The Persistence of Memory
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 7
Duncan's in the larger of the two leather armchairs, legs up and wide apart so I can see all his lovely attributes, right down his tickly bit, as he calls it, at the bottom end of his pereneal raphe, that funny little textured dark line that starts at the base of his boy penis and ends up at the entrance to his kinderkunt. Of the boys I've known, his is the most deeply pigmented, with a tiny twizzle of skin dead centre, that might be mistaken for laziness in the loo. It certainly isn't that. He's had the training from Garth to ensure his Parisien panties [his words] remain snow white, and just to make sure, the precise instructions re-enforced by moi aussi. He didn't get a practical demonstration from either of us, but performed this neat and effective routine all by himself, so folks, to put your minds at rest, I've never intruded into Duncan's anal sphincter, and nor has anyone else with the possible exception of Richard, my old boyfriend's brother, down at the Hut at Endellion Cove last summer. Duncan has had his own digit up there, verified after my question concerning such a pleasure, but as a Housemaster once told us in no uncertain terms, 'If you have to play with private parts, play with your own, not someone else's.' Sound advice, if you could manage it I suppose, although I never could. As soon as I got to boarding school at S. Endellion, I knew I just had to play with other boys' bits as soon as they would let me. And they did let me, as I willingly let them play with mine.
Duncan watched me approach the leather armchair, making no attempt to make himself decent.
'Room for me then?' I ask. So he moves sideways, but it's too much of a squash like this.
'Lap time?'
He works himself into the best place, almost, as he could be in, sideways in my lap with his legs dangling over the arm of the chair, his left arm around my back, his shoulder against mine. There's nowhere else my left hand can go, so it rests on Duncan's leg, just above his knee. Little choice for his right hand too, so he has that wedged high up under his thigh and on top of mine. This, while Thatcher drones on. And on.
I switched the sound off with the remote controller, a device recently invented for the benefit of the most ardent couch potato, and very useful in this situation. I don't want to disturb Duncan. He's nicely settled.
'Ready to talk Duncan?'
'Umm. Can I tell you something?'
'Of course. Is it Robbie? Do you want to talk about him?'
'Yes.'
'You and him?'
'Umm.'
'Good. Garth and I were wondering how you getting on together. You seemed to making good headway. I mean, you've made friends with him. Is that right?'
'Yes. I like him.'
'And he likes you?'
'Yes he does.'
'How much……..do you think?'
'Lots.'
'And you?'
'Yes, lots.'
'And what did you do up in your bedroom before your tea tonight.'
'Got changed and stuff.'
'All the time? That wouldn't have taken long. You were up there for half an hour, or more actually. More like three quarters. Just talking?'
'We played.'
'Together?'
'Yes.'
'That's nice. How did that work for you?'
'Good thanks.'
'And him too? Did it work ok for him?'
'Yes. Is Garth coming in?'
'No. He's in the kitchen with Dad eating dinner.'
'Can I tell you then?'
'Do you really want to? Perhaps you should keep more personal things to yourself, and him?'
'No, I want to tell you. I'm excited Alex.'
'Well that is exciting sweetheart. What sort of excited are you?'
I'm so happy for him, and dear sweet Robbie too. They have hit it off bigtime. It was very obvious that their friendship has reached the experimental stage, and so soon. I'm sure they are both in need, and the way things have started, their needs will be met by each other. Isn't that what we all want? For our emotional needs to be met by another like-minded human?
'Robbie asked me.'
'Asked you what darling?'
'He said he wanted to touch my skin. To see what it felt like.'
'So you let him?'
'Yes, and I touched his. We kept on doing it.'
'Where did he touch you?'
'On my shoulder with the palm of his hand. It felt hot on my skin. We were sitting with nothing on. On the edge of my bed side by side. I touched his too.'
'And he didn't mind?'
'No. He asked me if he could touch my face.'
'And you said he could. I hope?'
'Yes. I touched his too. He looked a bit weird when I did it.'
'What sort of weird Duncan?'
'Like he was going to cry.'
'That's because he's happy Duncan. He knows he's found a loving friend.'
'Loving?'
'Yes, loving . It's incredibly important to him. He's not had anything like that before, apart from the love of his dad, and Rosie, and presumably his mother, wherever she is. So how did you feel when he touched your face?'
'I don't know. Happy I think. Yes I am. I feel a bit weird too.'
'Like…….now?'
'Yes, now. Can I have a cuddle please? A really hard one? His mouth was open and I touched his lips. He gave my finger a play bite which made us laugh. He got hold of my hand and pretended to bite it so I got hold of his head and pressed it against mine. Our faces. Our faces were pressed together.'
'So you kissed him? Is that what happened?'
'I suppose so. We stopped and looked at each other. I didn't know what to think. We just stared at each other. Robbie smiled at me and touched my face again.'
'And what did you do when he did that?'
'I touched his. He leaned forwards and we did it again. I felt his tongue inside my mouth.'
'Oh dear. That was a bit of a shock for you wasn't it?'
'No. I got him round his shoulders and wouldn't let him go. We laughed and fell back onto the bed. He was on top of me. I couldn't get him off me. He was lying on top of me, sort of………moving.'
'How was he moving?'
'Pushing his body up and down on top of me.'
'You didn't mind him doing that?
'No. It was funny.'
'But in a nice way I hope? An interesting way?'
'Yes.'
We used to play a game in the dormitory at S. Endellion School, the tickly game we called it. After lights out and quietly, it involved holding a boy down and inducing his kinderkock to get stiff. For the victim, he would try to resist the urge to get an erection, if he could. If nothing happened, he would be let go. The boy's penis must not be touched, but if he got hard, only if, we would take turns to masturbate him to a finish. We would draw lots to see who would be that night's victim. The boy would be lying full length on his bed, naked, and then be subjected to three or four pairs of hands stimulating his body in the most sensitive places, like the inner thighs, lower tummy, between the buttocks and so on. There were some remarkable results to this very entertaining game. I remember one boy who happened to be the youngest and usually the fastest to orgasm when we had races. Two of us were working on his thighs, running the tips of their fingers up down the inner part right up and including his little ball sac. Another boy concentrated on Simon's tummy, gradually working his way southwards. With Simon's legs apart, his choice, he invited my attention to his bottom. Who me? Yes, me. I got to work on Simon with my middle finger making circles in just the right place without intruding in a dark place. We all watched for sign of progress. Sure enough, like inflating a balloon, Simon's penis began to grow longer and distinctly fatter. Another two minutes passed and the thing had obviously grown as much as it was going to, the foreskin stretched over the head with just a tiny part now visible. It started flicking both sideways and upwards in sudden movements. This went on for a couple more minutes before Simon let out a gasp. We kept up what we were doing thinking something special was going to happen. It did. With another quick flick upwards, a tiny jet of clear liquid shot out. I had already lost my discipline down below and had invaded Simon's body a couple of inches with my middle finger. I had no idea why Simon's insides pulsed like they did, in sinc with his sudden shot of kinderkum.
I mentioned it to Garth sometime later who referred me to a book he had about the different ways a man, or in Simon's case, a young boy could achieve his orgasm. There were all sorts of interesting snippets of information in that book which provided me with lots of holiday bedtime reading. The Joy of Gay Sex, being a thinner adjunct to the other book, The Joy of Sex, which was aimed at straight couples. I asked him why he had that book. His answer was succinct enough.
'To be a better lover darling.'
Duncan's exchange with Robbie was as touching as it was revealing. As Duncan relived the events with an excited Robbie up in his bedroom earlier, for my benefit, we watched the bump under his horrid black, red and white tee shirt quickly enlarge, Duncan's hand now out of sight and between his legs with his tee covering him once more. He stretched out his legs over the arm of the chair and showed me, lifting his tee clear.
My tummy did a somersault at the sight of it. Every week seems to bring subtle changes to Duncan's body.
'Time for bed Duncan, I think.'
'Why? Can't I stay here for bit longer?' He asks with a smile, still fiddling.
It would have been so easy, but I held firm. Anyway Duncan has Robbie now to look after, and hopefully, enjoy.
I've been making more drawings of Duncan here at home in my makeshift studio in the garden. That bastard Quintus has seen them. I took my most recent sketch book in to show Hillary the Arts Co-ordinator, her new title, which now encompasses art, music and drama.
Quintus and I go back a long way and he's still making semi-lewd remarksaimed at me, like 'Oh here comes the rear admirable.' Things like that. I've half a mind to give in and let him have my rear admirable. Get it over with and then maybe he'll get over it. But to be fair to him, he could have had that years ago when I had a smooth, lithe and hairless body like Duncan's. I laid down on my back enough times for him, hoping he would, but he never did, I suppose to his great credit, not to mention safety. Yes, I was just like Duncan is now. To put it crudely, ripe for the taking; a pretty rose bud that was asking to be plucked. A besotted boy, a vessel to be filled to the brim by this handsome young man.
But if you've read any of my previous diaries, despite his impressive state of readiness, he never did. And then, just like that, he left the stage I was standing on with him, only to turn up here in Truro years later, possibly thinking that the lad's eighteen now so we can legally pick things up where we had to leave them. Nearly eighteen to be precise about it. Quintus has remembered my birth date.
'I thought I'd take you out for dinner on your birthday Alex. Next Wednesday I believe the big day is.'
'Sorry Quintus. A celebration at home that night.' I answered, with raised eyebrows. 'Lots of water under the bridge now I'm afraid.'
But at the same time my tummy did a flip. Here was an invitation to have what I so much wanted then, aged thirteen, and as sexually ready and able, a kinderkunt that had seen foreign objects enter it easily and painlessly and enjoyed the intrusions and was begging for more and greater stimulation. I'd only have to touch myself back there and things would perk up at the front. After our meal out, an early one no doubt and not too heavy, he'd ask me back to his flat in Truro, a school property, and after a couple of whiskies we'd make love in his bed. The thing is I've not had a proper boyfriend for a couple of years, what with all this work bother, and my sculptural adventures. Another story.
With a whole sheath of papers under his arm, Quintus gives me one of his 'you want to really don't you' looks and walks off. He'll be back with something divisive I'm sure to unlock the box he wants access to. Some form of emotional blackmail probably. He'll have me in the end, my rear end, I'm sure one day, which if I'm brutally honest, I do want just like that virgin boy wanted it five years ago as I lay back on his bed looking up into his steely grey eyes. Neither Garth or my father realised what I was up to when I asked if I could help someone with their garden for a little pocket money. Cycling out to his house in the pouring rain and being stripped down for a warm bath. Being gently bathed, and soothed all over my body as I showed him what a young boy looks like when he's aroused. Oh yes. All that. A young boy's first major crush.
'It's someone from school Dad. They need some help in their garden. I can cycle there in a few minutes. Please Dad.'
So they agreed. Simple. Quintus had been making a fuss of me for some time, paying me compliments about how good I looked in my school uniform. All that stuff. It was the prospect of real romance. To fall in love. That was my holy grail. I was the golden chalice to be filled; to be drunk from, whatever the cost. He was to be my master, my controller, who might take his pleasure with a young boy who would love and obey him to the end. Sounds ideal does it not for both parties? I don't think it always works out that way, if ever. Boys that age, as I was, don't really know what they want, or the possible consequences of their actions. As it happened, Quintus did me no harm, but he might have done.
So Quintus and I are out there, on our own little stage, under the limelight, ready to make love, when quite suddenly the lights go out.
My website has remained dormant for months. I had photographed six pieces of my figurative clay models and put them up on the site with descriptions of how they were produced and so on. For models I have used Johnny, my first proper boyfriend, and his sexy brother Richard, and now Duncan. I don't know if it's how I react to him, but I've found him the most exciting to work with thus far. Certainly the most sexual. He's a sort of boy equivalent of the great Brigitte Bardot. Brooding and slightly pouty. He tends to look away from you when you're speaking to him, and then a moment later look right into your eyes. It's curiously unnerving, but interesting. Since we've had him staying with us due to his tricky circumstances, he's found a soul mate thank goodness. Robert 'Robbie' Mole. Rob's so cute with his long spun-gold locks drifting back over his head, and a year lower than Duncan which is nice for both of them. He's small for his age, in every department, not quite twelve now, but otherwise perfect. Being small does not mean he's not lively. He is a physical live wire, his tour de force being the cartwheel which he will perform for you in the play park or garden any time you ask him to. Girls are usually better at it than boys, so Quintus told me. Both are well worth watching down at our local park. Duncan can't do it, but he'll watch Robbie do them all day.
Duncan is used to not bothering with clothes now, whilst going between bedroom and bathroom, or coming down to collect things from the kitchen where the washer drier is kept. Garth is a bit of a sun worshiper, and is into the all-over tan effect, so Duncan and I do likewise, stretched out on our sun loungers as and when the Cornish weather allows, not only down at the Hut at Endellion Cove but in the privacy of the garden. One afternoon Robbie called for Duncan unexpectedly, as kids do. The three of us were nude in the garden when Robbie popped his head through the back gate. I was drawing Duncan for the umpteenth time. I saw the boy by the open gate and called to him. He looked a tad reluctant to intrude.
'Can I come in?' He asks.
'Of course! Come on.' I shout, thinking this is a situation that he should be aware of with us, and should quickly learn the norms in our everyday lives here. In other words, get used to it mate. This is what we like to do. To his great credit he dropped his shorts immediately and joined us. He sat crossed legged next to Duncan on the huge towel I'd spread out on the York stone paved terrace. I turned to a fresh page in my sketch book.
'Can you stay like that please Robbie. It won't take long I promise.'
It was a very nice pose he'd accidentally struck, his body supported by his arms behind him. Just five minutes. That's all it took for me to realise I had another model at my disposal, that could combine perfectly with the other one. I'm in love with Duncan, but in a good way. I'm not completely in love with him, but I never could be. There's only one way I could be completely in love with him, and that's through my proxy lover, Duncan.
Duncan enjoys our attention to him, and right now I'm paying very close attention to him as he looks back at me.
'I've never been drawn before Alex.' The boy says.
'I don't expect you have Robbie. Did you like it?'
'Yes. Can I see it?'
'Of course. Here.' I said as I opened the book and showed him the page. Duncan looked at the image of himself for longer than I expected him to. Finally he looks up at me in a way which told me nothing about what he was thinking. He had the tip of his kinder piece between two fingers and his thumb as he stood there, gently squeezing it as boys absentmindedly do. Johnny used to say that when I drew him. He was always most interested in how I would illustrate that particular bit. When I showed him my sketch I would watch exactly where his eyes went. It was always there first. Quite right too. To us boys, it's the most important bit. But there other perhaps more subtle nuances in the human body in that area where the thigh muscle meets the gluteal area. The gluteal crease or fold, a curiously defined interface between the two masses resulting in the most delightful change of direction that just has to be noticed. Every human body has this beautiful feature. I love drawing it. Such a subtle line never to missed by the keen observer.
The garden door opened and it was Rosie, Robbie's sister. I knew she would turn up at some stage, curious and probably a little envious of Robbie's involvement with her near neighbours. Garth spoke first.
'Come in sweetheart.'
She was clearly reticent to agree at first, no doubt the scene of nudity surprised her. I thought she would back out and disappear but she didn't. She walked towards us a few yards.
'Are you coming to join us?' Asks Garth. 'We would all like that if you could?'
We all nodded.
'Don't worry. You can stay like you are. We're like this because we want to be. There's no need for you to be like us darling.'
'Can I stay in my pants?' Rosie asks.
'Of course! Whatever you want to do. The boys are playing cartwheels.'
Actually they were not, but they will be now Garth has given them the idea.
Little white socks off, and her pink tee, and then her tight white shorts came down. She looks pretty like this, but at almost fourteen and mid-puberty, she has undressed enough. She's a good foot taller than her brother as she demonstrates the perfect cartwheel, her arms held high before running forwards into the move. She repeats the trick maybe five, six times, perfectly timed and full of grace. Robbie, not to be outdone, performs the move himself, but despite his athleticism, he falls short of his sister's elegance, as his hair, like spun gold, falls earthwards. Then, in front of us, it's a handstand as Rosie holds the boy's feet, first together, and then wide apar, as if to say, this is my brother. He's nice isn't he?
I made everyone cold drinks. Garth and I sat on the edge of our lounger chairs as les enfants sat or lay on the towels warmed by the afternoon sun and the heavy grey York stone paving. Rosie had parked herself close to Duncan. It's a case of admiring youthful beauty.
But they don't want to be still for long.
'Chase, anyone?' Pipes up Rosie, as she tosses her brown hair back.
'Yeah. Alex chase us.' Responds Robbie immediately.
So it's me is it? Doing the chasing? Ok, I'm up for that.
We have a large garden dotted with a few trees and bounded by the traditional stone walls held together by centuries of grass and wild flowers. Valerian and thrift mainly but plenty of other species too. Nothing has changed in hundreds of years so now there's no granite rocks that originally made the wall, visible. There's a lovely old apple, and a pear, a couple of firs that have bent with the wind and stayed there reminding us of where the prevailing south westerlies come from. A bird once carried a deep red seed fallen from one of the yews in the churchyard and dropped it where it has grown into a tree in the middle of the garden, perhaps as much as two hundred years ago. The indestructible yew. They never die.
Robbie is the last one for me to catch. Duncan was the first. I knew he would be, being the least agile of the three. Rosie was my next target who I trapped in the corner and just managed to touch her shoulder as she darted sideways, but not quite out of my reach. That just left the one I have saved until last. Robbie. It will be entirely new to me, the feel of his flesh. I'm excited at the prospect of feeling with warm flesh. The firmness of his body. The taught muscles straining to escape my hands that draw his form into mine. He's got himself onto an almost horizontal branch of the old apple tree, hanging now, arms taught, smiling down at me, trapped. We're at the far end of the garden and out of sight of the others. I'm standing with my arms outstretched ready to catch him. My face is just inches from his kinder cock, a subtle change in my spelling here. A boy's penis. He's watching me looking straight at it, with its skinny overhang, perfectly level right at my eye level, just a few inches away.
'Catch me.' The boy asks in a tone that is asking the question and requesting at the same time.
I gently place my palms against his hips, ready to take his weight.
'I'm coming.' He says quietly.
'Now? I'm ready for you. Come on.'
Then he just drops into my arms, his arms instantly wrapped around my neck as I pull him hard into my body, one of my hands around his back, the other, my left hand, under his kinder bottom. He will either notice or he won't, exactly how I'm supporting his weight. He's not heavy. Quite the opposite. I can smell his hair; warm and full of the scent of his perspiring scalp. I breathe deeply as I hold him harder now, anxious that his body does not slip through my hands.
He lets go of the branch and falls. I have him now, tight against me. It's the most wonderful feeling to hold a boy, any boy, like this.
I've taken a liberty with Robbie. There are ways to support his body with your hands underneath him like mine are now. He's perfectly still, and seemingly content in my arms. There was a moment, just a fleeting moment when, as Robbie's body slid down mine, I felt his soft sex against my chest, and then as I allowed the slide to slowly continue, firmly against the skin of my stomach.
I walked slowly around the far corner of the garden, still out of sight of the others, with Robbie against my chest. I had adjusted the precise position of my left hand several times. There were brief moments when the pad of my middle finger touched his tightness, I'm ashamed to say. It might have been an accident. It might not have been.
I remember the first time I was touched there. He'd seen me hard in my pyjamas as I gently pushed his shoulders to wake him. He asked me to stand up, and then turn around. I undid them so they fell around my knees. Then he did it. Facing him again, he held me, hard. I made space for him. Slipping his hand between my legs, he did it again. I drew a sharp breath in, and then let it slowly out.
'Do you mind my doing that Alex?'
I shook my head. 'No. It's ok.'
It was more than that. That's how it might feel one day. When it happened, as I hoped it would.
I held Robbie like that for perhaps two more minutes before allowing him to slide gently down until his small bare feet touched the cool early autumn grass, dried a pale yellow by the late summer sun. My hands on his shoulders now. He looks down and then looks up me, smiling. My body has changed, not too much I'm relieved to say, but he's seen it and noticed. No words were spoken. It didn't need any words.
Robbie's hands slip down to feel himself, sliding his fingers and thumb along his kindersex, up and along several times. He knew his has changed too. Not too much, but more than enough to tell this sweet little story.
When we ran back to the others, all is normal, we thought.
'Where did you two get to?' Garth asks the Golden Mole.
'Nowhere.'
Rosie clearly has her eye on Duncan as he lies, propped up on an elbow, one knee bent. His sex lies flaccid on his inner thigh. The prepuce appears shorter now as the business part has enlarged to fill it. I'm watching as she glances at Duncan, back and forth. Why shouldn't she be interested? I'm sure she's never seen anything more advanced than her brother's.
Duncan has noticed and I'm not sure if he likes the attention he's getting. He's never shown any interest in girls, but this girl is very definitely interested in him, or at least part of him. It's rather fun to watch this interaction at a distance.
'Can we play catch again?' Rosie asks.
'Come on Duncan! Now's your chance.' Garth says, gesturing with his head towards the garden. 'Be gentle with him Rosie.' He adds, naughtily, as Rosie runs off, gleefully, her hair flowing. Such beauty in innocence.
Duncan came back a few minutes later without the girl. She was playing with some dried grass at the end of the garden by an outcrop of valerian going to seed. He lay down next to me without a word.
I went up to give Duncan my usual goodnight kiss on his cheek. That's something I never miss whether he's already asleep or not. It's a loving thing to do and I do it for that reason. I love him. It's as simple as that. Tonight I'm a bit later than usual because Garth and I have been talking about Duncan. He's asleep, head on one side facing me, his arm out of sight. If he's asleep when I go up, I'll have a look at him and more often than not, I'll get that prickling sensation behind my eyes. You might want to skip the next paragraph as it deals with the reality of what boys are.
When I draw back the covers over his body, he has very obviously masturbated into his underpants. I used to do that regularly. I don't really know why boys do this, but they do. I would do it with my pants on, and then watch the head of my kinderkock show forth its contents, turning the white material transparent as the wet patch spread ever wider. That was it. They were always good ones that way.
They were still on him, but with his legs stretched out now, it's a simple job to get them off him, the little perfumed garment that it is. His penis gives a couple of twitches suggesting that if he were to try a second time, it would work again. His balls move too, bigger now, inside the ever-growing textured pouch. He doesn't stir.
I took them, a little package enclosed in my fist to join Garth to continue our conversation. My dad was still out at a financial planning meeting in Truro.
'What have you there Alex?'
'Something of Duncan's for the washing machine.'
'Oh. He usually puts those down by the machine before his bedtime.'
'Not this time. He needed them.'
'Oh? That?'
'Yes.'
'Here. I'll take them.'
Garth puts then under his nose, and after a couple of seconds, opens them out holding the ends of the puckered waistband.'
'Gosh Alex. He's going to be quite a handful isn't he.'
I think he already is.
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