by Rafael Henry

Chapter 46

Thinking of saying goodbye.

The letter was on the hall table. A plain white envelope. Otta must have put it there. The postage stamp looked different; foreign. I looked at it carefully, the old man with a beard sitting in front of the boat and what looked like a deer standing on a rock in the background. Then I looked down; postmarked Helsinki, Finland.

I stared at the envelope in my hand, frozen and fearful.

Otta came home about nine that evening, tired and ready for bed. I hadn't eaten anything. The boys were both in bed and asleep. They'd been to swimming club which always tires them, especially after a long school day in warm weather. I watched my lover undress, and when naked, he looks as lovely as ever. He bends down to pick up socks and pants giving me one of those views of him. He knows I like that. I walk over to him, kiss the back of his neck, something of a signal between us, ever since our own schooldays. Old habits die hard. He must have noticed when he walked into the room, how I looked. He knows something has happened.

'What is it Jon?' He asks turning towards me.

'I've had a letter. From Finland.' I answer, trying to hold on.


'Yes. I need you my darling boy, I need you rather badly. You know I love you don't you?'

He smiles, and looks down at me. He knows, and he's never denied me when I've needed him.


'Yes, now.'

It was a strange mixture of sadness, joyfulness, and the relief of some closure, and of course the joy of sex with someone to whom I'm intensely attracted.

It wasn't the prettiest event we ever shared, rather coarse I suppose, and one sided. Success for me, not much for him, came in due course, along with some heavy and hot breathing. One of those I'm afraid. I get like this every now and again when I see Otta more of an object, a receptacle, rather than my lover, just to be lustfully filled. Then of course I'm all over him, showering him with affection and remorse. To be crude and rather old-fashioned, he's always been a wonderful fuck. There, I've said it. And the other way around, just as good.

As I finished, I turned my head towards the door thinking it might be one of the boys woken up and needing us. It wasn't. Just the door ajar and a fleeting shadow with a smile on his face, and the gentle wave of a hand. Perhaps he's saying it's time to say goodbye?

I'm looking down at my lover, tears dropping onto his face, those round eyes unblinking looking up into mine. I've filled him the best way I could ever think of doing, as his body rose up to envelope mine, so many times, so hard, bone against bone, external and internal sexes together, and then the final ecstatic thrusts from us both. We learnt what each other likes a long time ago. The Beginners Guide has a lot to answer for.

'Stay in me please. For a while?'

We're collapsed together, a pile of flesh, faces hot, warm breath everywhere, saliva escaped, sexes still hard, his wet and wanting, mine spent within him. It always takes us a while to get over matters as intense as this was.

'When can you tell me Jon?'

'They found the plane. Almost intact. They were all still in it.'

'Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry.'

'It was good of them to tell me. Now I know, but it's hard.'

I had put the letter in the drawer. I'll keep it until there's an appropriate moment, a right time, if ever.

'They were on a sight-seeing tour of the lakes. There was a problem with the engine and the pilot tried to land on one of the huge stretches of water, but there was damage when the wheels touched the surface of the water; too much damage. The plane must somersaulted to break up like it did. The funeral was in the old church at Petajavesi. Read the letter if you want to.'

He did. That night I went in to see the boys, and have a cry. I suppose in some bizarre way I still had hope, which begets the joy of being miraculously reunited. Quite ridiculous of course. I knelt by the bedside as I have done before a few times when I need to speak to them without them hearing my words. They're asleep and sharing again, and why not. Wulff has his arm around his 'brother', as he likes to call him, a hand on his abdomen, Petroc slightly curled up with his hands held under his chin. A kind of classic 'post loving' kind of pose without any signs that it has happened. All we can do is to go on as we are, working hard for their progress in life, taking each step as we go. With any luck, and the help of a few other people along the way, both boys will realise the potential that both Otter and I think they have. School days come often when you're in the thick of it, and weeks and weeks to the next holiday. Wulff has laid out uniforms for tomorrow, two neat piles, and he has remembered to put out the new jumper for Petroc. Well done Wulffy.

Boy who have lived and loved. That will be most of us, or at the very least, some of us.

I went into the boys' room this morning to wake them. I love these moments. Petroc must have heard my approach along the creaky landing floor because I caught sight of him out of Wullf's bed and about to jump into his own as I opened the bedroom door. He stops when he realises there's no point pretending, and stands looking at me wide eyed in plain tee shirt that stops well short of modesty. The boy makes a fine early morning sight, a 'just woken up' predicament if you like, not that I haven't seen it before, that soft little vermicular form turned into a hot and rampant upstanding bone. Indeed a beautiful thing to behold. None of us have ever made any secret of how we feel at certain times, our bodies giving away that particular secret, otherwise invisible evidence of our intimate and private thoughts and desires. No, from us no secrets are hid! And certainly not that kind. Show us boys, and be seen, and be proud of what nature has given you. But what you do with it, if anything, is entirely your business boys, not ours.

I've been pondering the boys' relationship for a while now. The exact nature of it, and where it has got too. They share the same bed more often than not. But that's for mutual comfort and warmth. A cuddle before sleep. Neither I nor Otta have ever tried to find out more, and certainly Wulff has never volunteered anything that might lead us to a conclusion. I know at that age what I was doing, and deriving the deepest satisfaction from it. We were capable of a loving relationship, even then, as I've explained earlier. A physical, alright, a sexual response seemed perfectly natural to us, a simple and enjoyable extension to a friendship. It's not something we should never encourage in our two boys, but if it happened, and if I'm perfectly honest, what would be, would be alright.

I knelt by Petroc's bed as he pulled the chill covers up and over his body. He looks like he's been caught out; that expression boys have on their faces, like they've just done something they shouldn't have. His brown eyes are wide and round as he waits for my admonition. But there's no telling off coming his way, just my hand gently placed on his forehead. He feels quite warm, his mouth open, his breathing deep.

'Are you alright sweetheart?' I ask, very quietly, my fingers moving through the boy's hair. His eyes, round, are focused on mine.

There's a tentative nod, eyes staring.

'Has something happened; just now?' I ask shamefully, feeling the very beginnings of arousal. No response. Just the eyes.

'What darling? What's happened?'

Breakfast was a quiet affair with little or no conversation. That's unusual. The boys are in their uniforms, and just as Otta would have it, immaculate. We are blessed with a good one, tasteful and not too expensive so all the boys conform. That is a good thing.

Petroc went off to brush his teeth and left me with Wulff. He always knows when I have some sort of issue with him.

'I just need a word Wulff. I'm a bit concerned about Petroc. I caught him leaving you this morning and bolting for his own bed. Is there anything wrong?'

'No Jon. I knew you'd get like this.' He says, on the edge of getting cross with me.

'You worry too much about us Jon. He's a boy just like me if you hadn't noticed. You were one once, probably. Don't you remember anything? He's just doing…….I don't know, boys things now. He just wants to know what's going on. It's all quite new to him. Let him find out for himself.'

'Find out…….what?'

'Oh, what you found out at his age. Probably……or maybe not. You sound like you never did.'

'Oh dear, have I hit a nerve there Wulff? Sorry.'

'No. Why can't you let me look after him?'

And then, like a bolt from the blue………

'Who is Lael?'

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