Date: Wed, 11 Feb 2004 00:15:39 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aladdin's Awakening:  Part 92

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 56

				 Part One

			  Vignettes From My Life


			      9.  Easter 1965

     Decisions had to be made.  Stephen was eleven on the Wednesday after
Easter Sunday.  Both he and Lisa, his constant companion in dancing, had
been to an audition with the Royal Ballet School in London and both had
been accepted as pupils for September.  Stephen was never going to be very
tall.  Professor Gibson had estimated he would be at the most five feet
seven when fully grown and that would be a most acceptable height.  At
eleven, with his blond hair and his slim, trim figure, he looked very good
in the local ballet school's production for the pupils of scenes from
Cinderella last Christmas.
  Lisa was a suitably waif-like Cinderella and Stephen was a natural Prince
and both took the well- deserved applause with grace and aplomb.  Both his
brothers made sure he worked hard, but not too hard at his exercises.  It
was hilarious at times when James, five foot ten plus and gangly, attempted
some of the movements at the barre but their friendship was very true and
close.  They, of course, teased him about Lisa but he said it was purely a
professional alliance.  This made them tease him even more.  He and Lisa
shrugged of the banter and practised together most days.

     However, something was happening with my eldest son.  Quite suddenly
during the Spring Term, much to Grunty's amazement especially, he announced
he wasn't going to play rugger again and refused to play in any of the
school teams.  I had a chat with his Games Master and he said it often
happened and we were not to pressurize him.  We watched as quite a few
transformations took place.  Grunty, Khaled and his other friends were kept
rather at arm's length.  Grunty and Khaled were just about tolerated but
Francis seemed to want to be cut off from more than minimal contact with
the usual group he hung around with.  His school work didn't suffer,
though.  He'd done exceptionally well in the end of Fifth Year exams and
seemed to be working steadily at his chosen subjects of Biology, Chemistry
and Physics in the First Year Sixth Form as he said he was determined to go
to Medical School where Tiger was already.  He had also refused to be a
Prefect and said he preferred to be on his own without harassing all the
younger kids.

     From the middle of February, when he gave up rugger, he let his hair
grow.  At sixteen and a half he was almost as tall as me and I felt it
imprudent to suggest he got his hair cut.  By the end of the Easter
holidays it was down to his shoulders and he set off for school each day
with his hair in a pony tail.  After Easter he became quite bad-tempered if
either of his brothers wanted anything.  I must say they humoured him as
they shared their own room and were quite happy, though of disparate ages,
in each other's company.

     I tried not to antagonise him and kept a low profile as it were, but
on several occasions when he was asked to do something he was just like me
at a similar age, surly and grudging in his responses.  I thought we could
tolerate it until a real row blew up.  Mike had suggested we spend time
again in Rome then go up to Tuscany to stay in a villa belonging to some
Contessa who was the elder sister of Padre Domenico and had heard about me
and the family and what we had done for the parish and Anne was Mike's
sister, etc., etc.  We could then visit Florence.  Both James and Stephen
were enthusiastic.  We'd visited Rome twice since that first time and the
boys wanted to see Uncle Mike again and see his growing flock in the parish
and they had collected quite a lot of kit to take out with them.  Khaled
and Safar were coming with us as their father was due to be in Rome during
the time we were there and he wanted to see all of us.  The idea of a villa
holiday, following the visit to Rome, for the best part of a month,
especially as the villa had its own swimming pool, sounded like heaven.
Heaven for James and Stephen and for Khaled and Safar.  Not for Francis.

     We had a blazing row.  I suppose I was tense and upset.  I had also
had a difficult part of the year as I'd had a battle with two recalcitrant
old dons on the faculty who didn't want to change part of the syllabus I
was responsible for and take on board research done since they were
undergraduates in the 1920's!  And only that day I had tried, for the last
time, to get them to see reason.  So, I was tired and tetchy to put it
mildly.  After supper that evening I told Francis in no uncertain terms
that he was ungrateful, thankless, unappreciative, thoughtless,
inconsiderate, impertinent, insolent, arrogant, conceited, unapproachable,
and that was only a start of about fifteen minutes of shouting on my part.
He sat, stony-faced, while I ranted, then calmly stood up.

     "I'm not fucking going!" he said quietly and went upstairs to his
bedroom and locked the door.

     As soon as I had started bawling at Francis the younger pair had
wisely scarpered upstairs to their own room.  Anne stayed in the kitchen.
As Francis's door shut she came through to her red-faced, now quite
incoherent husband.  She had in her hand a large whisky and soda which she
handed to me.  I gritted my teeth and accepted it gratefully and downed
about half of it in one gulp.  Anne smiled and shook her head.

     "Every father meets every son at the crossroads outside Thebes," she
said quietly, "Sometimes there is silence, sometimes there is fury,
sometimes there is violence, but no one is ever let off that moment of
passage."

     I felt calmer and grinned at her.  "But dear Oedipus ended up in a
compromising situation with his mother.  I hope that's not the resolution
here."

     She shook her head again.  "I heard Dad and Mike have a row like that
once...."

     "I know, I know," I said, "You don't have to tell the most ungrateful
son of sixteen there ever was."

      She laughed.  "And believe me, girls have equal problems with their
mothers.  All to do with keeping your legs crossed at vital moments."

     I leaned over and gave her a kiss.  "I thought that had to do with
penis envy!  You don't have one and you can't wait until you find a
suitable one."

     We were now both laughing but we still had a problem to resolve.  Let
it ride and see what happens.

                              *
     Two nights later Anne was out and I was working in my study on the
same floor as the bedrooms when I heard an angry shout.

     "What the fuck are you doing in my fucking room!  Keep your thieving
fucking hands off my sodding things!"

     It was Francis.  I'd heard him come upstairs but I didn't know that
one of the others was in his room.  It was James.

     "Don't talk to me like that!" I heard him say, "Mum said she probably
put my clean socks in here with yours."

     "Get your filthy fucking socks and get out!" he shouted, "And if you
blast that fucking trumpet tonight I'll ram it right up your shitty arse.
Fuck off and tell that other poxy little turd if he wants the same fucking
treatment just let him blow that fucking flute and the other end'll come
out of his fucking mouth!"

     "Don't talk about Stephen like that!  He's done you no harm!  You've
got no right to shout at us like that.....  .....Stephen, go back to our
room.  I'll deal with this!"

     Stephen had emerged to see what all the row was about.  James spoke
surprisingly calmly.  The tirade commenced again.

     "Yes!  Get back to your own fucking room and keep out of my way.  I
don't want you fucking around in here again touching any of my fucking
things with your poxy little fingers, piss off, dogs-breath!"

     "God, Francis, shut up and leave him alone!"

     "You shut your fucking mouth, too, or I'll fucking shut it for you!"

     "Just try it!  You start anything and I'll finish it."

     "Huh, just because you're a long streak of piss you think you're the
big man around here...."

     "....You're only jealous 'cause I'm nearly as big as you," There was a
laugh.  "In fact you're jealous 'cause I'm bigger than you where it
matters!"

     "Shut you're fucking mouth and get out!"

     There was the sound of a slight scuffle and a door slammed.

     I heard James go back and have a hurried conversation with Stephen and
then their door was also shut.  I had the distinct impression that Francis
had staged that altercation for my benefit and it hadn't gone all his own
way.  I felt proud of James.  He had stuck up for himself and for young
Stephen and he'd answered without using any swear words at all.  In fact,
Francis's use was a bit artificial.  If he'd ever heard Johnny Prosser he
would have learned a lot about the colourful use of expletives.  So, I
resolved to ignore that little outburst.  It was testing Dad!  What was
interesting though was the way James had bested Francis.  The mention of
being bigger where it matters could only mean one thing.  There had been a
comparison at some time and James, the younger brother by a year, had a
bigger cock!  I'd noted that slight difference all those years ago and the
difference had grown.

     Nothing more was heard that evening.  Later I noted that James went
down and prepared a bedtime drink and snack for himself and Stephen,
otherwise silence reigned.  I went downstairs when I heard Anne come back
and said there had been developments but I would tell her about them when
we were in bed.

     I gave her an expurgated version of the happenings.  She agreed it was
for Dad's benefit and best played down.  She said she wasn't worried about
James' reaction and she thought he would keep Stephen calm.

     "If he doesn't want to come with us he won't be staying here in the
house," she said with finality.  "He can have a room in one of Jem and
Sam's houses and get a job at Scudamores touting for the punts.  They're
always looking for lads in the holidays and I know his pal Cam Sullivan is
working there from next week as his mother told me the other day.  That'll
sort him out.  Lucius will keep an eye on him and he'll stand no nonsense.
We'll leave it a couple of days.  We're not due to go until next Friday so
we've got a week."

     Trust a medieval historian to get a grip on things and sort everything
out.  Once her mind was made up the boys knew better than to cross Mum!
She wasn't finished.

     "It's Francis's and James's last day at school tomorrow.  You go and
see Ludo tomorrow afternoon - they'll feed you tomorrow evening and Francis
won't provide me with a repeat.  It'll give him a chance to wind down.  As
long as Stephen doesn't get too upset, but his school doesn't break up
until Tuesday."

                              *
     Next morning I was in our bathroom and I heard Francis in the one he
usually used.  By the time I'd dressed and gone downstairs he was off to
school - very early.  The other two got up at their normal time and I got
their breakfasts ready for them.  They looked rather warily at me but I
acted as if nothing had happened.  It wasn't as if I was deaf so they knew
I must have heard last night's shemozzle.  Anne came down soon after and
affability reigned.  They went off to school, Stephen moaning because he
still had four days of school to do and the others were finishing today.

     I had plenty to do.  I was reading through a PhD thesis which I was
examining in the Autumn Term for a student at another University.  I was
enjoying it as she was good and had come across quite a few manuscripts I
would be mentioning in my next lecture course.  One of my criteria for
awarding such a degree was usefulness to others!  Or, entertainment - like
parts of mine!!  That settled the morning.  Ludo liked a good chat and
other than finalising the arrangements for the boys to travel with us he
also wanted to hear the latest gossip so I was readily invited over to tea
and then to supper as Marion, his wife, wanted a research paper in German
quickly translated.  So, I would be out of the way.

     Anne reported when I got back that evening that all was quiet on the
Western Front.  Francis had eaten in stony silence and the other two didn't
start to chatter until he stomped off upstairs.  She said she kept quiet
and acted as if she'd heard nothing.

                              *
     On Friday Anne was presenting a paper at a conference being held at
her College so she went off soon after breakfast and wouldn't be back until
late as there was an evening dinner to attend.  I didn't see Francis as he
never came down that morning for breakfast so I got some ready for the
other two and shooed a complaining Stephen off to school.  "Only three more
days," I said.  I didn't add "And some of us will be off to Italy on
Friday!"  I remembered I'd better write letters to the two dons just
stating that I would be taking unilateral action on the syllabus and had
the agreement of others, which I had, and if they wished to complain I
suggested they raised the matter at a full Board meeting.  That meant I had
to go into college to give the drafts to the secretary and hope she had
time to type them up and I could sign them.

     I went off about eleven o'clock telling James to keep an eye on things
and that if I wasn't back by lunch-time to look in the fridge as there was
plenty in there to feed a horde of starving gannets.  He did give me a wan
smile but I could see he was still wondering why nothing had been said or
done.

     I had just signed the letters in the secretary's office as she had
kindly typed them up during her lunch hour and was sauntering over to the
Porter's Lodge when a hurrying Willy Roberts caught up with me.

     "Looked in your room but you weren't there, Jacko," he said
breathlessly, "Can you go to Addenbrookes immediately, there's been an
accident or something.  Francis 'phoned and said it was James.  Shall I
come, too?"

     I nodded, rather dazed.  The pair of us rushed out of college, up and
along King's Parade and into Trumpington Street where the hospital was.  A
very distraught Francis was just inside the door.

     "It's all my fault!" he wailed.

     We could get nothing further sensible out of him so Willy rushed in
and cornered a nurse.  I saw her pointing to a side room.  I followed them
with a whimpering Francis behind me.  In the room was a doctor and a nurse
with a pale-faced James sitting at a table with his hands stretched out in
front of him with one swathed in bandages and the nurse wrapping a bandage
round the other.  The doctor looked up.

     "Dr Thomson?" he asked, looking from Willy in Porter's black suit and
bowler hat to me in casual clothes.  I looked at James who gave me a wry
smile and then winced as the nurse tied off the bandage rather tightly.  I
followed the doctor into another side room.

     "Sorry about this," he began, "Your son has burnt his hands rather
badly.  He'll have to keep those bandages on until Wednesday at least and
we'll take it from there.  He'll have blisters but I hope the damage is
mainly superficial."

     "Do you know how he did it?" I asked.  "I know his brother was into
making fireworks a couple of years ago."

     He shook his head and smiled.  "From what the other one said he'd left
a pan on the gas stove and this one, James, isn't it?...."  I nodded.
"....He saw it was just catching on fire so carried it out into the garden.
Unfortunately the metal handle was very hot and burnt him.  Brave lad!"

     He said I could take him home and to get him to rest.  He'd already
arranged for the pharmacy to supply some pain-killers in case they were
needed and anyway he'd given James a jab of something to lessen any pain
when he first came in.  The instructions were that he mustn't get the
bandages wet or take them off as there were other dressings and creams
underneath and come back on Wednesday at nine o'clock.

     I explained we were supposed to be off to Italy on Friday and he said
all being well he would just have a light dressing on but he shouldn't do
anything to get any infections in.

     Good old Willy.  He was sitting talking to a tearful Francis as I came
out holding James's arm.  A nurse came up with a package of pills and
showed me the instructions for the dosage.  Meanwhile Willy had 'phoned for
a taxi.  I thanked him.  He whispered, as I put James into the cab and
directed Francis to get in the other side, "Don't be too hard on the lad!"
Hard!  If James was damaged there would be hell to pay!!

     I had calmed down somewhat by the time we got back to the house.
Francis jumped out of the car and disappeared into the house.  I paid the
taxi driver and led James into the kitchen.  I needed a cup of tea!  Then I
saw what had happened.  The gas stove was spattered with oil and there was
a wet tea towel over the hobs with black scorch and smoke marks on the
wall.  In the garden was the burnt out remains of a rather prized French
saucepan.

     James slumped down on a chair by the table and burst into tears.  It
was his first show of emotion.

     "Don't take it out on him," he said, looking up at me, "He just
forgot!"

     Gradually I got the story out of him.  He'd been sitting in the garden
after making himself a sandwich and had watched Francis pour a pint of oil
into the pan and put it on the gas and then he peeled a couple of potatoes
and made chips.  He'd then gone off upstairs again obviously to wait for
the fat to heat up before cooking them.  Next thing James realised was that
the pan was spitting fat and just as he rushed in the oil started to burn.
He'd screamed out with the pain as he grasped the handle with one hand and
then the other, but had held on and ran out and threw the pan as far as he
could.  His screams alerted Francis who came racing down the stairs had
seen the hobs burning with the spattered fat, had wetted a tea towel and
flung it over them and then seeing James clutching his hands had 'phoned
for an ambulance.  James had passed out with the pain in the ambulance and
that was that.

     "Please don't do anything," he pleaded, "He didn't mean it."

     I went over to him and put my arm round him.  "It's OK," I said, "If
that's what happened it was an accident waiting to happen.  You were very
brave to stop what could have been a disastrous fire.  But Francis has got
to look after you now."

     "Thanks, Dad," he said, "I knew you'd understand.  But I can't do
anything with these bandages on...." he paused, "...I need a bath!  I'm
afraid I peed myself and I think I've done something else too!"

     I hugged him.  I was aware of the combined odours now.

     "Would you mind if I helped you have a bath?  We'll have to sacrifice
your shirt, I'll have to cut that off but your other things will be OK
after they've been washed.  And don't worry, I've seen you plenty of times
even if you have been a bit more reticent lately."

     He looked up at me.  "I don't mind, Dad, I know you must have changed
my nappies for me many times.  I'm just a bit bigger now," he grinned and
cried at the same time, "I need to be changed now!  And I'm used to you.
Stephen and I play 'Spot Dad' 'cause you wander about without anything on
usually."

     I laughed.  "As long as you don't play 'Spot the Ball'!"

     His tears vanished.  "Dad!  I don't believe you'd say things like
that!"

     "You'll learn!" I said.  He was much more relaxed now.  Much more
cheered up.  "Come on, Sunshine," I said, using a name I hadn't called him
for years, Oh, since he was about four or five and I use to pick him up and
dunk him in the bath.  He grinned at me and tried to wipe his tears with
the back of his bandaged hand.  I mopped his face with my handkerchief.

     I steadied him as I led him upstairs, past a tightly closed bigger
brother's door, into the bathroom where I first cut his shirt off him with
the kitchen scissors.  As he stood there I undid his shoes and took those
and his socks off.  He had certainly wetted himself but the heat of his
body had dried him off and there were signs of a loosening of the bowels
when I slid his trousers and pants carefully down his legs.  And that was
when I became aware that the combined English and French inheritance had
certainly been passed down.  My nearly sixteen year old son had a very
hefty young cock and a pair of very heavy-looking balls.  I'd seen similar
on another sixteen-year-old twenty years previously.  Me!

     "I need to clean your legs a bit first," I said, "As you said I must
be used to it and the only difference is you can stand while I do it.  In
those days you were on your back with your legs in the air!"

     We both laughed.

     "Now, stand still while I deal with you."  I moistened a wad of loo
paper and got the worst off in one go.

     While I was moistening a second wad James gave a sniff.  "I'm sorry
Dad, I would never have wanted you to have to do this.  And if I ever upset
you, you can smack my backside like you use to smack Jem's."

     I laughed.  "How do you know that?  You've been listening to gossip!"

     "No, Jem said you're the best Dad anyone could have and you were just
like a big brother to him and Sam.  He said if he cheeked you, you use to
give him a smack when he was my age.  Then he told us how you'd rescued Mr
Lascelles that time."

     "When did he tell you all this?"

     "Christmas," he put on a penitent look, "I'm afraid we gave him a few
glasses while he was doing the cooking with Sam."

     I'd noticed that Sam was eyeing Jem rather carefully during dinner and
had deliberately passed him over when he was pouring the wine a couple of
times.

     "We?"

     He nodded as I chucked the second wad into the loo.  "Francis and me.
And he says Mr Roberts has a drawing of him like that one of you.  Did
Uncle Mike really draw them?"

     I laughed.  "Your friend Jem is full of gossip.  Yes, Uncle Mike did
do the drawings and one day I might tell you about them, but not now.
Bath!"

     The bath was nicely full of hot water.  I added some bubble bath some
well-meaning student had given Anne for Christmas.  I helped James get in,
warning him about getting his bandages wet.

     "Just like old times," I said, "My little sixteen-year-old having his
bath with Daddy just like he did when he was an even smaller ten-year-old!
Where should we start?  Arms or legs?  We'll leave your botty and bits to
the last!"

     "Oh, Dad, please!"  He said, but trying hard to suppress a giggle.
"I'm quite a bit bigger now."

     "Um," I said, soaping his back, I then moved to his front and told him
to raise his arms.  He had quite a growth of new young hair in his armpits.
I dried his back and chest then washed down his burgeoning hairy legs and
then his over-large feet.  I realised he was getting a little agitated.

     "Dad," he whispered, "I'm sorry, but something's happening."

     I knew exactly.  I continued washing between his toes.  "I'm not
surprised, it happens to everyone."

     "Dad, I can't help it."

     I looked him in the eye, he looked rather upset.  There was no need to
be upset.  Between his legs now was an almost seven inch erection.  Not
quite sixteen!

     "You wouldn't be a normal boy if you couldn't help it," I said softly,
"Don't imagine you're the first boy to have an erection in the bath!"

     He grinned at me.  "But, Dad, it happens all the time."

     "Good for you, you're normal.  Anyway you look as if you're clean now
and you don't want to sit around in that water too long, it's mucky and
your backside'll be all wrinkled."

     "But I can't stand up like this!"

     "Come on, get up, I've seen it all before, even if it hasn't been on
you." I reached down and put my hands under his arms.  "Up, James, and
don't frighten the horses!"

     He stood, the water running down his legs.  I turned him to check
there was no more shit on his legs or in his crack.  He was clean.  I
helped him out of the bath.

     "I shall have to dry everything," I said, "Just stand still and think
of England!"

     His young pole was just like mine had been at his age, straight up his
belly, leaning slightly back with the head not far below his belly-button.
I dried his lower back and draped the towel round his front.  Wow, it was
certainly hard as I carefully wiped it dry.  He parted his legs as I
finished off, then looked up and smiled at him.  "Not too bad," I said.

     He wrinkled his eyes.  "Thanks, Dad."  I put my dressing gown round
his shoulders and pulled it round him and tied the belt.  "Dad, please
don't be angry with Francis.  He didn't mean to do this to me."

     "And the other night?"  I asked, "Testing Dad, eh?  Did you hit him or
he hit you?"

     He shook his head.  "No, he just pushed me out and shut the door."

     "You did very well not to be provoked," I said, "You gave him as good
as he was giving you."  I grinned at him.  "He's got a rather limited
vocabulary, hasn't he?"

     He nodded.  "I would have hit him if he'd said any more about Stephen.
He frightened him specially when he swore at him.  That wasn't like
Francis."

     I nodded.  "No, it's not like Francis, is it?  And you certainly shut
him up."  I looked him straight in the eye.  "And is it true?"

     He drew the corners of his mouth down.  "Oh, Dad, I shouldn't have
said that."

     "Is it?"

     He grinned.  Father, son, confessional time was happening.  "Yes, only
a quarter of an inch but Grunty says he's still got time."

     I think he realised then further revelations had been disclosed which
were not really on the agenda.

     "So Grunty's taken over where Tiger left off?"

     He looked at me open-eyed.

     "It's all right, James, Francis told me about the charts long ago.
Francis was at the ninetieth percentile."

     Barriers were down.  "Grunty won't let me join in properly until I'm
in the Sixth Form.  Says us younger kids are too inquisitive but he did
make an exception for me and for Khaled.  I'm at the ninety-fifth!" he said
proudly, "And he says Khaled is well-blessed, too!"

     Oh, so Grunty must be handling my second son's erection to place his
measuring tape alongside it!  I began to laugh.

     "What's funny?" he asked.

     "Oh," I said, "Tiger and Grunty are only in a long line of measurers
and record keepers.  I was thinking of Cleggy and Nobbo when I was at
school!"

     "Dr Clegg and Dr Clarke?" he asked.  Both had visited us several times
so the boys knew them and their families well.

     "Nobbo and Cleggy kept very special records which I might tell you
about some day."

     "Go on, Dad, tell me now!"

     "No, it might give Grunty ideas."

     "Dad, please!"

     His curiosity was raised.  I wasn't prepared, at the moment to satisfy
it.  I could just see the newspaper headlines - 'Cambridge don suggesting
semen output of schoolboys to be measured and their sperm to be viewed'!

     "Look, you go and lie down.  Stephen will be home soon and I want to
talk to him before he sees you and I must go and beard the lion!"

     James looked at me and smiled.  "Pussy cat really!  Promise you won't
tear him off a strip."

     I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  "Your dear brother will
get what's coming to him and no mistake.  You go and lie down and I'll
bring you one of those pills."

     "Dad," he looked very apologetic, "I need to pee.  It's OK it's gone
down."

     I took him into the adjoining loo, opened the front of the dressing
gown, pulled back the foreskin on my son's still rather plump cock and
aimed it at the bowl.  "Be careful," I said, "And don't follow my old
school motto."

     "What's that?" he asked not quite ready to let fly.

     "Dirige Altus," I said, making sure he wouldn't miss, "Aim High!"

     "Dad!  Don't make me laugh!"  He let fly and not a drop missed.

     Shaken and restored to oblivion under the dressing gown I led him to
his bedroom.  I hurried downstairs and got his pills and a glass of water
and just at that moment Stephen arrived home.  I explained very quickly
that James had had an accident.  Stephen looked almost scared.  I said he
was OK other than his hands were burnt.  Stephen said he'd noticed the
burnt-out pan and wanted to know where he was.  We went upstairs and as
soon as he saw James with his bandaged hands he burst into tears and rushed
over to the bed and tried to hug him.  James fended him off and said he had
to be careful.  I gave him two painkillers and he swallowed them with a
glass of water.  I said Stephen could stay and sit by the bed but not to
talk too much or ask too many questions.  I left the room and shut the
door.

     I walked along to Francis's room and knocked on the door.  There was
no reply so I opened the door slowly and looked in.  Francis was on the bed
with his head under the pillows and his shoulders were heaving.  I went
over and sat on the bed and lifted the pillows away.  I could see the sheet
below was soaked.  I lifted his head and shoulders and hugged him.  He was
weeping so hard I didn't think he knew what was happening.

     "Francis," I whispered, "Everything's OK.  James is in bed.  I'm not
angry.  It was an accident.  He said you forgot."  I waited a moment or two
and the heavings subsided a bit.  He still had his eyes tightly shut and
was gulping back his tears.  "Come on, Francis, rouse yourself.  It's over,
but there's a job for you.  James can't do anything so you'll have to be
with him all the time until his hands are healed."

     He began to weep again.  "It's all my fault," he moaned, "Please.
It's all my fault.  I never meant him to be hurt.  Why wasn't it me?  I'm
going to go away.  You won't want me here.  I'll go tonight."

     I shook him gently.  "Francis, listen to me.  You are my son.  You
stay here with us and your job is to look after your brother.  You are not
going to be foolish, understand?" I tried to speak more soothingly.  "Look,
let's discuss it.  You don't want to come to Italy with us, but I'm afraid
you'll have to.  James will need help and it won't be fair on Stephen or
your Mum or any of us to cope with James all the time.  We will need
another pair of hands.  You forgot you say.  You wish it had been you.
Look on this as a penance."

     He looked up at me with red and tear-stained eyes and shook his head.
"I would never have wanted this to happen.  I love James.  He's my brother.
I'll do anything.  Please forgive me?"  Tears rolled down his cheeks.  I
hugged him to me.  "Dad," he whispered throatily, "I didn't mean to shout
at them the other night."  He sniffed.  "I didn't want to swear when I said
I wasn't going to Italy."  Another big sniff.  "Please, you'll forgive me,
won't you?"

     I found a handkerchief in my trouser pocket and gave it to him.  "What
is there to forgive.  A son is upset.  So is his father.  I should ask you
to forgive me for shouting at you without trying to discuss things further
with you.  In any case your Mum had an ideal plan if you weren't coming so
I think we'll call it quits.  You have a duty to help James, feed him,
clean him, take him to the loo.  We'll help and Stephen, I'm sure will,
too.
  But you're in charge and you supervise everything.  Everything," I
reiterated, "And I mean everything!"

     Oh, a boy without use of his hands and everything meant everything!  I
hoped he got the message.

     "Now," I continued, "You go and see James and Stephen and I know it's
going to be difficult, but you apologise to both.  You can sleep in their
room with James, and Stephen, with his poxy little fingers, can sleep in
here."

     He looked at me and shook his head.  "Dad, please, that just makes it
worse saying what I said.  I would never do anything to harm Stephen or
James.  They're my brothers.  I love them more than anything!"

     Father and son hugged each other.

     "Go on and remember Mum knows nothing yet.  You'd better be on your
knees when she comes home!"

     He started to weep again as we hugged.  "I'm wicked!"

     "Not wicked, forgetful!" I said, "Now, go and make peace with the
other two."

     He was bowed and almost shuffled as he left the room.  I took his
bottom sheet off as the top of it was wet with his tears.  Oh!  Francis
wasn't a very good mopper-up.  Two substantial stains were also evident.  I
bundled the sheet into the washing hamper and found a clean sheet in the
airing-cupboard and remade the bed.  I couldn't have Stephen, age eleven,
sleeping in a well-used wank-pit.  Time enough for him to get to that stage
in his life.

     What a day!  Trouble with stubborn old dons was nothing compared with
the traumata of family life.  What had happened today could not be resolved
with a couple of stiff letters.  We would have to see how things panned out
over the next week.

     Both Francis and Stephen fed James that evening.  I had to keep a
straight face and James knew from the look I gave him that he'd better not
overstep the goodwill of his brothers.  I knew he was dying to tease them
but tonight was not the time.  Francis was especially tense and Stephen
wanted to do his best.

     As James had to have his painkillers they all went off to bed before
ten o'clock.  Stephen wanted to stay in the room with them and sleep on the
bottom bunk with them in the bed.  I vetoed this.  If everything meant
everything I didn't wanted Stephen to witness any joint endeavour even
though I knew he was quite conversant with boyish habits as he and James
slept together and I'd heard James grunting on numerous occasions as a
climax was imminent.  Oh, and I'd been concerned about him being in
Francis's wank-pit by himself!  I'd never enquired whether Stephen assisted
James and I didn't want to know or really cared.  I knew James and Stephen
were very close and Stephen was bright and inquisitive.  But whether he'd
been involved with the pair I wasn't ready to provide the occasion.  So!
Anyway, I heard Francis assist James to have a pee and Stephen helped him
brush his teeth.  I checked soon after.  Stephen was fast asleep in
Francis's bed, while in the other room James was in bed, hands out over the
covers with Francis sitting beside the bed.  They were talking quite
animatedly and all seemed more or less back to normal.  A little more than
normal.  Stephen had braided Francis's hair and he now sported a long,
black, very handsome, pigtail.

     Anne was surprisingly calm as I explained all that had happened when
she came home from a busy day.  Francis did come down and kneel beside her
and say how sorry he was.  I felt sorry for him.  A proud young man having
to humble himself but I think we'd all learned a lot that day.  James was
so sanguine about it all.  Our chat had opened up a new relationship
between us.  I wondered if he, in the next year or so, when the hormones
started to flow rather too freely, would have times when Dad and family
life were too much.  Family life was never dull.

                         *
     The next day being Saturday and everyone, other than Stephen, on
holiday, I was the only one up bright and early.  I cleared up the mess in
the garden caused by the burning pan and tipped that into the dustbin.  I
surveyed the smoke-stained wall and the top of the gas stove in the
kitchen.  Nothing too bad that couldn't be remedied with a bit of paint and
elbow grease.

     I took Anne up her morning coffee and toast and marmalade and said
there was no sign of any movement anywhere.  She said she'd have a lie in
and she thought that all was over now.  I hoped so, but also felt there was
more underlying the range of behaviour Francis had shown over the past few
months.  Stephen came down for his breakfast just as I was trying out a
solution of sugar soap on the wall.  Things were coming clean.  He stood
and watched and then held the bucket as I had to reach higher.

     "I didn't like sleeping on my own," he said rather wistfully.  "Can't
I help James if he has to get up in the night?  I don't mind.  Poor
Francis."

     Encapsulated in just a few words.  Brotherly love and forgiveness.

     "Yes, why not?"  I said, more than satisfied with both the clean-up
and the way my three boys were back as usual.  "It'll give Francis a rest.
But do you think you can cope?"

     He grinned up at me, a knowing grin.  "I can cope with James," he
said.
  And that was final.

     Later, Stephen went round to the Wilkinsons to plan what had to be
taken to Italy.  Khaled and Safar, I knew, were very excited about the
proposed visit.  They hadn't seen their father for nearly two years.  It
was difficult for him to get away because of his position and he certainly
didn't want his very Westernised sons paraded for all to see in their home
country.  As it was, Khaled had talked to me at length quite recently - a
wise head for a fifteen-year-old and very intelligent - about what he
wanted to do in the future.  He didn't see his life being spent in the
hothouse atmosphere of protocol and obedience which he remembered before he
came to England.  He wanted to do something for his country, though, and I
suggested that he could probably do that by training in some practical
aspect, say of economics or finance as I knew he was good at maths.  Young
Safar was more contemplative and I guessed he might want to take a more
academic path.  I said that, in any case, he would have to see how things
worked out as we knew there was still unrest in the area, but there was
always a home in Cambridge or in Dorset on the Bastable farm.

                         10.  Revelations

     I was sitting in the garden a little later just ruminating when
Francis came out and stood by me.  I said why didn't he sit down and I
would go and get us some coffee.  He shook his head.

     "Can we talk?" he said.  He looked around.  "Not out here."

     "In my study?"

     He nodded.  He had to wait while I poured out two mugs of coffee from
the percolator then followed me upstairs to my study.  The door where James
was, I assumed, still sleeping, was closed.

     Rarely did the boys come into my study.  They knew I worked there and,
like their Mum's study downstairs, they were not places to enter lightly.
There were two easy chairs and I sat in one and he perched on the edge of
the other.  He was uneasy.  I drank some coffee and waited.  I nearly
emptied the mug and put it down.  He hadn't touched his.

     He sat for some moments longer and then put a hand out and grasped
mine tightly.  "You said you'd love me whatever."  He looked at me, I
stared back, not moving.  "I've got something to confess and you did say
whatever!"

     "As long as you haven't been hitting old ladies over their heads to
steal their pension books or something like that."  Oh dear, was I being
too flippant?

     "No, Dad.  I like boys," he said quietly.

     Oh, an explanation for the behaviour pattern?  "Are you sure?" I
asked, "You don't know any girls.  You've never brought any home."

     "No, I haven't, but I do know some!" he said emphatically, "That last
party I went too with Grunty and Alan, there were lots of girls.  They made
me dance with them."  He looked at me shyly.  "They made me feel strange.
They always have."

                         "Strange?"

     "Yeah!" he said and gripped my hand even tighter.  "Alan and Grunty
said girls make them go all stiff."  My hand was being squeezed even more.
"You know, down there.  They didn't me.  Never!"  He looked at me with
mournful eyes.  "I only go stiff if I'm with Grunty or Alan or other boys!"

     He swivelled on the edge of his seat, leaned over and flung his arms
around me, burying his head in my shirt and bursting into tears.  The
waterworks were full on just like yesterday.

     "You'll hate me," he wailed, "I know.  You and Mum won't want me.
You'll send me away."

     I lifted my sobbing son up and held him so his head was on my
shoulder.
  Almost a repeat performance.  Keep calm, my big son's in great distress.

     "Don't be silly, Francis," I said quietly, "We love you.  You are our
son.  I told you before, you are who you are and I would love you whatever
and so would your Mum and your brothers."

     He sniffed.  "They won't want me," he moaned, "They'll think I'm
funny.
  They'll think I'm queer."

     I thought I'd better hit the target amidships as it were.

     "And what about Grunty and Alan?" I asked, "I bet they've been willing
to do things with you?  Do they think you're queer?"

     His crying stopped.  I felt the heat rise in his face.  I shook my
head against his.

     "You are no different than other boys when it come to that," I said,
"Most boys experiment.  Most boys grow up and get married.  Some boys
don't.  Grunty and Alan'll accept you as you are, I'm sure."  I knew there
was something.  "Is this why you gave up rugger?"  He nodded against me.
"Fighting against it?  Best way out?  Couldn't help staring at the others
in and out of the showers?"  He clung to me.  "You like boys and it scares
you, eh?"  I stroked his head.  "Francis, I love you and nothing would ever
stop that.  There are plenty of men who only love men and there are plenty
of men who love both men and women.  You know some, too."  He nodded.
"Your Uncle Tony, you knew that?"  I thought any family skeletons should be
rattled.  He'd seen Uncle Tony with 'boyfriends' several times.

     He nodded.  "I guessed," he said, "And Jem and Sam?"

     "Yes," I said, "And you wouldn't guess about Uncle Matt and his friend
Jamie, eh?"

     "Uncle Matt?" he breathed.

     I stroked his head again.  "I love your Uncle Tony.  I always have
done and always will.  He's not strange.  He's Uncle Tony, he and I have
shared our love countless times.  If you love only boys you'll learn.
Uncle Matt and I have shared our love many times, too.  You're not strange.
You're our son Francis."  I cuddled this big, still growing boy and he
relaxed in my arms.  "How long is it since you realised this?"  I asked.

     "Always have."  He sniffed.  "I've been too scared to ask.  Grunty
knows a bit 'cause I did ask him when we read that book.  That Kinsey book
he found in his Dad's study.  He said he didn't know if I would grow out of
it."  He shook his head.  "I haven't," he whispered.

     "Have you found anyone yet you could love?"  I asked.

     He shook his head.  "I don't know.  I like Grunty, I suppose I love
him, but I don't think it's real love.  Same as Alan."

     "Uncle Tony is coming back to England in September, we'll talk to him.
You know him well enough to ask him things, eh?  He loves you, I know, and
don't forget he played rugger for his college as well, he didn't give up."
I laughed.  "Helped him with some of his conquests."

     A startled son sat up and I let go.

     "There's more fish that swim in the sea, or some other possible
adage," I said, "Are you better now?"

     "Oh, Dad," he said and flung his arms round me nearly hugging the
breath out of me, "I was so scared but something told me to tell you.  I
keep being told to tell you.  It's like that boy at Ulvescott.  It was as
if he was here."

     "That boy at Ulvescott, I'm sure, was just like you and I'm sure, too,
that he is with you all the time," I whispered, desperately trying to get
some breath back.  He let go.  I sat back and he knelt in front of me.
"Piers and Miles were lovers," I said, matter-of-factly, "I discovered that
from a code in his diary.  When we go to Ulvescott again I'll show you.
But you must promise not to tell the others about that, at least not yet.
I think Aunt Mary knew but I haven't discussed it with her.  It is very
true, you, me, and Piers are very close.  We all have the birthmark.
Daniel and his little boy have it."  I put my hand on his shoulder.
"Daniel and I have shared our love, too.  He is very special to me, just
like your Uncle Tony and Uncle Matt."  He nodded.  He understood.

     "But you got married?  Twice?"

     "And had two lovely sons and adopted a third.  I think I have been
lucky.  I have shared my love with several people and they have shared
their love with me.
  Your mother loved me before I knew I loved her as well as your Uncle
Tony.  Your Mum loved me after I had shared my love with Uncle Mike.
Stephen is your brother and my son because I made a promise to Uncle Lachs
when we were your age."  I took his hand in mind.  "Those friendships
forged in true love are the ones that last and really matter.  You
understand that?"  He smiled, at last, and nodded.

     "And you are OK looking after James?"  He grinned and nodded.
"Stephen says he'll take over tonight.  Do you think it'll be all right?" I
asked.  "I did say you had to take care of everything with his paws out of
action."

     "Dad!  James told me all about you having to bath him and what you
said.  If Stephen doesn't want to cope with him, I will.  But he and James
are very close."

     I leaned forward and hugged him.  He flung his arms around me, too.

     "And you'll come to Italy with us with no objections, and do you think
Grunty would like to come, too?"  I asked, rather mischievously.

     He let go and stared at me and smiled his lovely smile.  My old
Francis was back.  "Oh, Dad, could he?  I know he'd love too and I must
patch up our friendship."  He paused.  "What will it cost?  Can I pay
something?  I've got that money from Great-grandma's Will."

     I had already worked out that all he would need was a ticket from
Cambridge to Dover and the ferry and I knew the Gibsons would cough up the
cost.  We had booked two sleeping compartments on the train from Paris to
Rome and it was an open ticket for up to eight passengers also for the
journey back.  I would have to check to see if this covered Calais to Paris
as well.  I said he could forget that as he would need all his money to pay
for two gins and tonic for his Mum and me at the Quirinale Hotel where
Sayed would be staying as incognito as he could!  I also said he'd better
go back to school on Monday with Grunty and raid the lost property box as
they would also be responsible for more bags of clobber for Mike's parish
kids.

     I pointed at his cup of cold coffee.  He grinned.  "Dad, I don't know
what I'd do without you.  I'm so sorry about what I said and I'm sorry I've
had to tell you about me and my feelings.  James said something to me last
night and that put me right.  It was what you said.  He said he loved me
with a true love of friendship and trust and he knew you did as well."  He
smiled.  "Thanks, Dad, I feel so much better now.  I don't suppose it'll be
the last time I have to talk to you like this but I'll try not to upset
everyone beforehand."

     "Go and get Grunty out of bed and tell him to see his passport is up
to date!"

     I went to see Anne and report the conversation.  She said she'd
suspected for a long time that he really only liked boys.  I shook my head.
I thought I was the one with experience of both sides of the fence!

     I poked my head in to see how James was.  He was awake.

     "I need to pee," he announced.  I laughed.  I remembered his brother
and his demand of Travis.

     "Your slaves are on errands so Dad will have to cope, come on!  I'm
getting use to the target practice."

     As I peered down to check I was aiming straight I noted that
everything had meant everything the night before.  A few dried crumbs of
teenage spunk were evident.  I wondered if James had teased Francis about
the slight difference in size.  I doubted it.

     That afternoon I heard Anne crying in the kitchen.  She had her arms
around Francis.

     "Your beautiful hair!  Where has it gone?  You've had it cut off!"

     A bemused Francis, with a grinning Grunty standing by, was protesting
that it had been rather hot and as we were going to Italy it would be even
hotter there and as he wanted to swim.........

     "Francis," came a voice from the living-room, "I'm hungry.  I want
another piece of that cake!"

                              *

     I didn't enquire if Stephen had to cope with James's horny needs that
night as he slept with him and Francis was exiled to his own bed.  In fact,
they alternated and Grunty volunteered his services as well but Stephen
said he and Francis were OK but he could help in Italy.  I knew Grunty had
taken James for a pee a couple of times so James was getting well-handled
and perhaps he would have another hand stroking that teenage pole of his
while we were on holiday.

     I went with him on Wednesday morning to have his hands looked at.  He
was a bit concerned in case any of his pals saw him in the enveloping very
colourful Hawaiian shirt, one of a pair Uncle Tony had sent the boys for a
fun Christmas present.  The same young doctor was there and said he'd
arranged for the dermatologist to see him as well.  We had to hang around
for about an hour as some poor child had been rushed in with a scald from a
boiling kettle.

     We were alone in the small ante-room when James broke a bout of
silence.

     "Dad," he said softly, "It's OK about Francis.  Stephen and I have
known he only liked boys for ages.  He never said but we knew.  He told us
he's talked to you and you said he was Francis and that was all that
mattered.  That's all that matters to us, too."

     "That's good.  He was worried about you two and what you might have
thought.  I guessed he'd spoken to you and I knew you'd have no trouble.
And Stephen's OK?"

     He nodded.  "We explained to Stephen a long time ago all about what
boys do especially as he wants to be a dancer and some of the boys at
school have said nasty things, mainly to us.  They know they'd better not
say anything much to him or they'd have us and Grunty onto them."

     "All about what boys do?"  I asked.

     He smiled.  "That book of yours in the library.  One of the boys in
Tiger's class had a copy of some of it.  It's been passed down."  He
giggled.  "Will you let us read it all some time?"

     What does one do with sons who read indelicate literature.  I
remembered back to the times when certain typewritten descriptions of life
below stairs with butlers and housemaids and well-hung footmen, or sailors
with six months of stored up randiness on leave pursuing comely young
wenches, were circulated at school, or even listening to young Georgie's
recital of spying on his brother and Peggy Finch.  Boys will be boys.

     "That was my doctoral thesis," I said with as straight a face as
possible, "Just because I found a certain manuscript and translated it
doesn't mean it's for grubby little boys....."

     We were interrupted by the arrival of a nurse.  I managed
"....someday, perhaps!"  before James was whisked off to have his bandages
removed and his hands inspected.

     I was called into the treatment room where the skin specialist was
looking closely at his left hand.  Both hands looked rather red and raw.

     "Not too bad," was his judgement.  "Any blisters have gone down of
their own accord and the skin's not broken.  We need to keep them covered
for at least another week and then be careful after that."

     He instructed the young doctor on the course of treatment.  I asked
about swimming when the bandages came off in a week's time.  'Latex gloves'
was the reply.  In fact, keep the hands dry as much as possible for at
least a week or so after that.  He was told to flex his fingers as much as
possible to keep the fingers from stiffening up as new skin grew.
Scarring, he thought, would be minimal but he'd see him the first week in
September to check.

     As we came out, his hands still out of action but in smaller
dressings, I said his slaves would still be needed and I dreaded to think
what he would be made to do once his hands were fully functional again.  I
said I had several jobs lined up to recompense me for 'pee duty'.

     "Don't worry, Dad," the cheeky toad replied, "Anything happens to you
and we'd get Jem and Sam to deal with you!"


To be Continued:.....................