The Persistence of Memory
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 6
I'm sure it was the attention he was getting, and how much he was enjoying his clothes fitting session. Thank goodness that Garth bothered to save all that old stuff from years ago. It was all packed into one corner covered with an old pillow case. We tried various other options on Robbie's small but lithe frame, but he was adamant about his preferences, all of which we agreed showed him off to best effect.
'I like these best.' He announces. 'Can I have these?'
'You most certainly will have those darling, but wear these other ones on PE days.'
Garth held up another option which both Duncan and I agreed would be more suitable to be seen on the days he had to change publicly into his PE or games kit. Boys notice odd things and cruelly latch on to anything they perceive as a weakness just asking to be exploited.
'Oh just look at Robbie everyone. Our little gay boy are we?'
Things like that, which can be avoided if you wear the right thing when changing in public.
Robert Mole had mentioned to Duncan that last week he had heard a cruel under the breath chant at the back of his class……holy moly, holy moly; presumably a reference to the developing holes in the elbows of his woollen grey school jumper.
'I remember those ones. So cute.' I said as Garth picks up one from a small selection of school shorts, most of which came from the shop at Galleries Layfayette, apart from one pair which he had specially tailored for me. The tailor was a friend of his. He took me there for a couple of fittings which necessitated standing in just my pants with my arms raised while Neil, the tailor, did all his measuring up allowing the back of his hand to brush against me. I'm sure that was avoidable. At no time did he look me in the eye. I stood there waiting for the next time he had to get very close.
'Legs apart for me please Alex. That's it, good boy. What a good boy you are.'
I think it was the anticipation of the feeling I knew was coming, that incredibly light touch on such sensitive skin. It was just the thought of what it might feel like. I knew it was coming and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It just makes up its mind it going to and it does. The hand holding the end of the tape measure arrived between my legs, as I expected it would, and stayed there for a few seconds, nestled right up in the angle between my kindergballe and the inside of my thigh, up into my groin. Neil just carried on doing his measuring as if nothing was happening. No problem, just one of those things. Just another boy aged eleven who has produced an involuntary erection. Nothing unusual about that. I just looked down in horror as the thing grew larger and larger. There was room in pants, plenty of room, so it stuck out. Right out. My face was burning. I looked at Garth who was smiling. I bet he put his friend up to it just to get that rise out of me for their amusement. I could see the funny side of it.
'All done now. You can put your trousers back on Alex.'
A week later I went back for the final fitting and any adjustments to me made. I reminded Garth what had happened the last time and he laughed.
'So what's the problem Alex?'
No problem I suppose.
'But it says something about me doesn't it Garth?'
'Yes it does, and it says something about all boys. They're nice. That's what boys do I'm afraid.'
Very true.
Having decided that Neil the tailor's work was just too effective to expose Robbie to possible ridicule the next day at school, we decided that a size larger would be the way to go. When Robert Mole turned around to show us the back view, the mid-grey material stretched over those pert buttocks, the panty line barely visible, we knew it wasn't the best idea.
'Now put your hands in your pockets.' Garth says.
'There. Did you ever see anything better than that Alex? Duncan. What do you think?'
'Oh goodness! I don't think so Garth.'
Duncan's thoughts were along the same lines as ours. Robbie looked like sex in short trousers. A walking wet dream you might say. We told him to avoid putting his hands in his pockets, or wear larger shorts.
The next pair we tried, a size larger, were very stylish, a cute little number from Paris, the legs with a slight flair and fashionably short, and cut sharply into Robbie's groin which normally would have produced a nice bump in the right place. At the back we have the same result though, with that delightful linear impression disappearing into the shadows, tense and taught. The visible panty line is for me, a must have.
I remember him so well. Harvey. The boy standing in the playground with his hands in his pockets and his back to me. Those lovely coltish legs. The long stockings they called them. Socks really, but they came up to just below the knee with the school colours in bands at the top. Even they looked sexy on the right boy, like Harvey.
We decided on lightweight pale grey tees under crisp pale blue shirt. The boys can wear either white or blue. Garth said he would acquire a new grey jumper tomorrow from the designated High Street supplier, and a new tie plus a few pairs of the regulation socks. Shoes too, after a visit to Clarks. By the following Monday, Robbie will have completed his transformation. Hurray!
Duncan and I took Robbie back to his cottage, plus his new and second-hand kit under his arm. Ralph opened the door with Rob's sister Rosie standing behind him just in her knickers and tee shirt. I'm sure Ralph's pride is hurt which is very understandable, but he knows like us, it's his son that really matters. It's not his fault he has money worries.
Robbie, his father's arm around his shoulders, waves a tentative goodbye from the deep shadows of the narrow hallway, the bundle of clothes under his arm. Duncan responds with his own wave, like kinders do when they want to return that subtle gesture of affection from a friend, my hand on Duncan's back, as we feel love surging inside us. For Robbie.
I wanted to see the photos Garth had taken of me as I grew up, largely under his care vested in him by my father. They are essentially family photos with nothing left out. There's nothing untoward in the six albums all told, but there's a charming frankness that runs through the hundreds of images. I seem to have preferred my clothes off much of the time, rather than on it would appear.
'Do you have any others Garth?' I ask, sitting beside him on the sofa.
'Only a few things from my kinderyouth.' He answers.
'Can I see them?'
'I don't think you'd want to.'
'I do. Really. You've done so much for me. I have a right to know about you.'
'Do you? I suppose you do, in a way.'
He came back with a scrapbook.
They spent the next twenty minutes going through the images; the people, and the places that Alex knew nothing about. Garth's early life in Germany until he was six. And then over here in England. It was all very ordinary. And then the last book. That was different. The preteen boy, smiling on the beach at Southwold. And then some other people. It looked like a school trip maybe. Or perhaps an organized outing by minibus. They were all gathered in front of the big church. The biggest church in the city by far. There was a man with his arm over Garth's shoulder, and another boy too. By the look of them all, it was summer time. And there was that man again, on the sandy beach, helping make the sandcastle, smiling at the camera with Garth next to him. Then on the next page, those two boys again with ice lollies in their mouths, sucking on them with their eyes wide open in a gesture of surprise. Alex thought it a rather obscene image. It was meant to be.
Robbie had put himself to bed tonight, after arranging the gifts of clothing from Garth in the drawers of the pine chest in his bedroom. The top two narrower drawers for all the small items, and the three below for everything else. There would be a few more things coming as soon as Garth could get into Truro. The jumper and a new tie, and some more shirts. Oh, and the proper PE kit too.
His sister Rosie had always looked out for her little brother. Ralph Mole's sister in Truro had helped with Rosie's clothes over the years, very aware of the family's perilous financial position, but Robert had drawn the short straw, being the boy. Even down to having his hair cut. So it grew; and grew, and Robbie liked it like that as he constantly pushed his fingers through the spun gold as he stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. Then he began playing with his kinderkock, flicking it this way and that as it grew longer in his fingers. And fatter too. His foreskin had loosened recently. Now it would come back easily. He looked back at the mirror. He smiled, his fingers drawing back the loose skin once more; and then forwards, and back again. And now quicker. Quite fast now. He knew what would happen if he carried on doing it .
Sister and brother shared the only other bedroom because they had to. The cottage was a two up and two down. No choice. Consequently they had never had much privacy so the pretty kinders knew everything about each other, physically speaking. Sexually too, like when Rosie got some pubic hair and started her periods quite early at the tender age of ten, and then her best friend taught her how to masturbate properly. Robbie wanted to know how she did it, so she showed him, right to the end when she cried out with the sheer intensity of it all, deep inside her madchenkunt.
Rosie knew that Robbie had started 'doing it' as the other boys called it. With all that gentle motion, and towards the end just before he came, not so gentle rhythmic rocking, Rosie heard the bed start to do its squeaking thing. Hers did too, but not so badly as his. And then the tiny squeaks stop, just like that. Then Rosy knows that Robbie has come. It never took him very long. Robbie wondered, at first, what his sister was doing to herself most mornings and nights when they went to bed. When he learnt what to do, he realised. There was no point in hiding it. No point at all.
Then they played mothers and fathers. What mothers and fathers do in bed together, the thing that made both Rosie and Robbie. Almost as soon as Robbie climbed on top of Rosie, her embryonic breasts tingling, her legs apart and her madchenkunt full of her own spittle, they both knew this was wrong; and stopped their silly game. Robbie's little cock wasn't hard enough anyway. Not to start with. And then it was, and he could, and he did, just once or perhaps it was twice?
Rosie had never witnessed at close quarters Robbie actually having his nightly kinderorgasmus. She asked him if she could watch him 'do it'. She was amazed at how the tiny pale morsel could grow like that. Robbie lay back, his hands behind his head, watching Rosie fiddle with him.
'Doesn't it hurt like that?' She asks, pulling the spare skin back.
'No. Put a little spit on the end.' He suggested.
That worked nicely, as Rosie works the loose skin up and down, the bulbous head disappearing, and then popping out again, angry looking.
'A bit more?'
'Umm.'
She pulled the skin as far back as it would go this time, holding the rigid little thing just below the head, between two fingers and her thumb, and lowering her head to within an inch of Robbie's erection. She gathers the saliva in her mouth. Lots of it. Lowering her head, Rosie places the contents directly onto Robbie's kinderkock. The sensation, to her, felt too interesting to stop there, so she took the head of her brother's sweet kinderpenis into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the underneath. Her tongue swirling and swirling all over it. Up and down it went, and round and round it went.
Robbie laid his head back on the one pillow he had, on one side, looking at his sister's empty bed with the covers pushed off the mattress to one side. He felt her mouth go all the way down his penis, and then back up. And then again. And again.
He knew that if she went on doing this, he'd get another feeling. He put his hand out and touched her head to stop it moving. Then she stopped, wiped her mouth with her hand and sat up again.
'Sorry Robbie.' She says, forcing a smile.
Robbie smiles back at her. They looked at each other for a few seconds, knowing that a small part of their kinder innocence has gone forever.
'Do you think it's ok for me to do that Robbie?'
'I don't know.' Was his quiet response. They both knew it was wrong, really, and stopped doing it. They agreed that just once, or twice was perfectly normal.
Rosie's girlfriend managed to acquire a boyfriend, who had a friend who liked Rosie, unbeknownst to Rosie herself. So the four of them agreed to meet one Saturday afternoon at a certain place on the river, just south of the river where it flows out towards the Fal. Gerry, whose idea it was, would bring a bottle of wine to make the party go with a bit of a swing. The girls were Year Eights, but the boys were year Tens. How exciting! They thought.
The boys were hoping for some sort of sex with the two girls, and their hopes were not diminished by the sight of the girls' pants on show for them, up summer dresses, as the four of them lay in the grass. A glass of wine had helped relieve any inhibitions that were still lurking in Rosie's head. Gerry had his arm around his girl as they started a clumsy kissing session. Gerry's friend looked at Rosie obviously not knowing how to start things off with her. So Rosie worked her way across the grass to where the boy was sitting.
'Do you want to David?'
'Do what?' The nervous boy asks.
'Do what they're doing?' Which was on at a good pace now, Gerry's hand a long way up the girl's dress, out of sight but moving in gentle circles.
'Ok. Now?'
'Yes, now.' Rosie says, smiling, as she looked down at the front of David's shorts. Definitely something going on she thought. That's what happens with boys. She had played with her brother's a few times, but his was a tiddler, although it always came up nicely. His little balls too. How sweet they were.
David was not used to kissing girls any more than Rosie was to kissing boys, so they made a general mess of things, ending up wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands several times. At least his saliva didn't taste of anything. So they stopped for a minute. Rosie looked down at where David's cock was. He saw her look, so looked down too. He'd come up and it showed. No doubt about it. The kissing had done it for David. Rosie looks sideways at how things are going with the other two. Her friend is fiddling with the front of Gerry's shorts. Undoing them. Moments later she has his penis out of his pants and she's studying it, one hand on it, the other under his balls. Then Gerry lies down with the girl kneeling beside him. She puts Gerry's penis in her mouth. Rosie looks at David. There's a question in their eyes.
Rosie knows all the dangers associated with adolescent boys. By that age they can make babies. But there are other ways a girl can please her boyfriend and give him what he desires more than anything. A good cum.
With her heart beating fast, and the one glass of wine resonating throughout her nervous system, Rosie did for David what her friend was doing for Gerry. Gerry had told David ages ago during one of their playground plotting sessions, that if it ever happened…….
'Don't tell the girl you're about to come. Otherwise she'll pull off you and you won't get it. Just come. Don't tell her. Just say sorry afterwards. If necessary, hold the back of her head so she has to take it.'
Oh dear, poor Rosie. She got more than she had bargained for. As David realised that he was going to come, so he held the girl's head all the more securely just as Gerry had told him to. Rosie, although she was perfectly aware of what boys did, or were supposed to do, was not at all ready for this particular experience when it came. In horror, as the first warm, salty tasting slimy thick liquid slithered like a lively snake over her tongue into the back of her throat, she tried to break free. She found herself having to swallow. There was no alternative as more of it came in diminishing quantities. With her mouth open now and breathing fast, she began to think about what she had just endured. Then she closed her mouth again and began to gently stimulate all the surfaces of David's penis, from tip to toe, as they say. David let her head go at last, looking down into the girl's face.
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I really didn't. Sorry.'
Sorry? Really? I don't think so. It's one of those things you can do for a boy, when you're a boy yourself I hasten to add, that he'll not forget, assuming it all went well. As for the product of a boy's orgasm, that's up to the individual. Personally I like it. I wouldn't say I loved it, but I liked, in the past tense, the idea of what I was giving the boy. It's always part of the relationship. And if he felt able, he could return the favour. John loved sex in any form as I do, including solo masturbation when I would give him a tickly kind of massage from the outer parts of his kinderwhatsit and around his balls, and back again as many times as it took. And he never had to prevent me from breaking away just before his big moment, and they were, latterly, very big moments.
Rosie swallows again, minutes after passing David's test for being a 'good girl'.
Perhaps it was this memory that inspired her to take her brother's penis into her mouth like she did, two years later, in their bedroom. Or was it the enduring image of her mother and her father, before she left. What she saw through the crack in the door. No not that surely? What child wants to see their own mother performing oral sex for their father? Not many, if any, I'll wager. It would have been that David boy down there by the river, securely out of sight, horny as hell and desperate for sex with a girl like Rosie. Or any girl come to that.
Rosie watched her brother Robbie climb into his school uniform. She had gone all through it the night before, giving all of it her generous approval.
'These are nice Rob.' She says stretching the waistband of one of the pairs of Parisien pants. Indeed they are, and ditto for the rest of Robbie's ensemble, apart from the tatty tie, the new one plus the new smart jumper coming tonight if Garth's done his bit.
Ralph Mole had to agree, his boy did look the part.
'Bit short aren't they Robbie?' Ralph observes, taking another sip from his mug of tea.
'No.' Says Robbie, feeling his face warm at his father's comment. He had wondered himself about that. He glanced down to see more than eight inches of bare leg above his knees, perhaps even ten.
'Turn around then. Let's see the back of you.'
Ralph looks at his son's bottom. It's a perfect fit, back there, perhaps a too perfect fit, but rather than making a comment that might upset the boy, he says nothing, preferring to take another sip of his tea, thinking. My son is queer. He looks it. He sounds like it. He is.
Rob was waiting at the end of the brick garden path by the broken-down wooden gate that Garth said he'd repair years ago. It was the only brick you'd see for miles around, everything else being the hard grey granite that characterizes the Cornish landscape. Thick stone walls and graded slate roofs. Churches with squat square towers with slim pinnacles, and tamarisk everywhere. Tamarisk and wind. Tamarisk and fucking wind, all the time.
He's still in his old and tired uniform this morning.
'I wanted to be completely new Alex.'
'A new you then?' I said smiling, as I held the front door of the car open for him. Fair enough. As he bent low to get into our Austen mini, never a simple task, I had a look at the back view, amidships. There was something quite engaging about those old shorts, with the new making its presence felt underneath. The new boy bends low and crawls into the back seat. There's the line showing perfectly. The panty line. Garth collects the rest of the boy's ensemble today, so around five thirty this evening we will see our complete new boy. So will Duncan who, I strongly suspect, is looking forward to the event. I've told Ralph Mole that his boy might be late home tonight. We'll give him his tea tonight.
I collected Duncan as usual, and Rob, from the library where they were doing homework, and something they could finish later at home. We were home in twenty five minutes when Garth met us as we walked up the brick path towards the front door. He was all smiles.
Robert Mole, our very own golden boy, looked fabulous in his new blazer, pristine pale blue shirt and new tie, plus the Parisien shorts he had not worn that morning. We picked them up on the way back from an amused Ralph.
'What do you want them for?'
'Oh just a fashion show Ralph.' I said.
Robbie stood in the middle of our large kitchen looking as pleased as punch, bless him. They had a good half hour before Garth would have their tea ready.
'Bedroom boys please. Get changed Duncan.' Orders Garth. 'And there are some other bits and pieces up there for you too Robert. And bring your uniform with you when you come down for tea please.'
Garth looks at me and smiles.
'Here's hoping.'
Yes. With half an hour to undress and change into simple play clothes, the two boys would have the perfect opportunity. There's no doubt that things have clicked between them. The way they look at each other. And there have been touches too; a hand on the shoulder or on the arm, a quick tickle in the ribs, just the once, and that's what we've seen. Who knows what we haven't seen. Romance is definitely in the air, such a sweet thing between two boys. The caring nurturing Duncan with his sultry good looks, and the diminutive Robert, small for his age but perfectly formed with that spun gold long hair tied back behind his ears with an elastic hairband. And when he takes it off, how the hair falls in cascades of golden water. Those turquoise eyes that look right into you, recognising I'm sure what I am as I look into his eyes. There's half a smile there now. As I sit on the stool, Duncan moves across to me and I put my arm around his middle and let it slide down just below the waistband of his play short, and then casually; lower still to the top of his thighs to make sure of what I suspected. No panty line therefore nothing underneath. I look across at Robbie in an old mid-blue pair of Duncan's shorts that look far too small for him, his little kinderkock and balle forced to one side. Has he suddenly grown or is that how it has left him? Those tingles can linger a long time after the event. But has there been an event up in Duncan's room? I like to think so. But if there has, what kind of event? How far have things progressed now? Has the tiny bud that promises the flower opened?
The boys ate their meal in silence, just shooting each other furtive glances trying not to smirk. It wasn't working. Garth looks intrigued, leaning against the Belfast sink, arms folded, as he glances at me with one question in his eyes.
An hour later we watched Robbie walk up the brick garden path with his carefully folded school clothes under one arm. He turns at the end and gives us one of those waggly waves that kids do, fingers spread out. Duncan waved back.
'See you tomorrow Robbie.' I call out. He waves a last time and turns to leave us. I took a deep breath and exhale slowly, my arm still around Duncan's shoulder. I feel his arm around me now.
'Things ok; are they?' I ask looking down at Duncan's face. He doesn't look up. Not immediately. Then he does, wide eyed. His face is flushed. There's emotion in it. Lots of it.
'You ok darling?'
He nods as I tighten my hold on him as he does on me.
'Can I tell you?' He asks, looking hard up at me.
'Of course; if you want to. You know you can tell me anything if you need to.'
'I do. I want to.'
'Good. Get ready for bed first and then come down and tell me.'
'Then can I sit with you?'
'In the big chair?'
'Yes.'
Duncan sleeps in a tee shirt, an unruly patterned black red and white one that comes down halfway to his knees, and nothing else. Garth favours silk pyjamas but that's just him, and Dad likes them too. The texture of them. They think they're sexy. I suppose they are, if you like snazzy stuff like that. I don't.
Duncan beat me to it; to the big leather armchair I sit in to watch the TV. It's news time, nine o'clock, but the sound is off. I can see Thatcher sounding off about something. Tony Blair is fighting back by the look of things.
As I walk over to the chair I can see Duncan leaning back in it, his arms over the the sides, and his legs drawn up with his feet on the front edge. He's wearing that awful tee shirt he likes, but it's doing nothing to hide my view of him; right up to the top where his legs meet. Apart from my father, we have no fear when it comes to others seeing our bodies, and that includes Duncan now. Not at first, but now all is proudly revealed. At thirteen there's no doubt things are moving forward for Duncan in terms of his sexual development. He's posed for me many times now so I noticed progress in the kinderkock department as the organ has gradually begun to expand inside its skinny sheath on its journey towards maturity, but still far into the future for this one. His kinderballe are gaining weight so they are hanging rather than nestling. He's begun to produce semen now. I know he is. You always know if there's boy in your house. They can never effectively conceal that fact however hard they try. Duncan makes no secret of it. He showed me one morning in his early days, wanting to be sure that what he thought it was, was. It was. I'd gone in to wake him up and he was just at that point of no return, the bedclothes off the interesting bits. I don't think he knew I was there. Not really. I watched him produce his kinderkum. Two or three delicious short bursts ejected with two fingers and his thumb, his tummy sinking sharply, his toes wiggling away, legs drawn up and then at the end, pushed out straight, tummy raised up, kinderkock hard and upright, and deeply satisfied now. His body sank back onto the white sheet as he continued to tease out the last vestiges of his still lingering orgasm, finally coming to a peaceful rest. Breathless, he turns his head to look at me, mouth open. There's a dribble of translucent semen on his thumb as his orgasm finally fades.
I felt his forehead. It was warm and slightly moist.
'Hello. Are you ok?'
He nods, attempting a smile.
'That's a first then. For me.' I said, lowering my head and resting my lips lightly against the warm forehead. I looked into those eyes once more.
Now I get a proper smile, as he lifts his thumb to his lips.
I smile back as I push my fingers through his hair.
'Time to get up.'
'In a minute.' He says, turning his head away from me.
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