The Persistence of Memory
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 4
I asked Duncan if he was ready to go to the park.
'It's ten thirty. There should be a few down there by now.'
'Shall I take my bike Alex?'
'No. We can just sit and watch when you get tired of the swings or climbing this that and the other.'
'Do you think he'll come?'
'It's Saturday. He's probably got nothing else to do Duncan.'
All the play equipment is built on a shock absorbing semi-hard surface, beyond which is the usual grass area dotted with metal seats wide enough for four bodies. At one end is the slide built up on a bank, and in the middle, two high platforms between which a wire is strung with a handle attached so that kinders can hold and push themselves off from one end and slide along to the other. A sort of zip wire arrangement. Great fun if you're tall enough. Frustrating if you're not.
The park is situated close to the granite church of Poverty S. Erth, twelfth century, with its painted barrel vaulted ceiling and square and squat pinnacled tower with menacing looking gargoyles and some of the most ancient tomb stones in the churchyard I've ever seen. So, with a collection of yew trees, it makes for a sinister place for an evening wander in the twilight, or darkness.
I tried to wake Duncan at two minutes to seven this morning. He was still asleep and reluctant to wake up. I gave in to the temptation to have a quick look at what might be going on under the duvet. Every time I see it like that, I wonder who it might be joined with, soon I hope. I know he's desperate for a real friend to share his life with here, apart from us. We can go so far with regard to his well-being but there's a point beyond which we can't help. He badly needs a friend to confide in and share experiences with. I think, just as Garth does, that Robbie Mole would be ideal. Roughly the same age and stage of maturity, or rather immaturity, and more than likely, having similar thoughts as all boys have at this stage of their development. Their bodies are beginning to ask questions of them, and urgently need answers. We give them words, and books that will help them on their way, but a good friend is a massive bonus to have.
With a little sartorial advice from me, Duncan went out looking as attractive as ever, all in white and ready to step onto the pitch for Real Madrid. His shorts were just transparent enough, chosen by Garth. It's all very deliberate. The material they use. Any more and it would be too obvious, and he might as well not bother with the shorts at all and just wander about in his knickers. With his post summer September tan, he looked just right for another encounter with the 'bike boy' Robbie.
We sat on the seat facing slightly away from the play area which, by ten thirty and the weather set fair, was getting busier by the minute. The zip wire construction was proving popular with a couple of athletic girls which had caught Duncan's attention.
'Goodness, they're good at that.' I said, which drew no response from Duncan. Another girl in a pretty floral summer dress was practicing her 'up and over' somersaults to good effect.
'Can you do those?' I ask. Again, no answer. I know what he's waiting for.
Ten minutes later we saw him come up the slight hill from the road on his bike and pedal towards us. He had clearly seen Duncan on the seat and he was making for us. He turns the handle bars sharply and stops in front of us with one foot on the ground, the other raised high on the opposite pedal. The elderly looking bike is really too big for him, no doubt a free cast off from another village family. It reminded me of those boys at S. Endellion who sat cross legged on the grass and the pleasant view it gave the casual observer. Up to a certain age, boys were not allowed to wear kinder unterhose under their white shorts, an odd and petty regulation, but one I heartily approved of.
Our bike boy sits uncomfortably on the narrow sport style saddle, 'dressing' as the tailors say, to his left, the left leg up on the pedal, which for the likes of me is perfect. A perfect view of what normally is not on view, one slightly squished kinder balle and bike boy's creamy length of kinderkock, being the very same that Duncan had the exciting pleasure of perusing the day before. But that is far from all the visual delights that this boy has to offer the world.
'Hi.' The boy says. It's not exactly a smile, but it's an expression mixed with a question.
'Hi.' Duncan responds very promptly.
Then there's an awkward silence before I step in.
'Hello. Robbie isn't it? I'm Alex. Duncan is living with us at the moment. He tells me you had a bit of an accident yesterday?'
The boy nods, and pulls up the hem of his grubby white school PE shorts to reveal an ugly round bruise very high up his left thigh, now turning a shade of thunder blue, mauve and yellow.
'Goodness, that looks uncomfortable. Does it hurt?'
'Yes, a bit.' The boy answers, moving his leg further away from the crossbar.
'Have you tried arnica?'
'What's that?' He says, looking down whilst lifting his shorts leg even higher. The bruise is at least a couple of inches wide.
'It's a plant extract that's very good for treating bruises like your one.' I said, gesturing towards the injury. 'You need to put something on it. It will ease the discomfort for you. What do you think Duncan?'
Duncan nods.
'Would you like to sit down Robbie? There's plenty of room.' I said, moving along the seat leaving a generous space between Duncan and I. The boy lays the bike down on the grass and joins us. He leans back with his fingers spread out, gingerly laying them on the bruised area, studying it, his long hair held back by a hairband that neatly fits behind his ears. Duncan appears quite unable, or too anxious to contribute, so if we are to progress this thing, it's up to my people skills. Well that's ok with me. We have a potential friend here and we're not going to miss out if I have anything to do with I, but it's going to take some work. So, here goes.
'Do you live in in the village Robbie?' I say, as a start.
'Yes. Tregenna Cottages. The end one nearest the church. My dad is a gardener. Ralph Mole.'
'Oh yes, I think I know of him. A very good gardener I've heard. Is it just you two that live there?
'My dad and my sister. She's over there.' He says pointing to the slide. She looks a little older than Robbie as she careers down the shiny metal, polished by a thousand kinder bottoms, and coming to an abrupt halt, knees apart, as the heels of her tatty white gym shoes dig in. Like her brother. She's dressed in a dark blue tee shirt and white shorts that look like they haven't seen the inside of the washing machine for a while, if they have one. Poverty S. Erth is not a gentrified village by any means and most of the inhabitants live very frugally, and those that have jobs, slightly less frugally. It's a great place to hear the local Cornish accent. It was in this village, so they say, that the last native speaker of the Cornish language lived, one John Mann. It's clear that Ralph Mole doesn't waste too much money on his kinder's hair, not that Robbie looks any the worse for his long golden locks; quite the opposite in fact. It's stunning, all held back by the hairband as it slips neatly behind his ears.
'School in Truro then Robbie?'
'Your school. I've seen you walking about sometimes. I'm in Year Seven. Or I was.'
'Oh brilliant. I haven't noticed you yet.' I said, amazed that I haven't noticed him. Perhaps it's his size, and his head doesn't reach above the others. He looks very small for his year. I'd have put him very much still at primary school.
'No one notices me. Anyway they won't see me much longer.' Says the light voice in that wonderful Cornish accent, his sky-blue eyes, turquoise almost, dancing in the morning light. I associate Cornish boys and girls with very dark Celtic colouring; a touch of Spanish perhaps, Armada survivors, like Wales, far across the Bristol Channel. But with Robbie, everything is a shade of gold. The Golden Mole.
'We won't see you then Robbie?'
'No. I've got to leave. Dad can't afford it. The bus and everything else. We have to pay loads for it. And the uniform. Dad doesn't earn enough.' Robbie says disconsolately, his head lowered. Duncan looks at his new friend. I know what he's thinking.
'Look Robbie. We have some arnica at home. Why don't you two have a play on the swings, and then come back with us for some squash or something. I'm sure the arnica will help.'
Boys like Robbie don't get given much. When he gets an offer, he's not going to refuse.
'Can I?' He says, his face lighting up.'
Robbie jumped up off the seat, in his obvious joy, and began a gymnastic routine including handstands, rolls and finally a series of forward tumbles, those up and right over moves that athletic girls are so good at. It was a 'look at me' routine I suspect aimed at both me and in particular, Duncan. I'm impressed. I doubt if he weighs much more than two-thirds what Duncan weighs. Finally the boy stands before us with his arms held high with a huge grin on his pretty face.
We spontaneously clapped enthusiastically, as Robbie pulls off his tee shirt revealing his very spare torso, his rib cage delineated perfectly, his navel prominent, set back, a small tight knot of hard skin. Then he removes his hair band causing his hair to fall into its natural pattern, a parting to his left. Robbie pushes his 'spun gold' hair behind his ears and looks back at us once more, and pulls at the waistband of his shorts, lifting them higher.
'Goodness me Robbie! You're quite the gymnast. Is that your best subject at school?'
'One of them.' He says, smiling. 'Will you hold my feet please Duncan?'
Whereupon Robby executes the handstand as Duncan gets up off the bench to do as he was told, now holding Robbie's ankles, and looking down. Robbie's hair a cascade of gold, obeying gravity, in parts, ten inches long, his legs reaching for the blue sky.
Duncan, spellbound, looks down and sees where the boy's slender limbs meet in the middle. Obeying orders once more, he moves the boy's ankles even wider apart. He sees the darker globe-like textured pouch that contains the two oval forms that are Robbie's kinderballes, and lying to one side, the smooth and oddly tanned Kinderpenis. Duncan lets go of Robbie's ankles as the boys brings his legs together again, feet touching, and points his toes, and elegantly lowers himself back to a standing position. More applause. Such beauty under perfect control.
The boys run off together towards the play equipment. A warm glow of satisfaction runs through me. This is the moment of discovery, and with any luck at all, a true friendship is about to be formed.
'Catch me Duncan.' Robbie shouts as he hangs off the climbing frame. He doesn't need to be rescued at all, but he wants Duncan to hold him. When Robbie lets himself go, releasing his grip on the metal bar supporting his weight, Duncan is ready and waiting. He gently takes the boy's weight, just one hand under Robbie's firm kinderboden, the other around his tummy, the muscles tight and hard. Duncan feels his heart leap, for want of a better word.
'Carry me.' Robbie orders.
Robbie's face is firmly against Duncan's chest as he is carried back to the seat where I'm still sitting. He can feel Duncan's hand under him, just a thin layer of material between skin and bare skin. I've watched the kinder play for ten minutes now, and enjoyed it. Not just my two boys, but others too. The athletic, the naturally sweet and easy movers, and the less confident as they look up at the experts at these games, doing their beautiful things together. I've noticed that Robbie's early autumn tan doesn't stop where his shorts end. I'm sure it goes all the way. It's harder to tell with his sister, as she executes another hand stand, just to prove that her younger brother isn't the only one who can do these things with such ease and control.
'Can Rob come back to ours please?' Duncan asks, both boys looking at me. It's a warm Saturday morning, and windless. The boys' bodies shine after their activities.
'Maybe Robbie would like to try the arnica? I'm sure it would help.'
We had to pass by his stone cottage, Robbie wheeling his old bicycle that was a size too big for him, the end one of a row of four two up and two down eighteenth century cottages constructed of the local granite. His father Ralph was in the tiny front cottage style garden weeding so it was the perfect opportunity to meet him formally and introduce myself again. He had done some casual work for Dad some time back but I hadn't seen him for ages. I had once asked my father how old he thought he was, which made him shoot me an odd glance. Why would I want to know a detail like that? I thought him a very handsome man. I'd let slip something about myself I rather regretted, then. Not now. It had always been boys thus far that had acted out their parts in my night time thoughts, not a man. There had been a man who once was the object of my admiration. Once. Quintus Beer.
Ralph Mole didn't notice us until Robbie called out…..
'Hi Dad.' Ralph stood up and turned around, a small long handled garden fork in his hand. On a warm early autumn morning, he's stripped off to the waist wearing unlaced heavy brown boots with last winter's dried red Cornish mud still on them. At the top of his nut-brown legs were his gardening shorts, the waistband rolled up like footballers do, and below that, a man's equipment that has, still, a certain reputation in the village. He'd gone out with most of the local girls. The first one he'd gone with, aged twelve, got a shock whilst playing with him in the long grass one afternoon, when he came whilst they lay together, wetting the dress he had his hand up, inside, playing with her kinder parts. She liked what he was doing and began rubbing Robbie even harder. He didn't say anything as he felt everything begin to move in his bottom, and then it all welled up and so began that rush of warm liquid along the wide tube inside his penis, and out into the world. He gasped as it all pumped out in several pulses, all over Sissy's hand and her pretty summer dress pulled up to show her tummy. She was otherwise occupied with her own feelings as Ralph's fingers carried on rubbing her whizzy bits in lovely satisfying circles, so didn't realise what had happened. On her knees now, her knickers around her ankles, she looks down at Ralph, still long and hard, his hands behind his head, his tummy shining in the afternoon light. She'd talked with the other girls about what boys could do, but she had never seen it happen. It wasn't just girls that saw what he could do. Word had got around and a couple of boys were interested, and persuaded Ralph to perform for them too. Ralph just laid back and let them do the work. One of the boys did do the work, in a way that no girl that he knew would. After this spectacular revelation, that boy was allowed several goes in the weeks to come.
'So who's this then Robbie? Demands Ralph, leaning tiredly on the fork. Garth always dealt with household and gardening arrangements as he has more time than Dad.
'You're Sean and Garth's son aren't you?'
'Yes. We met Robbie at the park this morning.'
'Where's Rosie?'
'She's still at the park.'
'So where are you off to now Rob?' His father asks with an air of suspicion. He knows that Robbie is not always straight with him.
'Can I go to Duncan's house?'
'Why?'
'Just to play for a while.' Robbie answers, all innocence.
'Ok. Tell Rosie where you're going.'
That was it, and so easy. Robbie would be out all day on Saturdays, rain or shine, summer or winter. Resourceful because he had to be, he always found something to do to keep him out of the house.
Robbie was happy to sit sideways on Duncan's lap with one arm around his new friend's neck to have the arnica applied to the bruise situated awkwardly right at the top of his left inner thigh, almost in his groin. It would have been easier to have removed his shorts altogether but instead Robbie pulls the material towards the other leg so revealing the multi-coloured area of bruising and the beginnings of the boy's kinder pouch, the much darker textured skin, in in plain sight, his kinderkock safely tucked inside.
Hanging from the bar, his legs dangling, Robbie asked Duncan to catch him before the weight of his body made him let go. Duncan was ready and waiting to take the boy's weight with one hand under his bottom and the other around his back. The boy felt much lighter than he was expecting, his bottom firm in his palm. Duncan moves his fingers trying to confirm what he already thought to be the case. No sign of unterhose. No thin or thick seams to feel and excite him. He would trace the lines in both directions, outwards towards the hips and inwards between the legs, and then if he dared, he would have gone further in. Robbie wore his kinder undergarment for the school week only. At weekends it was a needless expense Ralph thought. The boy didn't need such niceties at weekends for heaven's sake, and he saw no point in wearing out the washing machine. It was expensive, and the last thing his estranged wife bought, oddly enough. She was always spending the money they didn't have. Pissed off with his essential parsimony, she left him for pastures new. Somewhere in Truro he thought. She would find another man to relieve of his money…….she thought.
Duncan held Robbie up for longer than he thought Robbie would want him to. But Robbie, when asked if he wanted to be put down, clung on all the harder, gripping Duncan with his legs like some limpet, and his arms too, tight around Duncan's neck. So he just carried the far lighter boy, despite being less than a year younger, around the play area with them both laughing. Duncan was elated because he liked Robbie already. He's a boy who knows when he likes someone. At the Hut on S. Endellion Cove for example, when he was introduced to John and his brother Richard. He and Richard, with his good looks and tactile body, got on brilliantly from the off, sharing the bedroom, and when either of them felt the need, the bed too. In those precious weeks soaking up the Cornish sun and sea air, they shared lots of things as Duncan learnt so much from Richard, who had learnt from his elder brother, John, who had learnt from me.
'I don't mind if it hurts Ricky.' He had said, not knowing what to expect.
It was exactly what Duncan wanted, very badly. To please Richard in the best way he possibly could. Richard didn't want to stop. He went on until everything was done.
John had taught him how, and well. All the subtle touches and movements. Then Richard tried it all out on John. He was a natural.
Duncan had felt it all, just as it happened. It's a new thing for Duncan. So intense.
Finally Duncan gently lowers his new boyfriend to the ground, Robbie's small hands slowing the descent by holding on to Duncan's arms, the boys' fronts together and touching. At one truly delicious moment, the two kinderkocks said hello as they passed each other, especially for 'no knickers' Robbie. The thin material of those shorts allowed him to experience the firm knob against his, inside Duncan's pants. Robbie looks at Duncan with a smile.
'Again!' Demands Robbie, with that naughty glint in his eyes.
Duncan, his hands just under the boy's armpits, lifts his new friend up above him, and gently lowers him, now one hand taking the weight under his bottom. Down he comes a little further until the two kindersexes are opposite each other, and holds him there. Duncan adjust his hold on the boy, his one hand now directly central between the buttocks. Robbie holds on not wanting to slide down any further. He's in the perfect place now. Duncan pulls him harder towards his own body allowing Robbie's to move slightly down, and then raises the boy just the right amount, and then lowers him again creating a firm friction between them.
The effort had both boys a little breathless, and when Duncan looks down, there's a difference in Robbie. Not much but there is a difference now. At a tricky time for these two, natural urges less under control these days, it can happen just like that. It did at the Hut down at S. Endellion Cove. Lying on his front on the warm sand had its effect on the boys, so when they turn over, all knowing and smiling, what has been soft is now hard, what was short is now long, what was asleep is now fully awake and expectant.
I found the arnica in the bathroom cabinet where various unguents and over-the-counters medicines are kept. The boys were in the kitchen, Duncan in an easy chair in one corner, Robbie standing and waiting. This is going to be interesting.
'If you sit in Duncan's lap Rob……..yes like that, but with your legs outside his…….yes that's perfect.'
Robert Mole did exactly as he was told, sitting in Duncan's lap, his arms by his sides, as I held the small open jar of the arnica, the camphorous odour beginning to pervade the room. In front of the two boys, and with Robbie's legs wide apart, his grubby shorts were an inadequate barrier to my noticeing.
'Would you prefer I did this Robbie?'
The boy continues to look down, but answers….
'No. Can Duncan do it?'
Duncan makes a good job of gently moving the thick pungent gel around the bruised area at the very top of Robbie's left inner thigh. Duncan had moved the central part of the boy's shorts to the right which inevitably was revealing indeed. Duncan's thumb, extended out more than was needed, consistently brushed against the contracted and textured slightly darker skin that contains the boy's visibly churning kinderballe. It's odd that they do that, move like that on their own when they're stimulated.
The thumb moves nearer as the kinderhoden continue to churn, the tiny thread veins in the now thinning and transparent tightened skin, prominent. Duncan moves the white material of Robbie's shorts a little further to one side. It's very obvious what he's trying to do here. There's no objection from Robert Mole.
And then it happens. It's the beginning of the boy's kindererektion. The creamy tube has appeared at last, popping out and sneaking it's way sideways into view. It was the overhanging loose skin that showed first, and then a little more as blood begins to flood the empty cells. The loose skin began to retract, until the hardening penis was straining to be seen in all its glory. Finally the small organ breaks free of its skinny shackles and the much darker head appears in all its glory as the short foreskin is forced back. If the boy desires some form of sexual encounter, or something on his own, he's ready for it now. But hardly the time or place. I know from my own experience during early puberty, and before, that any kind of local stimulation would rapidly cause willy to wobble, and wake up.
Duncan goes on making circles on the boy's bruised skin.
'I think that's enough now darling.' I said, thinking that Robbie might be embarrassed by now. There was no sign of that. I left the room to return the jar of the aromatic arnica. When I went back to the kitchen the boys were standing by the window looking out into the garden, Duncan behind Robbie, with his arms around his middle, and Robbie with his hands behind him.
'You two ok?' I ask. They didn't turn around to answer so I just got a 'yes, ok thanks from Duncan as I turned to leave the room. It's started, the intense bonding process, just as I thought and hoped it would.
I had a wander through the garden feeling somewhat elated, and excited for them both. I'm sure they are headed for a wonderful time together, and a great relief that Duncan has found a soul mate. But there's another issue at the front of my mind. Ralph Mole's financial state. I have some suggestions to make if poverty has affected Robbie's chances in life. From what he's said, it's about to. He says he's leaving that place 'up on the hill' just because Ralph can't afford new uniform and the daily bus fare. That's totally absurd, and I will not let that happen.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
