Date: Wed, 29 Nov 2000 18:20:26 -0000
From: Jamie <virus@dial.pipex.com>
Subject: Chris-and-Jamie  Chapter 12

Same stuff - don't read this is u r underage or u don't like reading stories
of love between two boys.

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To Luke; whose wonderful stories keep me writing.

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`Where the fuck did you learn to play music?' Chris shouted up to the organ
loft, which made everyone crease up in giggles. I had hit a sharped note for
the third time in succession.

The conductor glared at Chris and then raised his head too, to hear the
inevitable response.

`Drop dead!' Was the best thing that I could come up with at that point.
Granted it wasn't as good as it could have been, but I was stressed.

We had been practising for the traditional Christmas performance of Handel's
Messiah in the Cathedral. For the first two hours everything went okay, but
as it neared the fifth the rehearsal was really going downhill.

`Okay, we go again.' The conductor bellowed up to me.

I braced myself to repeat the chorus "For Unto us a Child Is Born" for the
fourth time. Bending over the keys, I could see Chris wetting his lips --
preparing to put them to the mouthpiece of the flute. I envied the piece of
silver metal and cursed the Cathedral for letting me see this display.
Since the organist had to be able to watch the ceremonies that were taking
place in the nave below a complex consignment of mirrors were rigged in the
organ loft. I could see the whole south side of the Cathedral from this one
spot.

Chris had finished priming himself and his soft lips met the metal head on,
sinking into the thick instrument. I snapped out of it in time to see the
conductor raise his hand, signalling the beginning of the piece. I ploughed
through it furiously, trying to rid my mind of the image; it kept recurring
every time I looked at the score I could see Chris staring back at me -- the
sly grin on his face. It was beginning to freak me out.

The last chord was played and we were released for the night.

I looked down at my watch and "12:08 am" flashed back at me. Turning in my
seat I heard a knock at the tiny door and saw Chris scramble through it and
crawl to where I was sitting. Dragging himself up, he perched in my lap.

`What wrong? You don't usually play like that.' He grinned. `Need someone to
fiddle with your diapasons?' He began to giggle at the age-old organist joke
that went of of fashion in the mid 19th century.

`I dunno, just tired I think.' I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on Chris.

The head moved in and Chris joined our lips. They opened immediately and his
tongue darted into my mouth whole-heartedly. I brought my hands to his back,
and then let them slide down and mould against his firm butt. The pressure
coming from my groin was unimaginable, and I never thought it would stop.

It did as a loud shout came from the High Altar.

`You two, get your asses down here now!' That signified the conductor wanted
to go home to bed and needed to lock up.

We clambered down the small ladder into the choir stalls and met scurried to
the east wing door. Once outside, I pushed Chris against a cloister and
grabbed at him again and again. He pulled my head towards his, but I
relented and swerved to meet his aching groin. Pulling down the zipper, I
crashed onto the prize I had released. All of hell's hordes could not have
pulled me away from that now. The long flute moved sweetly into my mouth and
I sucked it down into my throat. Chris couldn't stand the ecstasy and cried
out in exultation. I reached up and clamped a firm hand over his mouth.

I could feel him building. Just then a cloud passed over the moon and the
cloisters fell into total darkness. Chris began to heave his hips back and
forth, fucking my mouth again and again. I was also rapidly losing control,
but I held on just in time to wring him dry. The sweet juice burst into my
mouth and I savoured it's taste.

Panting, he looked down and sunk to the ground next to me. I could wait for
my turn. We eventually got to our feet and trudged the muddy path to the
road.

`What do we do now?' Chris turned to me as we were walking.

`Well I'm going to bed -- I dunno about you.'

`I didn't mean that, doofus. I mean about my Dad. What do you think he'll
say? I know he wants us to spilt up.'

This stopped me dead in my tracks. I couldn't believe what I had just heard,
I should have known it could get this bad.

`We can fight.' I said, and resumed walking, quickening the pace of my
steps.

Chris ran up behind me, trying to keep pace and we entered the house by the
side door, so as not to set off the electric bell, which sounds whenever the
front door is opened. The interior of the house was dark, and there was no
light shining from upstairs. A strange occurrence, since my parents almost
always left the landing light on. We crept to the foot of the stairs and saw
my Father at the foot of the stairs. The tears were falling out of the
corners of his eyes, and he was held in the tight grip of Paul.

Eileen came out of the kitchen, that moment, with three cups of tea
perfectly balanced on a white tray. She set them down on the hall table and
tried to give one to my Father, who wouldn't take it. My Mother came down
the stairs and stopped -- staring at Chris and I.

`What the hell is going on?' Chris asked, bursting the silence like a
balloon that had just been pricked with a fine needle.

Eileen stopped her attempts at getting my Father to drink and turned to us
slowly.

`James...' She never called me James, no one ever did. `...your grandparents
were in a car crash. It was serious -- neither survived the collision. I'm so
sorry.'

The world began to become hazy, I had a vague notion of Chris catching me as
I fell, but that was all I could remember that night.

My Father again declined the tea and reached instead for the brandy.

------------------------------------------------

`Jamie, are you okay?' Chris coaxed me out of sleep as he stroked my arm
gently.

I sat bolt upright, staring around me at my own bedroom. I recognised
everything, except for the emptiness within me -- that's when I knew it was
no dream.

`They're dead; aren't they?' I asked of Chris, who slowly nodded his assent
with tears rolling down his cheeks and onto the green linen. All I could
think of was my Father, and how heart-broken he would be. There hadn't been
a time when he wasn't attending to one of them; helping them with everything
that he could. Now this had been ripped from his, in one insane gesture from
a really fucked-up god.

He gripped my arm and pulled me back to the bed. I felt the warm blanket
envelop me and I was contented with cuddling up to Chris and just lying,
watching the whole world go by.

`Did you speak to Paul?' I asked Chris. He looked down at the bed and began
to pull a loose thread off of one of the sheets.

`I couldn't face him, Jamie. I scared to death he'll do something to me.' I
recognised the genuine panic in his eyes and pulled him closer still.

`What are you going to do?' I asked gingerly.

`I have no idea. Wait until he comes around. I have no idea what will happen
to us if he doesn't though.' Chris voiced the thought that both of us had
been dreading. `He wants to take us back to America -- just Mom and me. Said
he wants to live in Washington again, and be a part of it all. It's just a
load of shit to get me away from you. He think I caught something off of you
or something.'

I couldn't imagine life without Chris. Looking into my mind I saw the plane
taking off. I knew that all three of them were on it and that it was heading
for America -- never to come back. The tears began to start, but I choked
them back, for Chris's sake.

`Don't go, Christopher. I love you too much.' He buried his head in my chest
and began to cry. The tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes and rolled
down my chest to my abdomen, where they dried up and vanished from view.

The pain was getting too much. I got up, wrapped the bed sheet around my
waist and departed. Chris pulled on his bathrobe and hurried after me. I
descended the stairs and found my Dad with some people around him at the
dining-room table.

`...and so, Your Grace, you now inherit the title and all the territories to
the Duchy of Nottingham.' They had concluded.

Seeing the tears in my Dad's eyes I rushed to him. They stared at me, and my
eyes came up to meet theirs.

`And this must be the new, young Earl. Good morning, young man -- did you
sleep well?' Did I just hear that right? Did this stupid idiot with the
mismatching suit and the bad hair day just call me an Earl?

Dad turned to me to confirm it.

`James...James...You know that Granddad was the Duke of Nottingham, don't you?'
I nodded; knowing vaguely that it had been mentioned in passing. I thought
nothing of it -- it was a joke at the time. `When granddad died, I inherited
the title and my eldest son inherits the courtesy title. That means that you
are now Earl of Sandringham.'

My mouth fell open and was joined by Chris's.

Soon, I remembered where I was. I began to stammer and stutter; running out
of the room I collapsed onto the sofa in a hail of sobs. I couldn't
understand why it had to be me. Why did my grandfather have to die? Why not
somebody else's? Why? Why? Why?

Chris came up behind me and stroked my back, trying to reassure me.

`Jamie, it happens to everyone. Don't blame yourself.'
`I don't want him to be dead; I don't want to be an Earl. I want to have him
and Dad and Mom and you and no one else. I don't want you to go to America.
I never asked for any of this, I don't want it!'

I had broken down. The roomed dazed me and began to spin. I could see my
Grandfather's face staring at me. The wrinkles at his mouth gave way to lips
that were like a sea of blood. Tiny droplets of water had formed at the
edged of his eyes. Looking at me, he winked and the room clouded again, to
be replaced by my grandmother. I could hear her voice ringing in my ears.

`Pack what you think you'll need, and then take half of it out again.'

The apparition vanished. I closed my eyes and tried to accept what was, and
what couldn't be changed.

`Jamie, no one's going to America.' The words floated softly through the
air, as though they had some healing powers. They glided to my ears and my
brain recognised them.

I jumped up and asked Paul what he meant. The story went thus: he and Dad
had sat down last night and had a long chat about our relationship. They had
come to the decision that it was no one's fault and that there was nothing
wrong with being gay. Paul had accepted it; moreover he had accepted his son
and I were lovers.

My tears dried instantly and I gave a yelp of pure joy. The hug that Chris
and I entered into was not broken for a full seven minutes, in which time we
had squeezed the life out of both of us.

Chris broke the embrace and stared at me.

`What?' I asked in bewilderment.

`If you're the new Earl of Sandringham, does that make me a Countess?' He
batted his eyelids, grinned and I threw a cushion at him.


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Did you like this one? You'll have to wait for chapter 12 to see what
happens between Chris and his Dad.

The names (apart from mine and Chris's) have been changed to protect
individuals.
We're always around, so e-mail us if you have any questions you want to ask
someone about being gay/lesbian. We're open to both older or younger
readers. We're always ready to listen.

Messages will be taken in confidence.

Virus@dial.pipex.com