Date: Mon, 01 Mar 2004 09:39:35 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aladdin's Awakening:  Part 95

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 57 (Cont.)

			    Vignette 13 (Cont.)

				     *

     From other snippets of conversation I'd overheard and observations
made
  it was fairly clear that Khaled was also another firm friend.  I didn't
get the impression that any activity had escalated, if that was the right
word, to such a level as with Grunty.  Khaled had slept over a number of
times during the term and was in with Francis on most of the occasions but
with James on the others if Safar wasn't accompanying him.  I'd almost
bumped into him a couple of mornings as he made his way to their bathroom
and I was going to my study.  Like all the males in the household he also
preferred to sleep in the raw and was used to wandering to and fro in that
condition.  On both occasions I noted his almost sixteen-year-old
well-toned body completed by a good-sized, dark-hued, pink-ended
circumcised cock.  The second time his morning hardon was still somewhat
evident and I could see he was much more equipped in length than Grunty.
Oh yes, I had been told that Khaled was 'well-blessed'.  Whatever he and
Francis, or he and James, sampled together there was no doubt, from the
evidence when only partially hard, that Khaled would be a very good firm
friend!

                              *
     I wondered what Grunty wanted the next Thursday when he asked if he
could talk to me.  I thought, perhaps, that Francis had told him of my
observing them, but no, it was for quite a different reason.

     "Dr Thomson," he began, as formal as ever, "It's something I've
noticed.  I've seen this car.  It's been parked by the school a few days
when we've come out and the last two days it's been in Barton Road by the
pub and I think it's the same one that was just along the road here on
Tuesday."

     "What sort of car?" I asked.

     "It's a dark Hillman," he said, "And I've got the number."  He pulled
out a piece of paper from his pocket.  "It's LUR 671."

     Thank God!  "It's OK, Grunty," I said feeling relieved.  "I know the
number."

     It was one of the minders' cars.  I wondered why it was so
conspicuous.

     "It's about Khaled and Safar, isn't it?" he asked.  "Like in Italy?"

     I smiled.  "You might as well know, it is.  And thanks for telling me.
It is very important.  And thanks for not saying anything about Italy."

     "I haven't even said anything to Francis and I won't....," he
hesitated.  "Is Khaled really a prince?  Francis did tell me that some time
ago."

     "And Safar," I said.  "The fewer people who know the better.  The boys
know and your Head knows.  But that doesn't mean you have to treat them any
different, they're boys, just like you and the others."

     His lopsided grin.  "They'll be treated just the same by me.  I told
their dad that.  I liked him.  He's very important, though, isn't he?"  I
nodded.  He became serious again.  "Do you want me to keep an eye on them."

     "Grunty, you're enrolled," I said, "No pay.  Sticky buns from
Fitzbillies every fortnight, perhaps."  I looked at him seriously, too.
"Please don't make it obvious.  There's always someone around.  I guess the
conspicuous car was a warning to someone.  I don't think they're in any
danger but I'll report what you noticed.  Something did go awry in Italy.
I wasn't told about a change of plan and I saw someone I didn't expect.  So
I had to check."  I smiled at him.  He nodded.  I hope he didn't think it
was too much like James Bond.

     "Khaled told me in Italy you were his guardian.  So you're responsible
for him?"

     "Yes and Safar, too.  It's a bit difficult at times.  Please say
nothing to them as they don't know but they are being watched all the time.
I'm only telling you because you saw what happened in Prato and I had to
act quickly.  I trust you.  You know that, don't you?"

     He nodded.  "Dr Thomson," he started again, "There's something else.
It's about last Friday.  Francis told me...."  He smiled.  "...We're just
boys!"

     I laughed.  "Oh, Grunty, I know you are.  I'm glad Francis told you.
I hope the weekend was successful, too!  Don't worry, I'm happy for
Francis...  And you!""

     Poor Grunty.  He blushed, but he smiled that lopsided smile.

                              *
     Term for the boys ended and there was also the welcome home for
Stephen.  Over the term we'd had several short letters from him extolling
his training and the friends he was making.  There had been two
complimentary letters from two of his tutors saying he was progressing
well, both in his school subjects as well as in his ballet training.  Anne
and Ina were going to London to collect Stephen and Lisa - who was doing
equally well - and James insisted he wanted to go, too.  There was a
reception committee waiting for them outside the houses as they got out of
the taxi from Cambridge station.  As well as Mr McIntyre and Caroline
waiting for Lisa there was a row of Francis, Grunty, Khaled, Safar, as well
as Lucius, with me in the background.

     It was incredible.  A very self-possessed eleven-and a half-year-old
had left in September.  An even more self-possessed eleven-years and
ten-month-old young man stepped from the cab.  His back was straighter, he
walked differently, he had a posture which showed even in that short time
what excellent training he was having.  He held the door for Lisa and she,
too, had changed.  She looked every inch the superb young ballerina she
would become.  Then things went wild.  Both were kissed, hugged, kissed and
hugged again.  A grinning James and the cabbie unloaded the luggage.  We
all went indoors and had tea.  Poor Stephen and Lisa were somewhat
overwhelmed by the welcome home they got.  Tea over and the McIntyres
departed.  Stephen recovered a bit except everyone was still asking
questions.  I suggested he, Safar and James took his bags up to the bedroom
and get him unpacked in a bit of peace and quiet.  The others complained
until I said there was more food.  Sam had been earlier in the day and had
prepared a casserole which had been cooking all afternoon.  Stephen was
forgotten as they set to and devoured the steaming nosh.

     Anne had already gone upstairs to see all was well.  The smell of the
food brought them all down and two large casserole dishes soon emptied.
Stephen had to tell them how his days had been spent.  School study,
exercises at the barre, exercises in the dance studio, more study.  His was
a new world.  An ordered, organised, an exacting world.
  It was one he would have to live with if he was to become the
professional he had set his heart on.  From his way of speaking about his
new life I knew he would succeed.

     A bit later that evening I was in my study when he tapped on the door.
As he came in he smiled.

     "Oh, Dad, I haven't had a chance to talk to you."  He rushed forward
and put his arms round me as I leaned forward.  "Thanks for everything," he
whispered, "I miss being home but I think it'll be worth it.  I told Mum
that on the train."

     A second figure tapped on the door and looked in.  It was James.

     "Oh Dad, isn't it lovely having him home.  I've missed him and so has
Safar.  He looks a bit different but he's still my brother."  He came up
behind him, all six feet of him, and picked a laughing just under five foot
Stephen up.  "Crumbs you've lost weight but you feel all muscly," he said
admiringly, "You must tell me what you do."

     "I think he'd better come back with you next term," I said to Stephen.
"Thinking about it he'd make a good Ugly Sister in Cinderella."

     "Dad!  I can be graceful when I want."

     "What, with two left feet, arms that never know where they are and
knuckles that drag on the ground!"

     "Oh, Dad, I never meant to break that vase.  Mrs Pring must have moved
it from where it usually was!"

     The vase was only the last in the long line of items brushed into,
tripped over, accidentally pushed, or merely blundered into, which any
household has to put up with when it contains two gangling six-footers,
with one, especially, slightly more prone to sudden lurches and waving of
arms.  Mrs Pring, our admirable cleaning lady, had two large sons of her
own and she and Anne commiserated together almost weekly over objects
destroyed by over-large-boy action.

     James put Stephen down without dropping him, or crushing an arm or leg
in the process.  He changed the subject.

     "Cor, Dad, I wouldn't mind going to that school.  You should see some
of those girls.  Actually, all of them," he grinned, truly lasciviously.
"I've asked Stephen for some names but the toad says they're all too good
for me."  He made a mock grab at Stephen.  "How much is it worth not to
twist one of your legs off tonight?  Three names?"

     A third figure appeared at the door.  It was Safar.  My study was
getting a little crowded.  Safar at thirteen was the same height as
Stephen.  He looked up at James a good foot higher.

     "I heard what you said.  You will do no such thing," he said, his
voice now changing a bit with his onset of puberty, "You'll have me to
answer for if you lay a finger on him!"  He laughed.  "He's going to tell
me the names first, aren't you, Stephen?"

     "No, you're much too young....  Ouch, Stephen, why did you do that?"
Stephen had nipped the flesh just above James's hip-bone.

     "Gosh, you're fat, none of the girls would look at you.  Anyway you've
got spots and who'd want...."

     He wasn't allowed to finish.  "That's not fat, that's muscle and I
can't help the spots.  You wait till you get them!"

     Stephen was in a real teasing mood.  He wrinkled his face up.  "Ugh,
spotty gob...., ...who'd want to kiss that?"

     "Come here, I'll get you!  I'll give you spots!"

     The pair rushed off along the corridor.  Safar was left.  I shook my
head at the retreating figures.  He came and stood by me.

     "I've got to tell you.  You know, what we talked about in Italy."  I
nodded.  "I can.  I tried it again on Thursday night after school broke up
and it happened and I told Khaled and James and they said 'Good show, I was
growing up'."  He smiled at me.  "I thought I'd better tell you in case you
were worried about me as I hadn't said anything."

     What could I say.  Another generation growing up.  That scrap of a
child not so long ago.  "Congratulations," I said, "I'm not worried.  I
knew it would happen before long.  But, is there anything else you want to
know?"

     "Khaled and James have told me things.  I suppose they're right.  If I
think of anything else I'll ask you."  Very straightforward.  "Oh, yes," he
went on, "Can you do Italian?"

     I said my Italian was very scanty.  What did he want to know?

     "I want to send a Christmas card to Giovanni to tell him and I don't
know how to write it."

     Supreme innocence!  But straightforward, too.  I was reminded of the
slight code Alun and I had used - emphasizing 'come'.  But, I didn't know
if there was an euphemism in Italian.  Anne's Italian was quite fluent but
whether it stretched to boys' habits I didn't know.  She would be amused
when I told her.  I had an idea.

     "I know, why don't you write 'Si, certo' and put a ring round it.
He's an intelligent boy, he'll guess.  It means, 'yes, certainly'."

     I wrote the two words down for him.  "You could add 'di tutti di
giorni' - that's 'every day' but you hadn't better....."

     He smiled at me.  Pure innocence.  "... It's true.  But, he'll guess
from the other.  His mum might ask him what I meant if I put the rest.
Thanks."  He folded the paper and put it in his trousers pocket.  "I'd
better go and see James isn't tormenting Stephen too much.  I haven't told
Stephen, yet."

     I wondered if, when I was nearly thirteen and, if I'd found I could
come then and not a year later as I had, and I was also then masturbating
daily, I could have been so forthcoming with an adult.  I suppose Safar
being brought up in the company of so many 'older brothers', who also told
him they'd talked to Dad, it was just a natural thing for him to do.

     That night the three of them were adamant they were sharing a bed
there was too much to talk about.  So, Khaled and Safar were staying over
and Khaled was going in with Francis.  Long after the five of them had
retreated to bed I went to my study to find a book and could hear talk
going on in the room with the three of them in it.  I tapped on the door
and went in.  Two were in bed and James was still half-dressed sitting on
the bed and they were chattering away from boyish treble, pubescent alto to
adolescent tenor, nineteen to the dozen.

     "Come on now, you've got all the Christmas holidays to talk.  In bed!
And if you don't shut up Stephen can have the bed and you two will be in
the bunks."

     "Dad!"  From an aggrieved James.  "We're only going over what we've
done this term.  They wanted to hear about me rowing.  Stephen doesn't
believe it."  He grinned.  "And he said we should all go to the show
they're putting on before Easter because he'll be dancing.  And he'll
probably be in the ballet at the Opera House next Christmas....a mouse or
something...."

     "...It's not a show," said Stephen archly, "...It's a performance of
work in progress.  Our first year group are going to demonstrate training
and the older ones will do proper dances..."

     "...And can Lucius...," interrupted James, "...come and alter the
height of the barre as Stephen has to do his exercises every day."

     "....I told you earlier," said Stephen, "...They're not called
exercises, they're called 'class'."

     "Shut up, you two, I need to go to sleep," said Safar, giving me a
huge conspiratorial wink, "And anyway I know about boaties like James.  I
asked him the other day if he wanted his pizza cut in four or eight pieces
and he said he didn't think he could eat eight!"

     Safar rolled out of the way as James pulled the pillow from behind
Stephen's head and tried to swipe him.

     I left them to it.  Once downstairs I made a note to 'phone Lucius.

                              *
     A couple of days later Stephen came to my study.  "Dad," he started,
looking a bit hesitant, "Can I talk to you?"

     I said of course he could.  He shut the door and sat on the chair by
my own at the desk.

     "Safar told me what he can do.  I know James and the others do it and
my friend Jody at school does it too, he's fourteen. When will I be able to
do it?  James says I'm too young and I'd better talk to you.  He said I
might be nearly fourteen when I could like he was but Safar's much younger
than that."

     I explained as carefully as possible that boys grew up at different
rates and he'd notice certain things happening when he was twelve or so.
He might start to notice hair and then he would begin to grow down below,
like James.  He nodded.  I knew he'd seen James pass from boyhood to being
a young man as he'd shared a room and a bed with him for some time and
James was no slouch in wandering about naked in the mornings, especially.
I said he knew about Giovanni and he nodded.  I said he was another example
of a boy who developed early, but he wasn't to be in any hurry, it would
all happen quite naturally.

     "Can I ask you something else?" he said.

     "Stephen, you know you can always ask anything.  I expect James and
the others have told you that."

     He nodded.  "It's only that two of the boys always sleep together.
We're not supposed to, but they do.  Are they like Francis?"

     A difficult one.  Was I being told something I should really pass back
to the school?  No.  This was all in confidence.  I wondered how Mike
managed to maintain the seal of the confessional when told of much more
heinous happenings?  I said if they slept together that was up to them as
long as they confined it to themselves.  I said that when boys developed
they often did things with friends.  "Like James and Khaled do?" he asked.
I didn't ask whether he meant helping each other manually or in any other
way.  I rather chickened out and just said,'Yes' which he probably
interpreted as a fact I knew what they did together.  I didn't know, but
from all the accumulating evidence they were at least wank-buddies.  Not
surprisingly.  If I was their age they would have been prime wank-buddies
for me.  I said the boys at school might be just being best of friends or
they might only want to be with another boy like Francis.

     I asked him to tell me, in confidence, if any of the boys had
suggested he join in anything.  He nodded.

     "I said I didn't want to and they left me alone.  There's quite a few
who go off together, though."

     I said he might feel like that when he was older.  Boys often
experimented with each other.  He nodded again.  "James says I've got to be
careful.  If I wanted to do anything it's only with someone I like.  Like
him.  Is that right?"

     I did have a most sensible son.  James might be a pickle but he was
very level-headed.

     "Stephen, as I told the others.  You are your own master.  You do what
you want to do.  You must become what you want to be.  But, never harm
anyone else and don't let anyone harm you.  Understand?"

     He seemed satisfied about all this.  There was a lot for a
nearly-twelve-year-old to digest.  In many ways he was old for his years.
I had never had a thought about what boys did or how they developed at his
age.  I suppose being an only child, although having played 'doctors and
nurses', I was really innocent.  It was only with Alun's visit when I was
thirteen that I became attuned somewhat to the changes which were happening
in me.  Safar and Stephen had the benefit of constant interplay between
their older brothers and their friends.  There was an openness between the
main six of them which could only be for the good.  The natural way they
had interacted with the six Amati brothers and the way they had become
friends - even poor Silvio from under the domination of his father - showed
their characters.

     One further question.  "James said you said Silvio and Bruno could
come to stay.  Could Domenico come as well?"

     I said we'd have to think about it.  We couldn't just have three of
them and Safar was friendly with Giovanni.  I said they couldn't come at
Easter because Francis and Grunty had their A Levels to prepare for.  But,
there was all the summer.  We'd arrange things for that.

                              *
     The great news was that both Francis and Grunty were successful in
their applications to read medicine.  Both had applied to Pembroke College
and both were accepted subject to horrendously high A Level results.  Both
families made the stipulation that if successful they were to live in
college and were not to be seen hanging around home hoping for extra
sustenance and comfort.  Tiger had made the decision to train at St Georges
in London and I just wondered if the boys would have been better a bit
further away from home.  Still it was done and there was the option for
them to do some of the training in London after the first couple of years.

     Two other things happened just before Christmas.  Firstly, Ma and Pa
moved back to the flat by the Albert Hall.  Pin Mill House was just too big
for the pair of them, now.  It needed lots of repairs so Aunt Della was
going to sell it as there were plans to develop the sailing facilities at
Pinmill and it would be ideal for a developer.  Also, Ma was missing her
concerts and theatre.  Tim and Maureen had a couple of rooms and Ma and Pa
got on so well with them it was no problem.  Anyway, they were coming to
stay for Christmas so we would hear more then.

     The second thing was a real bombshell.  Flea announced he was retiring
from the Air Force.  He loved flying but was more and more involved in
training schedules and dealing with cutbacks so he wanted out.  I also
found out he was also at the end of a rather torrid affair with a lady,
still married, who had suddenly ditched him for someone ten years younger
and five inches taller.  It wasn't so much the five inches taller but the
ten years younger that annoyed him most.  He was at a loose end.  He had
nowhere to stay and was just about to start his accrued final leave.  He'd
been promised a job, managing a small engineering works down near Brighton,
but that wouldn't start until the week after Easter.  He moved in, much to
the delight of the boys, three days before Christmas.  We also had another
visitor.  Titty Temple-Tempest.  He was being seconded from the Marines to
oversee an exploration of parts of Papua New Guinea with a couple of
Australians.  He was quite the celebrity as the papers had all the details.
Mainly wrong he said.  All speculative.  He had to be primed about the
known area and the only person was a retired missionary who, of course,
lived in Cambridge.

     With the pair of them in the house it was Bedlam.  I would think every
boy in each of the forms Francis, James, Khaled and Safar were in came to
ask questions and meet them, especially the intrepid explorer.  The
household expenditure on buns and cake rose alarmingly and I told Francis
and James their allowances would be docked to pay for it all.  All I got
was the usual, "Dad!".

     So, Christmas came and went.  Hilarity was caused when the presents
under the tree were opened.  None more than when James unwrapped a large
package with layers and layers of paper until he reached an inner layer
surrounding a further wrapped package.  The inner layer was a small
well-used and well-washed dance-belt.  Even smaller than Stephen's.  There
were hoots as a blushing James was made to hold it up to cries of 'Too big,
too big!  He needs two sizes smaller!'.  His blushes turned to smiles as he
opened the inner package.  It was a jock-strap.  Just his size.  Of course,
that night when the lads went to bed James disturbed the peace by thumping
loudly on his bedroom door as he'd been locked out by a tormented Stephen
and Safar.  Naturally he was clad only in his new garment.
  A well-filled new garment.


14.  January 1966 - Easter 1966

     I went with Francis and Mrs McIntyre to deliver Lisa and Stephen back
to the ballet school.  James moaned but was mollified as Flea and Titty
took him, Grunty and the brothers up to London for a day visiting unknown
bits of Whitehall and having lunch with Lachs.

     Quite a few of the students had already returned when we got there and
I could see why James had been so enthusiastic.  Every one of the girls was
elegant and had a deportment and carriage which caught the eye.  Not to say
the boys didn't, either.  While I was getting Stephen settled into his room
Francis wandered off.  We found him in a nearby room talking to two very
presentable lads, about the same age as him.  They were already dressed in
tights to below the knee and floppy tops and were starting 'class' in front
of the mirror and chatting as they went through the sequences.  Francis was
almost drooling.  His eyes were darting back and forth, most of the time on
the two quite prominent bulges.  I nearly had to drag him away as we had a
train to catch.

     Mrs M left us at the station as she was going on to stay a few days
with her sister in the other direction.  Francis was very quiet on the
first part of the journey.

     "Penny for your thoughts, Francis," I said as the faraway look
continued.

     He looked at me and smiled.  "I wouldn't last long there," he said.

     "Why?"  I asked, "The exercise schedule too much for you?"

     He grinned.  "I think I would be much exercised to concentrate on what
I should be doing.  Too many distractions, so to speak."

     "I noticed.  I can see why James wanted to come with us today.  I
could imagine a horde of those young ladies in tutus.  All on tiptoe."

     "Dad," he said grinning even more, "Stop pulling my leg, you know
exactly what I mean."

     "I told you I'd noticed.  Your eyes were nearly out like chapel hat
pegs, as your great- aunt Faye would say.  Comely youths, weren't they?"

     He shut his eyes and nodded.  I could imagine his wank-fantasies in
the near future.  As it was, as term progressed, I got the distinct
impression Francis and Grunty were supplying each other with regular relief
from boyish needs in between doing some serious work towards their A
Levels.  James and Khaled spent hours together as he said he was making
sure Khaled wouldn't fail his O levels and this meant numerous sleepover
nights either at ours or the Wilkinsons.  Safar dogged Lucius and had a
flute lesson almost every day.  So things were quiet and peaceful, for
once.  Oh, and Flea was there keeping everyone cheerful and harrying the
boys to work and play with little rest for anyone.
  Grunty had persuaded Francis to play rugger again so what with four of
them rowing and all five playing rugby it was a combination of blood,
sweat, toil, bruises, sore limbs but few tears as Flea said paraphrasing
the late lamented Mr Churchill.

     We all made the trek to see the 'show' at the end of the Easter term.
It was superb.  The artistry of the young dancers was supreme.  Stephen and
four of his fellow pupils, all about the same age, showed how disciplined
they could be in all the exercises in 'class'.  It was interesting watching
the set pieces.  James's eyes flickered over all the young girls in
regulation tutus or Greek tunics in one graceful dance, their every
movement perfection.  Francis had eyes only for the boys whose figures,
slim and well-proportioned, were set off by their tight-fitting doublets
and tights as they danced, leapt and supported their partners.  Afterwards,
he disappeared again and re-appeared from the dressing room with the two
lads he'd met after Christmas.  One was American, one was French.  Both
were seventeen, elegant, beautifully mannered.  Anne took to them
immediately.  We were to have two visitors over the Easter holidays, they
couldn't be abandoned to a stay in school.  The smile on Francis's face on
the return journey was beatific.

     I never enquired about Buck (his nickname) and Fabien, their
relationship, and any relationship with Francis.  The two shared the room
that Flea had vacated just before Easter as he was going to stay with
Georgie and his wife while he sorted out accommodation for his new job.
They took Stephen under their wing and the three did 'class' together every
morning and exercises also later.  Francis haunted them and from the looks
they all gave each other I could guess that more than conversation went on
late into the night and Francis's bed didn't seem to be slept in much.  All
I hoped was that he wasn't too tired out to study.  The arrangement was for
him and Grunty to spend every morning together at his and then they would
entertain the visitors with help from the others in the afternoons.  We saw
nothing of Safar and Khaled who went down to Dorset with Miles Bastable to
his brother's farm for the holidays.  Safe and sound.

                              *
     As soon as Francis and Grunty had finished their exams at the end of
May they were despatched to Switzerland.  They were going to stay with
Johann and his wife in Neuchatel as they were living in Johann's
grandfather's chalet now he had died.  Their son, Johann the Third, was
five and soon commandeered the pair as willing servants when they weren't
out exploring the countryside.  Francis said later it must have been like
the occasion when I'd taken him to Garforth Hall and he had been reminded
about that many times.

     Actually, I'd made a fleeting visit earlier to Neuchatel just after
Easter to interview Dr Walter Suess, my cousin Johann's friend's younger
brother.  That shy young lad of twelve or so, as I remembered him from my
first meeting, was now a self-assured, well-reputed academic.  Harvey
Levine had recommended him as a replacement for two years as he was off to
America for a working sabbatical.  Harvey at the time hadn't known I knew
Walter.  No problem.  He would be delighted, he was looking for another job
and two years in Cambridge would be a fine recommendation.

     What I didn't know until then were the results of Johann's
grandfather's Will.  Well, I knew bits.  He'd left Johann the chalet, plus
a considerable sum of money.  Daniel and I had also been remembered as had
our sons, even Stephen.  Thirty thousand Swiss francs each for them were
safely tucked away to be used later.  Somewhat greater sums for the two
fathers.  Johann had told me there was a bit of a shemozzle going on about
the old boy's valuable collection of Swiss art.  All those dreary paintings
which covered the walls of the old mausoleum and were a bit less
conspicuous on the brighter walls of the new chalet he'd moved to.
Apparently he'd bequeathed that lot to 'the State'.  The argy-bargy was
over the distribution of the paintings to various squabbling galleries.
What no-one in government had noticed was the sentence further on in the
Will, 'That painting admired by my young English visitor, Jacques Thomson,
is his.  Let him treasure it with the memory of the Brahms as I have done.'
That is, no-one noticed but Johann, the observant lawyer, who had
immediately removed the painting and secreted it in his bedroom before the
representatives of 'the State' came gloatingly to collect their God-awful
spoils.

     As Walter had no further commitments at the University he said he
could come to England straight away.  A man, a plan - not the palindromic,
a canal, Panama - but, he wanted to bring his car to England.  What better.
I cancelled my homeward flight.  We packed his car with his belongings,
plus three boxes of old books and a loosely wrapped flat package and my
travel bag.  Between us we drove all the way back.  We talked and talked
through Switzerland, France, on the ferry from Calais to Dover, stopping
only once at a Campanile motel for the night.  He was a most delightful
companion.  Erudite, witty, with the driest of dry senses of humour.  Only
on the English side did the ever vigilant Customs ask to look in the car
with two oh-so suspicious-looking academics in it.  After rooting through
seventeen old books in one carton and three in the second and a cursory
look in the third, and checking on the four hundred Gauloises for Tony -
sorry, for our own consumption, we were waved on.  Tired, hungry and
thirsty we arrived in Cambridge where, after suitable sustenance and a
bottle of champagne placed in the fridge for later we unpacked the car.
The Manet was hung on the drawing-room wall to the sound of a popping
champagne cork.


                    15.  Summer 1966

     The Amati boys had been invited.  What was planned?.  Not to worry,
their mother, Signora Francesca Amati, was going to accompany them.  I
wondered if she was like her strict husband.  No, no, by far the opposite.
A minibus appeared at the due time hot foot, or hot-wheeled, from Heathrow
Airport.  Six grinning lads stumbled out and lined up.  All dressed
identically in their dark blue ensembles, all a year taller, bigger and in
the case of at least four, hairier.

     Our six were lined up, too.  There was a general stampede of hugs,
greetings and general mayhem.  Then all fell silent.  A beautiful, elegant
lady was helped from the front seat by the driver.  Anne stepped forward
and with smiles they embraced.  I, as general spare prick at the wedding,
was introduced and the holiday began.

     With twelve boys sleeping over, Grunty had insisted he was included
though twenty feet separated his bedroom from Francis's, and Khaled and
Safar were certainly not being left out, it might be construed a tight
squeeze.  Boys' desires and pragmatism was the answer.  Of course, the
Signora, complete with five large suitcases, had the best spare room with
en suite bathroom.  I had the feeling she would have packed a maid or three
if she'd remembered.  Grunty, Francis and Khaled had Silvio and Bruno in
Francis's room.  How the five were going to share one double-bed and a
single put-you-up, there for decency's sake, was up to them.  There was a
spare mattress somewhere.  Stephen and James's room accommodated four,
including the now almost post-pubescent deep-voiced Giovanni and a
beginning to be hairy twelve-year-old Antonio.  Safar was delighted because
he had young Domenico and slightly elder brother Julio in our small spare
room.

     We had given some thought to help in the house and Sam with his
helper, Nick the red- haired young man from the Buttery, were volunteered
by ever efficient Willy.  Jem and Davy had to be involved, too, so our
kitchen resembled the assembly line of the Savoy Grill or Joe's Greasy
Spoon, depending on one's feeling at the time.  So, meals were prepared,
beds made, rooms cleaned, all with super-efficiency - plus a certain
injection of cash.

     Food over that night the boys invaded the drawing room amidst chatter
in a mixture of languages.  Anne, also pragmatic, had made her study into a
cosy sitting room for us three.  Signora had perfect English as well as
good French and broken German so we chatted away drinking a goodly amount
of rather fine Italian white wine suggested by the self-appointed wine
connoisseur of our Senior Common Room.  It was good and we talked until at
last the ladies retired to their beds.

     I looked in on the drawing-room.  Safar had retreated with his pair
and Antonio looked half-asleep.  I had sent a bottle of the wine in so,
with the glass the elder ones had quaffed at supper time, they'd had
another glass each.  I said it was time for bed to the younger four as the
bathroom would get clogged.  They went off without any grumbles leaving the
elder five smiling like Cheshire cats.  Fifteen minutes later they were
upstairs and when I went up I caught a glimpse of Francis and Silvio, both
in the nude just going into the bathroom.  Francis might beat Silvio in one
aspect but Silvio at nearly eighteen had developed so much hair in the last
year it was difficult to see where hair ended and boy began.  At least at
the front - the layer of chest hair had not yet curled round to his back
but he did have a black patch just above the crack of his buttocks.

     Who wanked, sucked or fucked who I never enquired but over four weeks
five teenagers became inseparable and Bruno did keep wriggling his backside
when sitting down on more than one occasion and Francis spent much of his
time staring at Silvio and unconsciously adjusting what seemed to be the
more or less permanent bulge in his shorts.  I don't think any of the next
roomful reached the final stage but there were suspicious stains on the
sheets and plenty of self-satisfied grins.  Although the trio in the third
room slept together Stephen joined in their group for most of their
activities leaving James with arch-prankster Giovanni and his side-kick
Antonio.  If there were any tricks those three got the immediate
blame. From a snippet of conversation I overheard, Antonio was at the same
stage Giovanni had been the year before.

     The favourite activity, other than bed-time, was punting on the river,
especially along to the Grantchester meadows, with Lucius in general
charge.  Vast hampers were packed for picnics.  Six a side football also
proved popular on the field near the house.  This generally attracted other
kids and there was much enthusiastic rivalry.  On the very few wet days the
local swimming-pool was over-run by the twelve.  The Prato swim-trunks had
to accommodate further-grown equipment and the sight of a succession of
well-packed minuscule pouches caused a good few eyes to pop.  I thought
none more than for the elegant, blond, white-suited Stephen.

     Anne and Signora, Maria as we learned, got on very well.  They had
their own itinerary of galleries and stately homes to visit in and around
Cambridge and spent a couple of days in London staying at the flat with Ma
and Pa.  Ma, of course, took them to a Promenade Concert in the adjacent
Albert Hall and I think Maria was suitably impressed.  Actually, she was
very down-to-earth.  Big families of daughters were difficult to marry off
in Italy and she had been lucky to have met Alberto, ten years her senior,
at a cocktail party when she was twenty and on an Art course in Milan.  He
worked for a well-known car company which had expanded greatly and he was
now just below being on the board of directors.  Hence, plenty of money,
large cars and the wherewithal to send six sons to an exclusive school.
She had high hopes for them and now Alberto had loosened his demands on
Silvio things were less tense.  She told Anne that all that was due to our
crowd of ruffians.  No, she didn't call them that, but against the six
immaculately clad youngsters last year on that fateful first day our lot
had looked like extras from the Pirates of Penzance.

     We saw nothing of Tony as he was back in the States for four months,
earning a fabulous amount re-writing the screenplay for some epic which had
started to go sadly wrong with the original compiled by a team of others.
Lachs came for the day on a couple of occasions - bringing stuff for me to
translate but joining in as there was a fair on Midsummer Common and he
loved roundabouts!  So did the boys.  Flea came and stayed over a weekend
and slept in my study.  He was full of his new job.  A good little
engineering company let to go to rack and ruin through poor management.  He
had sacked three of the senior staff and had enticed in a couple of his
ex-aircraft engine fitters and things were turning round.  Of course, he
led the boys a merry dance.  Even young Domenico was shouting out 'Uncle
Flea, Uncle Flea' within hours of his arrival.

     Great news again in August.  Khaled got his eleven A's and Francis and
Grunty got the grades required for entry to the pre-clinical course.
Signora Amati was so pleased how the holiday was going she took the whole
lot of us to an Italian restaurant she'd discovered in one of the
side-streets in Cambridge.  And we never heard another word about Signor
Amati!


                    16.  Winter Term 1966 - New Year 1967

     There was silence in the house when they went.  In fact, we would be
even more depleted in number in the space of a few weeks.  Firstly, I, with
Francis and James, went this time with Ina McIntyre, to take Stephen and
Lisa back.  Stephen had, even with all the distractions, religiously done
his 'class' each day and immediately we arrived and unpacked his bags he
began to change into his working clothes.  I noticed as he stood, nude,
ready to pick up his precious dance-belt that there were a few faint blond
hairs just appearing above the snail.  His balls were just beginning to
sag, too.  He saw me look, then winked at me.  He knew I knew he was
beginning to develop.  Both James and Francis had sloped off as soon as the
bags were opened.  One to see if any girls might be interested in a chat
with a handsome, spotty youth and the other to see if his two friends were
back from their homes to start their final year.

     "Thanks, Dad, for a lovely summer," Stephen said with that smile of
his as he pulled on his below the knee tights over his belt and then pulled
the shoulder straps tight.  "I've got to work very hard this year Madame
said and I intend to.  I'll look after myself, don't worry, and Buck and
Fabien are going to work with me and Jody."

     I had met Jody, briefly, at the Easter 'show' but, speak of the devil,
the red-haired lad of about fifteen rapped on the door.

     "Hi," he said, "Hello Dr Thomson, I've come to collect Stevie."

     We shook hands.  He was also in dance clothes.  He was all efficiency.

     " Just seen Mrs McIntyre.  She said she was off to catch the earlier
train.  Lisa's in the studio already.  We don't believe in wasting time
here, do we Stevie?"  He turned to me.  "Stevie's good."

     "Shut up," retorted 'Stevie', the first time I'd ever heard him called
that, "I'm only good if I practise.  And I'm going to work hard this year -
and so are you!"

     Jody held up his hands and grinned.  "Okay, Okay, we'll both practise
hard.  Come on, Stevie, we'd better get off, Madame will be there, so don't
be long."  He did an elegant bow and did a leap out of he door.

     "Jody's very good, bit of a show-off, though," Stephen whispered as he
disappeared.  "I'm glad he'll work with me."  He had pulled on his long
socks and encased his feet in his dancing slippers.  He picked up a baggy,
woolly sweater.  "That other pair won't be back yet so would you like to
come and watch."  As we walked sedately along the corridor he was greeted
cheerily by several other students, male and female, either just arriving
or already kitted for activity.  "You'll give my love to Mum, won't you.
I'm going to do my very best for both of you and Uncle Lachs."  Although he
knew Lachs was his true father he always called him Uncle.  "I shall miss
you but I'm happy here."  He put out a hand and gripped mine for a moment.

     As we entered the studio the other two materialised.  James was
chatting to three very graceful young ladies.  Francis was standing, head
and shoulders taller than, with a laughing pair of Fabien and Buck.  Both
were in formal dance-wear ready.  There was a sharp 'crack'.  I turned to
see the most imperiously elegant, quite elderly, lady with a silver-topped
cane.  She 'cracked' the tip of the cane on the floor once more.  Someone
started to play the piano in the corner of the room and all the pupils
moved to the barre, all were mirrored.  On the next 'crack' all started a
perfect sequence of movements.  I watched Stephen, now concentrating
entirely on what he was doing.  Jody was beside him with Fabien and Buck a
few paces on.  Madame paced up and down.  Her stick gently touching an
ill-bent leg here or a not steady arm there.  The onlookers gradually
dwindled away.  We three were the last.  It was fascinating.  Boys and
girls of all these ages all with one ambition.  Others came in and joined
the sequence.  Madame was imperturbable.  As if by magic her touches seemed
to heal the imperfections.  I motioned the boys to leave.  Both were
starry-eyed as we walked back down the corridor to the Porter's desk.

     As we walked out of the main door James let out a deep breath.  "Gosh,
I nearly shot a load in there!"  He immediately realised what he'd said.
He turned to me as his face went red.  "I shouldn't have said that.  It's
James and his open mouth again!  Stand in the corner, James!"

     Francis was in stitches, almost bent double with laughter.  I couldn't
resist it.  "It's alright James, I think your brother already has!"

     A second red face and a concerted "Dad!" from both of them.

     It wasn't until we'd crossed London on the Tube and were sitting on
the Cambridge train that Francis said anything.  "Dad, they haven't got
anywhere to go.  Can Fabien and Buck come and stay at Christmas?  And we'll
all be invited to the Nutcracker at the Opera House anyway."

     It was James' turn to chortle.  "You were right, Dad!"

     "You wait, Squirt!" was Francis's retort.

     The second departure, even if it was more or less down the road, was
that of Francis and Grunty, now both eighteen, at the beginning of October
when term started.  James was now busy in the Upper Sixth.  His A levels to
come next year.  For a reason known only to himself he had decided he
wanted to read Law and, off his own bat, had applied to his Great- Uncle
Edward's college, Gonville and Caius.  I had suggested he went further
afield.  King's College London, Durham, or even that other place, Oxford,
where 'Auntie' Julia and Roger had successfully completed their degrees and
were now in pupillage in Lincoln's Inn.  But no, he was adamant.  He went
for an interview, and I can honestly say there was no family influence, and
was offered a place.  He said the old don who had interviewed him was so
deaf he used an ear trumpet, looked like Beethoven and thought his name was
Jimpson.  I did know the don in question.  He was forty-five, was one of
the youngest QCs ever, and a stickler for exact wording on University
Committees.  James got in with his usual gift - that of the gab!

     Although he was working hard and keeping up with his rowing and Second
XV rugger he was also developing into a party animal.  Most Saturday nights
he alone or often in the company of Khaled would be at some adolescent
rave-up in some poor unsuspecting parents' house.  Rules were a) don't get
drunk and b) be in by midnight.  Anne said the third rule was unspoken but
she thought it was understood as she had found an unopened 'packet of
three', obviously forgotten about, tucked under a volume of collected poems
on his dressing-table.

     However, things did come to a head the week before breaking up for the
Christmas holidays.  One girl, among a number he'd been pursuing with
little success if the anguished telephone calls were any indication,
invited him and Khaled to her house for a party.  What we didn't know was
that her parents were away for the weekend and there was plenty of drink
available.  On asking, I found out from Ludo that Khaled had arrived back
home just before twelve and seemed a bit upset about something.  My
interest was that James did not arrive home until three a.m. and he was
more than slightly drunk.  I had a few words with him late on Sunday
morning when he came downstairs.  He said he was sorry but the party had
'been a hoot' and it was nearly end of term.  I could see he wasn't at all
sorry and he had a silly grin on his face for the rest of the day and when
Khaled came round late in the afternoon he was nodding and grinning until
Khaled pointedly said he needed some help with an essay he'd been set to
give in before the end of term and they went upstairs.

     A couple of days later Anne said she'd been in with Mrs Pring to
change his bed and put the accumulated clothes and jumble away.  She said
the 'packet of three' in his slacks pocket was now a 'packet of two' and
the prominent piece of paper he'd had on his dressing table all that term
with an increasing list of names, all in capital letters, had an addition.
The second name, 'ANGIE NOAKES' now had a big red tick by the side.  Oh
yes, the party had been held at the Noakes' house.  He was a physics don, I
was pretty sure, at Downing.

     Anne didn't think our second son was a virgin any longer from the
circumstantial evidence.  I was well aware neither of our elder sons were
virgins in one sense and had indicated this to Anne who had been a little
amused at what certain boyish habits led to.  In any case, we both thought
it was perfectly natural for a young male to loose his usual virginity at
some time.  We had to assume in this case this loss was accompanied by one
act of intercourse only and they'd used the missing contraceptive.  Anne
looked at me.  I held up my hands in defence.  "I was eighteen.  And I
didn't.  And look what happened!  Francis!  Then I was nineteen.  And I
didn't....  and HE happened!"  We had to laugh and just sit and wait.

     There was a slight state of euphoria around James and all he did for
the next few weeks.  Christmas came.  We didn't have to fetch Lisa and
Stephen as they were escorted by Fabien and Buck.  They with Stephen and
Lisa were in the second group of pupils appearing as 'children' or 'mice'
in the performances after Christmas.  Pa and Ma came and Fabien and Buck
were invited to stay at the flat any time they were at a loose end.  I
looked at Francis when Ma said that.  As his bed had not been slept in for
three nights I guessed where his loose end had been.

     The three lads and Lisa were taken to London by Mr McIntyre by car
late on Christmas Day.  There were in for intensive rehearsals in the
morning for the Boxing Day performance and were highly excited.  If we had
seen the mouse fight once from Stephen over Christmas, we'd seen it a
hundred times.  Front seats in the balcony for that first performance were
ours and a whole crowd of the family plus Jem, Sam, Lucius, etc., clapped
like mad at the end of that show of magical expertise.  We were then
ushered round backstage and with the excited horde of mums, dads, small
ballet dancers, larger ballet dancers, grown-up ballet dancers,
stage-hands, everyone was there.  I hadn't recognised Buck and Fabien, all
made-up and dressed as young adults but we'd spotted Lisa who was one of
the girls around at the giving out of presents.  We had been instructed to
look out for the fourth mouse from the back.  Stephen was still in his
costume, carrying his mouse's head in one hand and holding on to the long
mouse-tail with the other.

     James took the head from him.  "Good likeness.  Small beady eyes,
sharp teeth and that bulbous nose."  Stephen made a grab for the head and
dropped the tail which flopped down.  He made a grab for that, too, and
drew it up between his legs.  "Gosh, Stephen, that must be over a yard
long.  Don't let Francis see it or he'll be jealous.  Whoops, James!  Not
the thing to say here."

     I was standing behind him.  He turned.  "Sorry Dad, it slipped out."
He grinned.  "I'd better go and talk to Rachel over there."  He rushed off
in the direction of one of the girls in a long muslin skirt and blue coat.
One of the girls, I assumed, he'd chatted to in September.

     "Did you like it, Dad?" asked Stephen.  "I did my best and I think I
died quite convincingly!"

     I'd noticed the poor fourth mouse from the back curl up when falling
from the attack and then dragged unceremoniously from the stage.  Two
minutes of glory!

     He looked at me and smiled.  "Lot of work for that, but Madame says I
can do a solo at Easter."  The letter from his main tutor at Christmas was
so full of praise I didn't dare show him.

     One of the opposing soldiers came up, his hat in his hand.  It was
Jody.  "Just seen your brother.  He's talking to Phillip Ross."  Oh, the
Nutcracker himself.  A very accomplished dancer.  "Wouldn't just go up and
talk to him myself, wouldn't dare.  They say he's got a temper and hates
being pestered."

     Stephen was on the defence.  "I don't think Francis would pester him."

     Pester or not I saw the tall figure of Francis approaching across the
vast expanse of the stage with a much smaller figure in the costume of
Hans-Peter, the Nutcracker.  Hans- Peter/Phillip Ross smiled at me and
stuck out his hand.  "Your son tells me you are Hans- Peter in real life."

     "Yes," I said, smiling, "I'm Jacques Pierre but I have a good friend
in Germany who is really Hans Peter.  Thank you for your performance."

     He bowed slightly, then turned and smiled at Stephen.  "Your brother
said you were fourth mouse from the back."  He laughed.  "I started in that
important position," he looked at Jody, "then I was Sergeant next time."
He shrugged his shoulders.  "And look at me now.  A block of broken wood -
still I did get mended."  He turned to Francis and shook his hand.  "You
keep that brother of yours at it.  He's like the rest here tonight.  He's
got potential." He waved at us, bowed slightly again and was off to another
group who surrounded him.

     "Wow," was a starry-eyed Jody's only comment.

     I gathered our contingent together.  We had to find the cars, mine, Mr
McIntyre's and Jem's, ready for the return to Cambridge.  I bent down and
hugged the fourth mouse from the back.  "Keep at it!"

     "I will, Dad!"

                         17.  1967.

     The rest of that first term seemed to be fairly quiet.  That was,
unless one discounted the fact that for the first couple of weeks James
seemed to be out in the evenings more than in.  New Year parties was the
excuse.  The third week of term he arrived back from school with a
horrendous black eye and swollen lip which he said was due to a rather
vicious tackle and a scrum at rugger.  He didn't go out much after that,
except at weekends.  It was also noticeable that until the weekend after
the black eye Khaled hadn't been round much.  When I saw him he said he was
very busy.  For most, the First Year Sixth is a bit of respite between the
two sets of exams.  Alright, I knew that the work in the Sixth Form takes
everything more than a notch higher but the first couple of terms is a
breather for many.  Actually, when I checked, James was working steadily as
he should be if he wanted to get the grades needed to begin the course in
October.

     Actually, I was pretty busy and so was Anne.  We had both decided to
write another book each the previous Easter and I was going to analyse the
other type of forbidden book of my period of French studies.  I'd been
apprised by several correspondents who had read my articles mentioning the
'secret' book of a small corpus of 'Boys' Only' literature.  I'd had a week
in Paris the previous term and had found my librarian at the Bib Nat to be
very helpful.  So a review of some of the sources, comparison with the
mainstream publications, ten of which I had, plus substantial bits of the
'secret' book would be sent off to Kanga for consideration under the title
'Audacity in the Age of the Enlightenment'.

     There were niggles though.  By some fluke of misunderstanding on my
part I found myself to be a permanent member of the committee I had been on
when Francis and Grunty were observed.  As with that meeting, the old don
who was Chairman arranged meetings and then cancelled them at the last
moment due to 'pressure of other business'.  Sleeping off the effects of
the previous night's bibulous dinner was my opinion.  I couldn't refuse to
be on the Committee as it controlled certain purse-strings.  Another niggle
was the rising tide of student unrest.  Although low key at the moment we
were having other meetings to make sure we didn't upset the 'scratchers
after the truth' too much.  What we ever did to upset them I never knew.

       About two weeks before the end of term on the Friday afternoon
another committee meeting was cancelled so I had lunch in Hall and decided
to pack up and go home.  I could get on typing up the last couple of
chapters of the book.  Willy had no news other than Jem and Sam had their
eyes on yet another house.  He shook his head lugubriously and averred he
didn't know when they found time to do any college work.  As I'd never seen
any evidence of slacking as Lucius was a more than competent housekeeper
and general factotum, I assumed dear Willy was suffering from a bout of
sour grapes.  I knew, and he knew I knew, he had an interest in at least
three of the houses the lads were running as he'd lent them some of the
finance, so why the long face?

     I left college and cycled up to the market to get the rest of the
veggies for the weekend.  Anne had given me the list and I managed to get
all on it.  So, I was in a reasonably good mood as I cycled along the
Barton Road and into our road.  As I approached our house, having waved to
old Mrs Kiddle a few doors down, a girl cycled past me, wrong side of the
road, and going like the merry clappers.

     Having parked my bike against the garage I noticed the backdoor was
open.  I also heard voices having an argument.  There were two broken
plates on the floor of the kitchen so I went through and listened at the
bottom of the stairs.  Khaled was shouting at James.

     "I've told you, you should be bloody ashamed bringing that slut into
the house!  There's no excuse.  If you want to fuck something like that
take it on the common with the rest of them!"

     "I'll fucking bring whoever I want in the house.  Why the hell did you
come up here yelling at her.  You bloody nearly kicked her down the stairs!
And what was that fucking crash?  Anyway, you're not my bloody keeper!"

     "I'm not your keeper, no, but I do know you're not bringing shit like
that in this house!  Christ, she's been shagged by every poxed-up bastard
in the town!"

     "God, Cally, you're jealous," he taunted, "I suppose you wanted a bit
too?"

     "Fuck you, James, I wouldn't touch that whore with a barge-pole let
alone put my dick anywhere near it."  He must have taken a breath, his
voice rose.  "That girl's dynamite!  Your name would have been round the
town before nightfall.  I suppose it was Dirk Callan who put you up to it.
He's a bastard if ever there was one.  He's no friend of yours.  Huh, I
suppose he said 'Come on James, I know just the hole you can stick your
cock in'.  He's all wind and piss...."

     "....Shut your mouth, Cally, just because you're still a bloody
virgin!"

     I strained to hear Khaled's much quieter answer.  "God, James, you got
lucky once.  Last year.  And you were both too drunk to know much about it
and what a disaster it was for you from start to finish.  You were spewing
your guts out when I left so whatever you did must have been delightful for
the pair of you. You're all mouth. I despair of you sometimes."

     James began to shout out loud, "Shut your mouth, shut your mouth!"

     Khaled wasn't deterred.  His raised voice was full of anger but it was
a concerned anger.  "Shut up yourself, James, and listen!  We all know
you've got the biggest prick in the school, everybody's seen it enough
times and we've all heard your tales about where it's been and you can't
keep it in your pants at weekends, but you know the truth and I know the
truth.  Yeah, you may have the biggest prick but you don't have to act like
the biggest prick you are as well!"

     "Why, you little fuck, I'll have you for that!"

     I thought I'd better intervene before blows were struck.  I went up
the stairs two at a time just reaching the door as Khaled was stepping
towards a red-faced James who was advancing on him, fists clenched.  James
had just a tee-shirt on and, thank God, had a condom dangling from his
long, limp cock.

     "OK, break it up!" I said, "Come on Khaled, come downstairs with me.
You!"  I said to James, "Get dressed!"  His face went even redder as I
looked down at him.
  "...And is that your thirteenth A?  For being a prize Arsehole?"

     I turned and led a now silent but shaking Khaled downstairs.  We went
into the kitchen where I lit the gas and put the kettle on.  He started to
pick up the pieces of china.  He was calming down but was still in a very
tense state.

     "Sorry, Dad," he said, quietly.  "James is a fool, but I shouldn't
have sworn at him like that."

     "Not to worry, Khaled, you've quite a range, but, I added my penn'orth
at the end."  I sighed.  "I suppose we'll have to pick up the pieces, like
the plates."

     He looked up at me with a wry smile.  "James?"  He shook his head.  "I
can't get over it.  Rowing was cancelled this afternoon and he'd
disappeared so I came here to look for him.  They were on the bed but they
hadn't started and I shouted and she screamed...."  He snickered.  "...She
pushed James off and he fell on the floor swearing and shouting and then
she grabbed her slacks and rushed off out and shoved me and called me
a....."  He shook his head again.  "...It doesn't matter...  ...She must
have broken the plates when she was dressing in the kitchen.  She left
these behind."  He put his hand in his blazer pocket and pulled out a pair
of flimsy knickers.  "I found them when I rushed down to see what had
happened in here.  James was yelling at me so I went back upstairs.  Did
you hear us?"

     I nodded.  Thinking about it, I recognised the girl on the bicycle.
She was early twenties or so, bottle-blonde, plenty of lipstick and eye
make-up, and I'd seen her and a few of her mates hanging around Kings
Parade ogling students as they passed.  I had heard that little crowd were
known as the town bikes.  Successors to the girls that hung around in my
days as an undergraduate.  But James?  Was he that desperate?

     We sat at the table in silence drinking the tea I'd made.  Tea, the
great British panacea for all ills and for all occasions, pleasant or
unpleasant.

     "You knew about the girl last year?" he asked.  I nodded.  "She was
OK, really.  I thought they might have hooked up permanently after that but
she moved on."  He paused.  "Upper Sixth, First XV full-back."  He laughed.
"Bit more prestige than a Second Fifteen flanker.  Poor James, fumbles too
much."  So spoke a First XV fly half!  "And he didn't get that black eye
playing rugger.  He challenged Pete and fumbled again."  I had wondered at
the time about the eye and the lip.  "Must say he tries, though.  He's been
the rounds even if he's got nowhere with any of them.  I've tried to
lighten it a bit for him.  I tell him who'd want to kiss a faceful of
zits."  He smiled, "The girl last year was the first and only one.  And I
bet he doesn't know a lot about what happened.  I must admit I'd had a bit
to drink that night as well.  Uncle Ludo guessed.  But James' been bragging
a bit but I know the truth.  That's James.  But today?"  He shook his head.
"And with her?  Why?"

     A stumbling, humbled, now-dressed figure appeared at the door.

     "...Because I'm a bloody great fool, that's why!"  He stood just
inside the room.  "I don't know why, but I'm a fool."  He looked at me.  I
could see he was near tears.  "Dad, can you ever forgive me?"  He shook his
head disconsolately.  "It's the last thing I ever wanted you to know."  He
burst into tears.  "You won't tell Mum.  Please, don't tell Mum!"

     Khaled jumped up and put his arms round him.  They hugged each other
and Khaled led him to a chair at the table.

     "I'm sorry Cally.  I didn't mean you to find us.  I'm sorry I brought
her here.  I don't know why I did.  I didn't mean to shout at you like
that.  You were right.  I'm a real prick!"

     He sniffed and looked at me.  "I'm sorry, Dad, I just let things get
out of hand.  I thought I was just being a big boy.  I'm not!  Please don't
tell Mum.  I'll do anything for you not to tell her!"

     "And what happens when she finds these in the wash?"  I held up the
knickers Khaled had placed on the chair by me.  "Would they have been a
trophy of the chase?"

     Poor James.  He just stared open-mouthed.  Khaled leaned over and took
his hand.

     "James," he said, "I know why you did it.  I saw you talking to Dirk
after school this morning and he was laughing.  I bet he suggested it.  I
can tell you this he's just idle boast as well.  You think he's fucked
every girl in town and you've got to copy, eh?"
  Khaled looked at me. I knew I had to keep quiet.  "His brother Jake knows
him better.  He says the only thing he's ever fucked is his right hand and
he should know because he has to share a room with him in the House.  He
also says he's more than jealous because he thinks you've had lots of other
girls and anyway, you've got a bigger prick than him.  You're always waving
it in the changing room and saying what you've done with it.  He set you up
with that cow."

     I had come across Dirk Callan, a rather large, South African boarder
in James' class at school.  He was some six months or so older than James
and, when I'd attended inter-school games, seemed to do more rushing about
and shouting than being a useful player even in the Second XV.  His
brother, Jake, was in the First Year Sixth with Khaled and was quite
different.  A quiet, unassuming lad, he and Khaled often worked together as
both were doing Economics and had been here on several occasions when they
had urgent work to complete.

     Khaled squeezed James' hand.  "James, you have been a real prick!  It
comes of being boastful.  But, I know you better than that.  We're still
friends and I'm forgiven, eh?"

     James burst into tears again and flung his arms round Khaled.  "You
are my keeper," he sniffed, "I couldn't do without you, Cally!.....
....But Mum.... and Safar.... and Stephen?  And what about Francis?  What
shall I do?"

     "James," I said, "I'll talk to your Mum, she'll know something's
happened and it's best if I talk to her first.  Don't be surprised, though,
if you're on bread and water for a month.  Confined to the galley for spud
peeling, I expect, too.  I shouldn't wonder if you'll end up like that
character in Under Milk Wood with his flies sown up.  No more boasts and
flag waving, either.  But, Safar and the others needn't know.  It's up to
you."

     James raised his head from Khaled's shoulder and shook it slowly.
"Thanks, Dad, I'm sorry."  He rubbed his eyes.  "Cally, would you stay over
with me tonight?  I need a friend.  I need to talk."

     "Why ask?  And we'll have to do something about those spots.  No
girl'll want to come within a hundred miles of that face.  I've told you
that before."  He slapped James on the back

     "Oh, come on upstairs I've enough stuff up there but they keeping
coming up.  Stephen calls me a spotty-faced git and its true."  He stood up
and as they walked out he put his arm round Khaled's shoulders.  "But, I'm
told they have some advantages as you might learn when you get some!"  He
turned and looked at me.  "Dad, I wish it had never happened."  He shook
his head.  "Tell me you forgive me, please?"

       After that, what else could I say.  A seventeen-year-old with a rush
of hormones and the offer of a good shag?  He and my cousin Rhys shared in
superabundance that scourge of the adolescent, acne.  If it was hormonal
then the advantages, as I knew from Rhys's daily prowess, were a
compensation for the looks in one way.  But, I suppose his lack of recent
success with girl-friends might be put down to those crops of red
angry-looking pustules which adorned his chin and cheeks.  But today.  The
set-up.  I expect Dirk had told the girl of a horny, long-cocked lad who'd
give her the fuck of a lifetime and had probably slipped her a fiver as
well.  She had probably lurked on the green at the end of Barton Road where
the cycle path crossed from Fen Causeway.  A few words.  Encouragement.  No
thought to consequences.  His boastfulness had come home to roost.  But
then..., an eighteen-year-old had succumbed all those years ago.  Then. I
hoped, it was love.  Today with this pair it was lust pure and simple.  At
least today she, or he, insisted on a condom.

     Anne said she had suspected he was getting rather frustrated over
things because she'd noticed he had been more tetchy and bad-tempered than
usual over the past few weeks.  She'd bought him several concoctions from
Boots in the past for his spots but whether they were any use, who knows.
All in all, not the usual James.

                              *
     She commented, a couple of weeks later, that he seemed much more
composed now that Khaled had started to stay over a bit more often and
they'd been to a couple of parties together.  There was no talk of any
conquests, the list had disappeared and a single contraceptive seemed to
remain permanently in his possession.

     But, this Dirk needed dealing with.  No worry.  I heard shortly after
that from Jem, who, as usual, full of gossip, came to brew up coffee in my
room at college between tutorials, and informed me that a certain boy from
James' school had been found on the roof of the school boathouse lashed to
the flagpole with his genitalia on full view and painted red for port and
green for starboard.  What were these youngsters coming too?  I laughed to
myself.  James had told me nothing ever happened at his school!

     At the end of his term he came along to my study.  I was just reading
through the final bit of my labouriously typed up manuscript of the end few
pages of 'L'Audace'.  He sat on the chair by my desk as I noted a missing
acute accent.  I looked up and smiled.
  He was looking serious.

     "Dad, we're going down to see Stephen.  Please don't tell him about
me.
  Khaled says I'm reformed, but I won't feel I am 'cause I've still got
things to confess."  Ouch, I wondered what he'd done now?  But, no, it was
a cleansing of the soul of the past.  "You guessed about that girl last
term?"  I nodded.  "I've got to tell you we were both drunk.  I don't
remember much about it.  She said I did it and I suppose I did.  I did,
'cause that thing had my stuff in it."  He burst into tears and knelt
beside me.  I put my arm around his shoulder.  He sobbed.  "I gave away
something I should have enjoyed.  I told Francis last night.  I went to see
him.  He said perhaps when I find someone I really love I would be able to
enjoy it properly just like that time with him."  He looked up at me
through tear-stained eyes.  "I gave away something precious and for
nothing.  She didn't want me after that...."  He sniffed back his tears.
"I've got something else to confess.  I told you a lie.  I didn't get that
black eye playing rugger.  She laughed at me and said I might be well-hung
but I didn't last very long and hadn't a clue and after Christmas she went
off with Phil Mann and I got in a fight with him.  I was so mad about what
she'd said about me and she'd told him and he was sneering at me.  I
thumped him. He got a black eye too, but I got the worst and she's with him
now."

     I helped him up and he sat on the edge of the chair.  I held his arm.
He looked so downcast but he looked straight at me.  "Cally's right.  I get
carried away and boast.  But you'll forgive me.  Francis said I had to tell
you everything.  I couldn't let him down, too.  That other was precious for
both of us."

     I waited a moment.  I had to compose my feelings.  My heart was going
out to my poor dejected, rejected, son.

     "James, try to forget what happened.  It may not be much consolation
but there is a little phrase in German, Einmal ist Keinmal, once is not at
all.  For lots of minor things that works, where no real harm is done.
It's only if there are longer term major consequences you can't use it.
You say you did it, but you don't really remember, then that little phrase
will probably help.  Just think, the most precious time will be when you
and whoever you want to share yourself are both free to do that act without
any encumbrances."  I squeezed his arm.  I had to be truthful with him.
"Francis was conceived when I lost my virginity.  The first time with a
girl, not a case of Einmal ist Keinmal then.  We loved each other and that
act made our love precious to us.  It was a bit of a shock when we found
your mother was pregnant but we loved each other and got married.  Yes, I
know you and that oaf have giggled about dates and that's the reason.  One
year later you were conceived."  I grinned at him.  "An accident.  Not
sufficient of the necessary to tide us over the holiday.  But, James, I
know you were no accident.  I couldn't imagine my life without you as my
son.  Your mother never had the privilege to see you grow up."  I stood and
flung my arms around him.  "You're my son and even if you are a pickle, or
a little Newark, or a big boy waving that seven and a half inch possession
of yours around, you're my James."

     We were both in tears.  We let them flow.  My psychological friends
spoke in terms of trauma and catharsis.  Just as Francis had faced up to
his orientation so my second son was now experiencing the trauma of a 'rite
de passage' and the catharsis of its healing.

     "Oh Dad," were his first words as he composed himself.  "I don't know
what I'd do without you, and Mum and Francis and Cally and Safar and lovely
Stephen.  I'm sorry I'm such a bad son.  I never meant to be....."

     "James, you're a boy.  You have to believe me, we've all been through
it.  My realisation came after I'd shouted at a small lad who was late for
school because his mother was in a wheelchair and a very wise boy, not much
older than I was, said there were often two 'mes'.  I knew what he meant.
I'd sworn at your Grandpa.  I'd punished myself for my feelings.  It was
like Jekyll and Hyde.  I said to myself there was Jacko and Jackoff.  I got
through it.  You know Francis has been through it.  It's your turn.  We all
do something different but it adds up to the same."

     "I know.  There've been two of me inside.  Me and someone else.  Just
the same.  This last thing.  I didn't want it to be like that.  That bitch
got me into it because she said she'd heard I had a big'un and did I want
to try it out because she was willing.  That other bit of me said yes!  Oh,
God, I'm sorry, Dad!"  He shook his head against me as I held him tight.
After at least a minute I let go and we sat again.  He sat in silence.
Then he looked at me quizzically.  A thought had struck him.  "You said I
was a big boy with seven and a half inches.  How did you know?"

     I smiled at him.  "You shouldn't leave your graph around for Mrs Pring
to discover."

     "Mrs Pring.  Oh, NO!"

     "Actually it was your Mum who found it when they were turning your
mattress.  I must admit I had a look at it as your Mum wanted to know what
it was.  Simple.  You, Khaled and dear Francis.  Red, blue and green.
Month by month, eh?  And you beat Francis by four tenths of an inch but
Kaled isn't far behind.  Congratulations!"

     The toad smirked.  "I can't help that.  Francis says he thinks it runs
in the family and he doesn't know about Khaled but he's heard of Arab
stallions."

     "Well, all I can say is you want to keep that thing of yours to
yourself unless you know what you are doing!  And don't tell Khaled I've
seen the chart!  Pact!"

     He smirked again.  "Don't you worry, Dad, I will, and I won't tell
Khaled unless...."  I held up a finger.  "OK, I know.  I've learned my
lesson."  He smiled again.  "I'd hate to be in Khaled's shoes when it's his
turn!"

     "Don't be flippant or you might hear more home truths."  I paused.
"...And what about Dirk being tied to the flagpole.  What part did you play
in that?"

     He laughed and held his hands up.  "I swear I didn't have anything to
do with that.  He'd pissed off...  Sorry, ...I mean he'd upset some of the
other boarders and they did it.  It's shut him up, too.  Keeps his ugly
mouth shut now."

     "And you promise you'll work hard during the holiday?"

     He nodded.  "Too true!  I'm going to Caius!"

     He stood up to go.  A much relieved young man.  "James," I said, "I'm
always here."

     He smiled.  My old James, the foot in mouth, open-hearted, carefree
James was back.

     He looked at my desk.  At the piles of typescripts.

     "What are you doing, Dad?  Is this another book?"  His eyes lit up.

     I knew the sections at the ends of the previous ones had been
well-read and probably well-wanked over.

     "Of course, we academics have to earn our keep by keeping the presses
turning and the bit extra helps to put bread into the mouths of hungry
offspring."

     He sneered.  Then, "Dad, what's it about?"  He was getting impatient.
Cogs were turning.  Wow, more to read one-handed!

     "Well, you have read the original translation.  There's bits of that
in the appendix but the main part is an analysis of what some Frenchmen
wrote for the delectation of gentlemen who really only liked comely youths.
And if a certain comely youth would check over some of my typing he might
get a reward.  Ten pounds and a couple of clean towels?"

     "Dad!"

     The comely youth, plus a rather startled comely Khaled, who
volunteered to help without realising the content, had self-satisfied grins
on their faces over the next week and it wasn't entirely due to the two
sets of ten pound notes I handed out when all deficiencies in my typing had
been noted.  I must say the manuscripts had been well-pawed, I mean well-
perused, as every typing flaw had been noted.


To be continued:.....................