Date: Sat, 8 Apr 2006 08:16:27 +0100 (BST)
From: Mike Arram <mikearram@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Henry in Finkle Road - 1

This is my seventh erotic novella, and many thanks to Nifty for hosting
another of them.  This is in fact the third of the Henry Atwood trilogy
(the two earlier stories are, Henry in the Outfield and Henry in High
Politics are filed under High School). In this one Henry meets his greatest
challenge yet, for he is in pursuit of a riddle of cosmic significance in a
mystical thriller.  It has three anagrams, which I believe are traditional
in this genre.  I wish I could say that more than a pat on the head is on
offer for spotting them, but I'm not that well-off.  But to anyone who can
disentangle MENDAMERO, I will take off my hat, or I would if I owned one.
  Before beginning, I have to point out, had you any doubts, that there is
no university of Cranwell, and a resemblance to any real university in its
portrayal is simply generic.  Rothenia is a country that does not exist,
though I wish it did.
  This time there are people to acknowledge by name for helping with the
writing.  Deep thanks to Terry for his contributions to the dialogue, and
for his generosity in bouncing ideas around.  We both thank the effects of
a Bloody Mary for breakfast.  Thanks also to Rob for his great talents
freely given in correcting text and pinning down ideas.  But most of all I
am so very grateful to the appreciative and enthusiastic readers who have
been so kind as to tell me how much they have enjoyed these Rothenian tales
and the character of Henry, for whom I myself have a great affection.  This
last one is my way of saying how much I value your kindness and interest.
  All my stories are gathered together now on www.iomfats.org, if you would
like to investigate further the characters featured here.
  The story contains graphic depictions of sex between young males.  If the
reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your place of
residence, please leave this site immediately and do not proceed further.
If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.



HENRY IN FINKLE ROAD

by

Michael Arram


I

Freshers' Fair was crowded.  Henry browsed the stalls with difficulty,
grabbing a leaflet here and fruitlessly queuing to talk to society reps
there.  He chatted with a nice girl from Croydon at the Gaming Society
table, but it looked like they were into Warhammer 40K, not the computer
strategy games he was addicted to.  He thought about signing up for the
Men's Hockey trial, but took one look at the fit, broad-shouldered and
cheerful types congregating there and had his doubts.
  Finally, he searched for the ominous table he knew must be around
somewhere, and had no difficulty in finding it.  The hanging rainbow flags
and the huge banner CUSU LGBT EXEC were not attempting to be inconspicuous.
Go for it, Henry, he said to himself.  After all, he had been out since he
was sixteen and had found acceptance as a gay at his boys' school.  How was
university going to be different?  But somehow it was.
  `My name's Manda,' the broad-faced girl smiled tightly up at him. `VP
Lesbian & Gay Affairs,' said her badge.
  Henry was impressed at the amount of metalwork she'd been able to cram
into her face.  Though a sheltered country boy, he was not intimidated by
big city mores.  He'd already seen a lot of life.  `Hi, I'm Henry,' he
said.
  She was scanning his decidedly unfashionable and indeed shabby casual
gear, assessing him.  `Welcome to Cranwell University, Henry,' she replied
after a slight pause.  `When they call us Gaysoc, I suppose you realise we
are not a glee club.'
  `Oh, I'm out ... have been since I was sixteen.  I'm just interested in
what sort of stuff you do.'
  Manda gave another tight little smile.  `Here's the first term's
programme.  We're doing an orientation event and social for freshers
tonight at seven in the small bar at the Union.  Can you make it?'
  `Yeah ... it's the sort of thing I was expecting to do this week.  Will
many people be there?'
  `We usually get about forty or fifty, and there'll be second- and
third-year students who can give you the lowdown on Gay Cranwell, such as
it is.'
  `Well thanks, I'll see you.'
  Manda's answering smile was slightly more relaxed. `Looking forward to
it, Henry.'
  As Henry turned away and shouldered his bag, he noticed that he had been
noticed.  Several people on other tables and in other queues were furtively
inspecting what an out- and-out gay looked like.  He tried to walk butch as
he made his way towards College Road.

Henry breathed the air of freedom deeply.  He had been homesick -- a bit --
after Mum and Dad had dropped him off on Saturday.  There had been a
definite down moment when he waved off the old Volvo and turned back
through the door of the student house in which he was staying.  Yet he was
adapting fast.  He had liberal and tolerant parents whom he loved, but he
was now his own man with his own decisions to make, and he was taking a
guilty sort of pleasure in it.
  The place he lived was no ordinary house.  It was the legendary 25 Finkle
Road.  Although there was no blue plaque on the wall, still it was famous
in certain circles.  Indeed, the unauthorised biographies of Sir Andrew
Peacher and his lover Matthew White included grainy plates of the terraced
house where their famous affair had begun, eight years before.  It was
still owned by Tony White, Matt's dad, a Northampton builder, who now
rented out several houses in the Finkle Road area.  Together, they made him
enough to keep the elder Whites in the Majorcan villa of their dreams.
  Henry was living rent free in No 25 partly in return for keeping it
routinely maintained.  He had the first-floor back room.  The front was
occupied by another student. Of the two loft rooms, one was spoken for and
the other was at his discretion to fill.  Being caretaker made his
university career an easier prospect financially, but he was discovering
that the unpaid duties were more extensive than he had been led to believe.
  He pushed open the front door and waded through the drift of junk mail
and free papers that had somehow accumulated there since he had gone on to
the campus that Tuesday morning.  He called out, `Eddie!  You in?'
  A muffled shout echoed down the stairs from the first-floor front
bedroom.  `Hey, faggot!  You have fun at the fair?'
  `Can't you pick up this crap?  You must have walked over it half a dozen
times since you got up ... if indeed you did get up.'
  `Well fuck me, Henry -- and I mean that figuratively of course -- what
are you for if it ain't to keep the house in order?'
  Henry swore to himself.  The thistles in his field were already
sprouting.  He was sharing the house with Eddie Peacher, son of Richard and
youngest brother of Sir Andrew.  Eddie had staggered to graduation at his
expensive private school in Santa Barbara, and his SAT score had been too
feeble for any respectable US school to look at him twice.  Since his
father had already decided to return to live in the UK, and since Richard
Peacher was probably the richest man in the world, Cranwell was persuaded
that Eddie had turned over a new leaf and was up to a degree course in
English.
  So here Eddie was and here Henry was also, with his four A's at A Level
and a serious work ethic.  That was the other reason for his being shacked
up with Eddie; he was to be a good example.  It was not a marriage made in
heaven, or anywhere remotely celestial.  Henry was not the world's tidiest
eighteen-year-old, but he was appalled by the utter indifference to basic
hygiene and the immediate environment displayed by this American rich boy.
What's more, Eddie seemed to have effortlessly categorised Henry as
belonging to the servant quarters.  It had pissed Henry off to the point of
screaming, and they had only been in the house together since Sunday.
After Henry refused to wash up Eddie's mugs and plates, he discovered that
Eddie wasn't bothered: he just used Henry's clean ones.
  Now Henry was certainly no stranger to cohabitation.  He had lived off
and on with his former boyfriend Ed Cornish, and somehow in the warmth of
their relationship the issues of who was responsible for tidying what had
never registered or even seemed important.  How he regretted ending that
relationship!  It had seemed the right and responsible thing to do when
their departure to different universities was imminent and their
relationship was no longer sustainable.  But if he had really understood
the depths of loneliness and regret that would overwhelm him, he would
never have done it.  Ed was now in Trinity College, Cambridge, making his
own way in a world without Henry.
  Without Henry.  Perhaps the most tragic -- if selfish -- thing for Henry
was that Ed had survived without him.  It had been an edgy final term at
their school, but they had remained polite and even friendly, seeing each
other most school days.  Although Henry had found the courage to pull the
plug on their affair, it had taken a long time for all the warm water to
drain away.  The need for courage came later, when Ed and he had left
school for good at the end of May.  Suddenly Ed was no longer there, not
even glimpsed at a distance.
  It was then that the loneliness had set in.  Always Henry remembered with
longing their last embrace as they left school that final time: Henry
crushed hard by the powerful body of his former lover, nestling almost
unwillingly into the warmth and safety which had been a welcoming refuge
for him for nearly two years.  No kiss, just the brief pressure of that
familiar body against him, and Ed was gone.
  Henry sat in the kitchen and put his head in his hands, wishing he could
weep.  But the time for crying had come and gone.  It was a new world now.
  He jumped when Eddie slumped on to the other kitchen chair. `You making
coffee, dude?'
  `Er ... I had no plans to do that,' he replied.
  `Well, when you do, pour me one.'
  `Can you actually make coffee?'
  `I guess.  I just can't remember the last time I did it.'
  `You could go out and get one from the campus coffee shop.'
  `Too far to walk, dude.'
  Henry was slowly being pushed into unfamiliar territory for him:
rudeness. `Was the phrase "the idle rich" handcrafted for you, Eddie?'
  `Chill out, dude, it can't be more than a semester before they throw me
outta here.  I'm just gonna relax till then.'
  `Did you pick up your timetable?'
  `Timetable?  You mean like a class schedule?  Lectures and stuff, no I
...'
  `That doesn't surprise me, but don't worry, I got it for you.  It's
pinned on the kitchen noticeboard right there, so now you can see what
you're missing.'
  `Cool, Henry...' Eddie was pleasant enough at one level.  He was more or
less unflappable and hardly ever deliberately rude, except that he liked to
call a faggot a faggot.  He was bemused when Henry explained to him that in
Britain a fag was a cigarette and a faggot was a meat dish served with
peas, so why didn't he cut it out.  But, as Eddie said, he loved both his
brothers and they were faggots, so for him it was an affectionate mode of
address.
  Henry shuddered and focussed.  `You coming out for a drink tonight?'
  `Sure dude.  There's a good band at the freshers' event tonight.  It's
amazing the music scene you got goin' on at British universities.  Great
bands -- sometimes really big bands, bands I'd heard of in the US -- and
they're happy to play these small student clubs.  Is it a sorta public
service or something?'
  `I'm going to the faggot -- I mean gay -- freshers' social at seven.  I
can meet you later.'
  `Cool, Henry.  But if you see me with a chick, just pass on by, I don't
want any of your faggotness rubbing off on me.  I'm gonna get my rocks off
tonight, I can just feel it ... here, somewhere.'
  The other thing about Eddie was his utter determination to lose his
virginity at the first opportunity.  Cloistered behind the walls of the
Peacher compound in Santa Barbara or his elite private college, he had not
yet had the chance to do more than jerk off, he said, but now at last he
was on his own and in a student town full of cool English chicks with a
fatal weakness for Americans ... or so he hoped.
  `Maybe I can introduce you to Manda.'
   `She hot?'
  `Blistering.'
  `Maybe I could put the "man" in Manda?'
  `You never know your luck.'

There was something of the parish function about the Gaysoc freshers'
social.  There were tables filled with crisps and cheese straws, boxes of
cheap wine and small groups talking earnestly -- and sometimes desperately
-- but never easily.  Manda had given her welcoming spiel, and now there
were about forty tense eighteen-year-old boys and girls chatting -- for the
first time, in most cases -- with other professed homosexuals of their own
age.  Obviously, boys talked to boys and girls to girls, but it faintly
amused Henry that this should be so.
  Henry found himself with a slight and nerdy boy called Gavin, according
to the name badge posted on his chest.  Gavin had homed in on him
desperately, explaining nervously that he had come out on reaching
university.  He kept taking off and polishing his glasses.
  `You got a boyfriend, Henry?'
  `I did have, but we broke up when we left school.  He's gone to
Cambridge, and I'm here.'
  Gavin gave a grin so strained it bared his teeth. `Opposite ends of the
higher education spectrum.'
  `It wouldn't have worked.  How about you?'
  `No ... I never had the nerve to make a pass at boys I liked.  I couldn't
work out what the signals are.  Isn't there this thing we're supposed to
have, an instinct?'
  `It's a myth.  Only works for really superhot guys who get hit on all the
time.  I'm not superhot.'
  Gavin went all coy.  `I think you're nice.'
  Henry looked at Gavin's specs, spots, bad shave and yellowish teeth and
thought, Oh God, the kid really is desperate, and I certainly am not.
`Well thanks,' he said.  `You want some of the white wine from those boxes?
Just going to get myself one.'
  When he got back, Gavin was talking jerkily to an older male student, who
introduced himself as Wayne, a second year.  Wayne had the ease of a uni
veteran, and was quite amusing if straightforward.
  `So Henry, you a virgin?'
  `Er ... `scuse me?'
  `Had it off?  Been screwed?  Screwed?  Fucked?'
  Henry wondered where this impertinence was going.  `I just broke up with
my boyfriend.  And it wasn't because I wouldn't put out.  That satisfy
you?'
  Henry saw Wayne's appraising gaze sweep his face.  Henry's
self-possession and sexual confidence had already ruled him out of
something Wayne was planning, as it seemed.  Surely this guy was not
intending to pick up and shag an innocent fresher?  That was so gross, and
something the more brainless and libidinous straights did.  But he was in
there with the same question to Gavin, who blushed red and almost dropped
his glasses when he wrenched them off to polish.  After that, Gavin and
Wayne seemed uninterested in talking to Henry, and got closer and closer as
Wayne began what was clearly a seduction scene.
  Henry wandered over to Manda and a slight girl introduced as the
`missus'.  `Who's Wayne?' he asked.
  `Wayne Clanchy, one of the second years.  We don't see him much. I was
surprised he came tonight.'
  `Tell me about the King's Cross,' Henry said, changing the subject.
  Both girls laughed.  `It's Cranwell's excuse for a gay pub,' Manda
answered.  `It's a bit dodgy on one level.  You can find dealers there if
you know who to ask, just don't ask the landlord, a crabby old bastard
called Frank.  Some people say he gives the place character, like those
chefs who go round abusing the guests in their restaurants and people think
it's funny.'
  `Does he take on student bar staff?' Henry asked.
  `You serious?  You are serious, Henry!  He does have barmen, but they
don't seem to last long.  Have you got experience?'
  `Not as such, but one of his former staff can give me a reference.'
  `Go for it, Henry.  Gaysoc meets there from time to time.  It's all there
is as a gay venue in town, so we got no choice, and Frank's sure to fall
down dead one day.'
  Henry laughed.  He could tell that he and Manda were going to get on.
Before he left, he volunteered to be nominated as a first-year rep on the
Gay & Lesbian Union exec.  She gave him a glowing smile and said she wished
they were both straight so she could seduce him.
  Henry popped into the loos as he was on the way to the events bar.  He
found himself next to a very nervous and by now rather drunken Gavin, who
said he was moving on to a pub with Wayne.
  Henry wondered what to say.  The guy was a bit innocent and plainly
trying to kid himself that Wayne was seriously interested in him.  In the
end Henry gave Gavin a level gaze and told him he should remember that he
could say no to anything, and sometimes no was the best tactic.  Gavin just
looked flustered and confused.
  Out in the student events bar, Henry discovered that Eddie Peacher had
found some friends, an amiable and boozy group of wasters not unlike
himself: precociously dissolute first-years who goggled and then laughed at
the gin and tonic Henry had bought.  If nothing else, however, they were
good company.  They were stacking up the empty pint glasses.  Eddie seemed
to be enjoying English beer, and he also seemed to have an abnormal amount
of resistance to it.
  Henry had long ago learned that beer did not agree with him, and had the
strength of character to ignore the opinion of his beer-obsessed peer
group.  Recognising this, perhaps, Eddie's friends welcomed him as an
amiable eccentric, not referring to it more than once every three minutes.
Henry quite enjoyed the evening, and played a decent and enthusiastic game
of pool -- the fruit of a number of wasted afternoons in the sixth-form
common room -- so he was very acceptable as a companion.  But he resisted
their urge to overdo the alcohol and was a lot more sober than Eddie when
the two left the Union and headed up towards Finkle Road.
  As they were passing No. 19, Henry saw a dark figure leaning against an
area wall, and hugging himself round the waist.  Since Finkle Road had
earned the name of Puke Alley from what went on in it during Freshers'
Week, Henry was not surprised at the sight.  But he was surprised to
recognise Gavin from Gaysoc as he passed the figure.
  He stopped.  `You OK, Gavin?  Hey, wait a sec, Eddie.'
  Gavin looked to be in shock.  Henry took him by the shoulder and repeated
the question.  Gavin lurched towards Henry, who found himself holding the
other boy up.
  `Is he wasted?' asked an amused Eddie.
  `Don't think so, although he's had a couple.  Give me a hand getting him
to No 25.'
  They manoeuvred Gavin and sat him on the party wall of the front garden
of the house.  There were tears on Gavin's cheeks.  `Wet myself,' he
sobbed.
 `Jeezuz,' Eddie cursed.  `Dude's a mess.'
  `Open the door, Eddie.  Let's get him in.'
  Eddie was really good and helped Gavin into a chair, then cursed.
`Fuckin' A, Henry.  That's not pee in his pants!'  Eddie's hand was red.
  Henry knelt down and made Gavin focus on his face.  `Gavin, it's
important.  What happened?'
  Tears were streaming down the boy's cheeks.  `I went back to Wayne's flat
and we made out, and he wanted to go the whole way, and ... I said yes.  But
it hurt so much, Henry.  I didn't think it would be like that.  I yelled
and cried and he got angry and told me to get out.'
  `You mean he did anal with you just like that, with no preparation?  The
total bastard!  You're a virgin for Chrissake.'
  Gavin sobbed, `I was ... he just kept pumping into me till he ... y'know.
What's happened?  My pants are full of blood.  Oh Christ.'
  Eddie was furious.  `What a total asshole, dude ... that was rape!'
  Henry wasn't going to debate consent and its meaning.  `Gavin, he's torn
the anal wall inside you, that's where the blood's coming from.  We've
gotta get you to hospital, and now.'
  `No!' Gavin sobbed.  `I can't ... it's too embarrassing.  It'll get better
... won't it?'
  `Sorry, Gavin.  Eddie, the number's 999 here, not 911.'
  `Please!' Gavin said urgently.  `What if my mum and dad find out?'
  `You'll be OK, Gavin, but only if you let the doctors help.  You're
losing a lot of blood.'
  It was a pig of a night.  The hospital casualty unit was crowded.  The
receptionist was not happy about a tearful boy bleeding all over her
carpet.  The doctor was clinical and not overly sympathetic.  `Did you do
this to him?' she asked Henry.
  `No.  I'm his friend.  I found him bleeding in the street.'
  She got Gavin stripped and on his stomach.  He had by then subsided and
endured her examination as patiently as he could.  His face was soiled with
the dirt from tears and smears of his own blood.  The doctor searched
around inside Gavin, which was very painful for him, and he moaned and
gripped Henry's hand so hard Henry almost yelped.
  Finally, she removed her finger from Gavin.  `The blood flow's easing.
It's a tear high up.  Someone must have entered him with real force.  Was
this a rape?'
  Henry shook his head.  `No, just a supremely selfish son of a bitch out
to have fun at Gavin's expense.  Will he be OK?'
  `I'll do what I can to stem the flow and it should heal up naturally.
But he's going to have to go on heavy antibiotics.  Keep him off solid food
and make him stay in bed for a couple of days.  Is there anyone to look
after him?'
  `Er ... there's his parents.'
  Gavin sobbed, `No, please Henry.  Please!'
  `And apparently there's me.  I'll look after him.'
  Gavin looked up at him gratefully, if tragically.

Eddie and Henry got Gavin back to Finkle Road by taxi at three in the
morning, dressed in old hospital pyjamas, his stained clothes in a bag.
Henry made up the bed in the empty front loft room, and found a plastic
sheet to put on to protect the mattress. Eddie washed Gavin's dirty face
and found him some clean boxers to wear in bed.  Henry sat with Gavin till
he fell asleep, and looked at him sadly.  Without his glasses, Gavin looked
more like a waif than a geek, and Henry's soft heart was moved.  If he'd
had a teddy bear, he would have put it in the bed for Gavin to snuggle up
to.  He kissed the boy lightly on the forehead when he put the light out.
Poor kid, he thought.  That might have been me if I hadn't found a lover
like Ed when I did.