner, took over Tony and Francis's old
house.  So began a new era in my life.  I felt as if I had achieved full
circle.  I knew all along I was destined to live at Ulvescott.  Now,
through the fire of loss and the water of time passing I was home with that
alter ego, Piers.  I settled down to music, to conversation, to writing my
own Odyssey.  That awakening of the young child into adolescence and the
subsequent flowering and blossoming of a fulfilled, long and essentially
happy life.  A real Aladdin's Awakening.


                         46 Epilogue

     From the London Times World-Wide Digital Service:

               Tuesday October 16 2018

                    THOMSON, Jacques Pierre Francois, MA DLitt, died Sunday
Oct 14 at
          Ulvescott Manor.  Fellow and Reader Emeritus in French Language
and
          Literature.  Sorely missed by sons, grandsons, great-grandsons
and their
          partners, other family and friends.  Funeral private.  Love is
the seed of every
          virtue.  Dante.


                         THE END

P.S: I would like to extend my thanks to all the readers who have written
to me about the story.  There are too many to thank individually but a good
number I can count as being friends from their continued support and
encouragement.  My grateful thanks to Nifty for giving me the space and
time to share all this with you.  If I get inspired I might write something
else but I need a rest!  Love and thanks to all.  Jo.