The Persistence of Memory
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 21
'I've been going through your IT systems Alex.' The man in the mixed veg tweed jacket says with a frown, twiddling the pencil between his long fingers. 'Most interesting . Indeed so. There appear to be, however, a few, shall we say, oddities .'
Oh fuck. He's found something. I knew they would.
I've gone cold. All over. I can barely breathe at this moment. This is it. The axe is falling, and it's not going to be painless.
'But in the main, I'm most impressed with what you've achieved here, in such a short time too. I find myself in the pleasant position of having to congratulate you, young man. You have created a secure, safe and effective system that is serving your school well, and which does you considerable credit.'
I just stared at the man in the suit as the blood gradually began to flow again through my body, bringing me back to life, so very gradually. Exactly what is this man saying to me?
'I don't quite understand Sir? Are you saying……….'
'I am Alex. In my small way, I'm trying to congratulate you for your excellent work. Are you pleased? I shall make particular mention of this fact in my report which I can assure you will feature large within the whole school report on all our findings. This is an important, fast growing and absolutely vital element in all schools' efforts to move towards a modern and more effective learning environment. I am most impressed. Well done!'
I could hardly speak from sheer relief. I've been through a minor hell these past few days. I really have been.
The man droned on, going through my work bit by bit, none of which I was really listening too. All I knew was that the axe was not going to fall. My executioner had been sent packing. Hurrah.
I found myself oddly invigorated as I left the room, even aroused if that's possible immediately after such a traumatic encounter. Yes I am. I can feel it moving. Unusually for me, but understandably given our emergency situation, sex has not been on mind these last few days. On normal days, all seven of them per week, each one begins and ends with sexual thoughts of one sort or another, due I think, to my self-imposed and rather painful abstinence. Right now sex of some sort, any sort, is all I can think about. I was always like that when I felt the pressure lifted off my shoulders, and found the best way to recreate was to indulge in some way. So here we go!
I found a grey faced Quintus in the staff room staring into space, no doubt waiting for me to report on a disaster for all of us. He turned to look at me as I approached one of our sumptuous leather armchairs, vulnerable to wear and tear, the ends worn paler and damaged by decades of contact with tweed jackets in a grey pipe smoke haze, shafts of sunrays piecing it like daggers. Rays of hope now.
'Hi Quintus.' I said smiling down at the handsome face. Quintus is unable to speak.
'It's all ok. Nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. Can we go up to your flat for a while?'
'Why?' he says, looking stunned.
'I need to. There's something I really really need at this moment.'
Quintus is clearly trying to process the good news.
'You mean……everything's ok? Nothing untoward found?'
'It's all absolutely fine. He liked everything he saw. He actually congratulated me, would you believe.'
I bent down towards the face that was just beginning to take in what I had proudly announced, took his head in both of my hands, and planted a big sloppy kiss directly onto his mouth.
'Gosh!' Quintus exclaims, recoiling slightly. 'You haven't done that for a while Alex.'
'Not since you know when . Do you remember?'
'I do. It wasn't one of those evenings one forgets.'
'No.' I said, standing now, with raised eyebrows. 'Well?'
'Are you saying what I think you're saying Alex?'
'I think I am. What are you doing now? I'm free until two thirty.'
'Sorry. I need a minute to process this. A lie down to chat ?'
'I was thinking it might be a bit more than that. I think I deserve a reward. You know, perhaps it's time to claim my prize.'
'Ok, we can give it a try. Now?'
'Asap. If you don't mind?'
Quintus undressed me, bar one item which I always did retain until the moment arrived when it was in my pleasurable interests to discard them, shortly to climb aboard my beloved and fuck the living daylights out of him, as he moans away feigning an imminent orgasm, exactly how I liked it. He knew how I liked it, those erotic sounds, and played the game to a tee knowing I would get there that much quicker so then he could get what he wanted. In my dreams. But this is real.
As soon as Quintus opened his flat door I was up for it. On my way up the creaking stairs I tried to recall the exact time of my last sexual peak. It was shortly before I woke up, properly that is, two weeks ago to the day. It was a wet one, but expected by that time. I masturbate rarely, preferring to let nature take its course, which results in far stronger orgasms, but a mess in the bed. Garth always encouraged me to wait for the natural event because it was worth it, and told me to put a medium sized towel underneath the bottom sheet to protect the mattress when I felt it was likely to happen. Usually after at least three weeks after the last one. It happens at the end of the most delightful pre-waking reverie imaginable. And boy, does it come.
'You'd better stop Quintus. I don't want to yet. May I with you now; please?' I said, breathing deeply.
He'd been playing with me outside my pants as we lay on top of the king-sized bed. Yes, it's an odd fetish, that one, which I'm sure it stems from my early days at S. Endellion when one might grant a favour to an older boy, just this once . All the first and second-year boys wore very snazzy grey short trousers in those days, as I've mentioned a few times, so if you had nice legs and reasonably full hind quarters which evidenced your underpants nicely, which most did and some spectacularly well, you were bound to be noticed. Button flies were long gone, being replaced by the modern zip fly which made for far easier and quicker access when required in a hurry. It would take seconds for a helping hand to get inside and give you a fiddle, and a rapid erection would inevitably result regardless of any thoughts you might be having or how good looking or ugly the boy was. The feel of a warm hand on your pants, not in your pants, all silky and smooth. I'd look down to watch the general fiddling going on, me with my prepubescent cut three and a half-incher sticking out obligingly and being warmed up nicely by a much bigger hand than mine.
Quintus is doing nicely as he lies next to me, his trouser front open so I can touch him, again through his brief pants. He's a big boy, far bigger than I am, but he's not hard. Not what I'd call fully on, unlike my good self . That's strange? I can feel it working for me, but I sense Quintus's heart is not in this. I'll try something else but I'm having my doubts.
'That's enough thanks Alex. I don't really want to come now. Is that ok?'
'Fine, if you don't want to, but……..'
'If you would I can give it a go?'
He does want to.
Harking back again, once the word gets around the circle of Max's friends that I'm prepared to allow a sexual intrusion from time to time, I get other discreet offers, which I knew were sensible to decline. One or two second year boys made themselves available almost anytime and consequentially acquired the label, tart. They didn't seem to mind and continued to let boys do whatever they wanted with them, according to the dormitory stories, probably larger than life and apocryphal. There were stories about how much semen certain boys could produce on a daily basis which, thinking back, would be physically impossible, but got us excited at the thought of a fountain of the stuff going high into the air and landing on one's chest, face, or even beyond over the shoulder or somewhere better than that. Directly into the mouth. One or two stories sounded more plausible, but it was always an inspiring listen whilst one fiddled under the bedclothes on one's way to the first nightly cum, producing just a hint of the future on the tip of one finger. Happy days. But Quintus is perplexed as I try to revive his flagging penis with my fingers.
'I can't Alex. You're too…….sorry.'
'Oh dear. Too what?'
'You know. Too far out of range.'
'Ok Quintus. I didn't realize. Sorry.'
'It was very different back then. You were different.'
'Younger. And smoother? Is that it?'
'Yes I'm afraid so.'
'I can pretend? Put on my squeaky treble voice? Why don't you lie back and have a think, and I'll just get on with it. How's that?'
'Umm, that would be nice.'
'Would you like a story? If it would help we could relive that night we had together? As if it were now?'
In my story, hastily recalled for these purposes, with an element of wishful thinking, Quintus does perform the way I wanted him to. So I finally get to wrap myself around him, and his. It must be two years since I last performed this trick on anyone, let alone Quintus.
My story started at the beginning, my arrival wet from the rain storm, and my undressing, or rather being undressed by Quintus. His hands on my warming flesh and the effect that had on me, and him. I'm a boy of twelve and have become increasing sexually active, and with a major pash on Quintus. I'm in love with him and I know he is with me. He hasn't told me, not in so many words, but he is. Sooner or later this day we will make love in his bed. I'll cry with the joy and pain of it as his and my own orgasm approach.
As my story gathered speed, what I held in my hand has revived, fully, and is in such an excitable condition that he could let fly any moment. He is acutely sensitive to a good story, obviously, but with very specific content. I get him now. Exactly what turns him on, and it's not me, or any one like me. It's how I was , then. I get it now. He's just like me.
So I've achieved what I wasn't allowed to back then at Quintus's cottage in the Flat Lands of Cambridgeshire. I was lying on my back, my knees raised and wide apart by way of an invitation, as he stood at the foot of the bed, my hands in between my legs opening the door for him not only to see exactly how he might take his pleasure with me, but to go through that door to pleasure me too, for the first time in my short life. It was to be a seminal moment, literally.
I've pushed Quintus over the edge now. He's succumbed at last. It's outside his body and not inside mine as I wished it to be, now, and back then, safely inside my twelve-year-old body. It's all over him, tummy, chest and face too. It's not quite how I intended this visit to go, but it'll do.
I lay beside him again, still holding him, still working the softening thing in my hand, working it from root to tip. Waste not, want not. I kissed his cheek, and the beginnings of a blond Nordic beard prickled my mouth. I used my pants for the cause, thus having to leave his flat fifteen minutes later with them folded neatly in my hand, me unsatisfied still. I had done this before; left the boy to sleep as I withdrew, unsatisfied. But not for long. Back in my own bed, matters were quickly resolved.
I found the digital memory cards where I had hidden them and put one into my portable machine, a hard-on beginning to develop at the thought of what I am shortly to see. School inspectors don't search people's property. Angus and Quintus have nothing now, but I have everything . Duncan, Robbie, Philip, Robin the Honey Boy, and last but definitely not least, the randy little kid goat, Charlie Van Hoeven. And I have Quintus too, with sound. He hadn't noticed, so engrossed he was, so otherwise occupied as I told my tale to him.
I fast forwarded through the contents to the end and then went back to the footage that featured Charlie in the tent with Duncan. Quintus had certainly mastered the technology now, producing perfectly sharp and focussed footage that would do the business for any viewer. It did for me, and after the stimulating warm-up in Quintus's flat just a few minutes past, I knew that my next nocturnal emission was going to be delayed for a week or two. I managed to edge three or four times but finally I had to give in and come just at the point when Charlie's face contorts and seems to actually exhale his orgasm, off-camera, with Duncan at the helm, so to speak. Fabulous.
I took several deep breaths to assess what has just happened, the quality of the experience, and looking down to see the result. It's funny old stuff and endlessly fascinating to boys when they can't and you can. The pretty blue eyes that look into yours.
'Can you?'
Answer, 'Yes. Can you?'
'No not yet.'
'That's fine with me.'
'Can we then?'
Answer, 'Yes of course we can.'
I'm in that downturn period just after orgasm when guilt fills the darkened room and perspiration cools. I've just committed an act of gross hypocrisy, apart from anything else. I withdrew the card from my machine and placed it on the stone floor. There's a tool box in the corner with a medium sized hammer in it. I walked over to box, bent down and picked up the hammer. Standing over the target, I gave it three sharp taps that were heavy enough to flatten it and destroy any possibility that my sins will be discovered, and felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It put the battered object in my pocket with the intention of finding the nearest bin in a public place to quietly put it in. Not quite absolution, but the next best thing.
I had learnt something about Quintus today that explains much of how and why he operates in the way he does. I decided I would like to speak to Charlie Van Hoeven, who I suspect is a new light in Duncan's life, since I persuaded Quintus to abandon any hopes of capturing Duncan. Boys will find new friends, and old flames will flicker and fade. That's inevitable.
Duncan and I went along to the playpark this morning, Saturday morning. It has rained overnight, that sort of Cornish rain that doesn't give up quickly and soaks you in just a few seconds as it drives in like a bull from the south west blowing the short wind-shaped pines and the tamarisk, bending them to its will. But now we have a new calm and a new blue sky. The weather down here does this every now again just to keep us on our toes and know this place as a wild and mystical landscape full of folklore and legend. Last night the church tower was a menacing presence surrounded by the black waving yews a thousand years old, probably more, planted most likely when the church was built to accompany the first burials of those dark celtic people whose spirits linger still, moaning and sighing as the relentless wind argues violently with the stone walled fields.
Duncan wanted to hold my hand as we walked slowly towards the park. The gesture brought tears to my eyes which Duncan noticed as I wiped them away.
'I love you, you soft old goat.' He says giving my hand another squeeze, which made it worse. Now I leave the tears to fall with no attempt to hide my feelings. We stop for a moment so I can turn to him.
'I love you too Duncan. So no change there then. Not for me.'
'Thanks. And thanks for taking me home last week. At least you met Crab Boy at the harbour.'
'At least I met him, yes. The silly creature.'
'Do you think I would have liked him?'
'Yes I'm sure you would have.'
'After you told me, I went down to the quay a couple times but I didn't see anyone answering the description.'
'Oh shame. You might see him one day. You never know. He's definitely a Padstovian.'
'Maybe he went 'obby 'ossin'?'
'Ha. Maybe that explains his mysterious disappearance in the form of a horse.'
'Maybe you just made him up?' Duncan says giving my hand yet another squeeze.'
'No, he was real enough, albeit surrounded by cavorting piskies.'
We both laughed at the thought of a naked boy dancing with the fairies on the edge of a Cornish cliff.
'So how is Robbie?'
'He's fine. He's doing well at school. He's a good runner these days.'
'Umm. I knew he would be. He has the perfect body for distance running. How are things at Tregenna Cottage for him?'
'Ok as far as I know. He sleeps in Ralph's room which he doesn't like. Rosie needs to be in her own room now. She's fifteen so……'
'Quite, but not ideal for Robbie. Or his father.'
'No. He has to do his stuff in the bathroom. Do you think we could ask Ralph if Robbie should move back with us?'
'No. If Robbie seems reasonably happy then we can leave things as they are. You don't want him back do you?'
'No not really. I'm…….'
'I'm….what Duncan?'
'I'm a bit sad about him.'
'You will be, but we have to move on sometimes. Things change. People can change.'
'But you won't will you?'
'No. Not with you. You will change; have changed quite a bit in the last year.'
'For the better?'
'Yes of course, but in some ways I regret the inevitable changes. I'll always love you for what you are now, not what you were then, or will be. We have to live in the now Duncan.'
'Did I tell you? I've got hair coming in certain places. Not much though.'
'I know darling. There you are then. Changes. And your voice. That's gradually changing too.'
'But I'm still the same inside aren't I?'
'Yes you are. You're still and always will be beautiful, in whatever form you decide.'
'Do I hurt you?'
'That's a funny question?'
'I know it is, but do I?'
'Loving you can be a bit painful at times, yes.'
'Why?'
'I don't think I can answer that Duncan.'
'I'm sorry. I think I know why you can't answer that question.'
'Do you?'
'Umm. I'm sorry. Will you come back and sleep in my bed from now on? For ever? I want you to. There's plenty of room for you.'
'I can't darling, for the same reason. We tried it and it didn't work. Remember? I don't think I'd ever get any sleep.'
'Nor would I! We would just make love all the time!'
'What? On that squeaky bed? Everyone would hear us, morning noon and night. Oh dear. Shall we just walk on now?' I said, but Duncan hadn't finished.
'Especially in the morning. I'm too tired at night. That's the best time. In the morning.'
'I know. I can hear you going at it. Without me.'
'Do you mind?'
'Not at all sweetheart.'
'I like it. That you can hear me. Why won't you again? Do you remember when we slept together? We agreed that we could. Just the one time?'
'You know why I can't. We had what we both wanted. Look, there's a few people here already.' I said, quickly changing the subject.
'I'm not letting you go. I don't care who sees us. Can I come in with you then?'
'No! Silly boy. Not enough room in a single bed.'
'A kiss then? Now? A proper one. Just one? That won't hurt. Please?'
I looked at my boy, my precious loving boy. It is painful. Truly it is. I do need to make love to him every day, truly, lovingly, and deeply. He might think that's what he wants, but I know that wouldn't do him any good at all. Not in the longer term. Or me. They say that school days are the best days of your life. In my case, I think that may prove to be the case. At least from one point of view, when one finds oneself a mere observer rather than the protagonist in a twosome of this kind.
We parked ourselves as usual on our bench, to observe the morning activities, always an interesting half hour or so. Sometimes longer depending on who turns up. Robbie and his sister Rosie sometimes do.
'Can we talk all day Alex?'
'Yes, if you want to.'
'Good. I want to. That was a lovely kiss we had just now. Robbie doesn't like that. Not doing it like we did. When I wanted to, he pulled away. He said it disgusting, a boy trying to put his tongue in his mouth.'
'Is that why then? You don't see so much of him?'
'No, it's not all that. He likes a girl at school. In his form. She's ever so pretty.'
'Oh. I suppose that can happen. It usually does. He's about the right age to start getting ideas.'
'Like I did?'
'Yes, like you did.'
'But it stuck with me didn't it?'
'I don't know. Do you know? For sure?'
'Yes. I do know.'
'Well that's fine isn't it?'
'I think so. I need to know about you though. That you will go on loving me even though…….'
'Yes. I am with you Duncan and I always will be with you. If not in body, I am in spirit.'
He leans into my shoulder, his arm around my back, as I look at his bare pale brown thighs, Duncan's other hand resting on one of them.
'Pretty little hairs.'
'That need flattening down. They're all standing up.'
'Because there's a chill in the air still. You should have worn your jeans.'
'Make my legs warm then. Please .'
Golden hairs on his top lip too, and his cheeks, arms and the legs I have under my hands now, stroking. A boy walks past, looking, and then not looking. I kiss him on the top of his head, Duncan that is, not the boy! Just for a second.
'Is that nice?'
'Umm. Don't stop.'
I do stop, my fingers spread over the warming flesh at the very top of his left thigh, squeezing the muscle gently in my fingers. I'm on that line between supplying some comfort, and making a sexual gesture. The danger line. The trouble is that Duncan's enjoying my attention to this erogenous part of his lovely body. Talking of which I've noticed how he's grown recently as he slips gently out of his boyhood into……something else. A youth? I suppose so. Like the rest of us, Garth included, we've never had any issues with our own and other people's nudity and Duncan accepted this norm very naturally, thus I can keep tabs on his progress, and what's happening to those parts that are normally kept under wraps. He's fourteen and a young fourteen in terms of his physical development. It's going to happen but I can see the boyish features changing, just as mine did about six years ago now. I was no longer seen as the convenient substitute for the girl that the older boys wanted but wasn't there for them. All they had were the boys, some of whom like me, with a bit of imagination would suffice, and were willing to provide comfort for them. But when the hair appears and the voice goes down a couple of octaves, you are no longer the target for their affections and favours. We weren't girls any more. Duncan isn't there yet, so we have a bit more time with him. Unlike Charlie Van Hoeven who is very much in the boy camp, pretty and charming, with his winning cheeky smile and unkempt light brown hair and a mouth one might fixate upon, imagining exactly what it would feel like against one's own. Rather nice. The images, now destroyed, of him and Duncan in the tent persist in the memory. Charlie is one of the sixty or so boarders at the school and no doubt has an active social life within that closed society where Quintus's tentacles I understand have not reached. That's a surprise. His flat is at the heart of one of the Houses the boys recreate and sleep in. That worried me. Duncan has mentioned Charlie this morning on our stroll down to the park. Perhaps it's time to delve a little bit further?
Goose bumps are all over Duncan's legs so I smooth them down, or try to, from where my hand was right down to below his knees, and back and forth right up to where I was almost touching but not quite, as the gap between his two knees opens wider. He's clearly asking the question without words. Will I?
Duncan's very close relationship with Robbie is over, officially. Regrettable but inevitable as those kinds of intimate friendship, as I know, don't usually last too long. Things change for boys fast. How they think; what they want and so on. And teenage relationships are volatile as we all know. Duncan, as we used to say, is without at the moment and feeling it.
I give him a hard hug and stop my attempt to warm up his legs.
'Are you ok there?' I say, giving him another tug around his middle.
'Not really. Do you think I should have broken up with Robbie?'
'Is that it? You're missing something?'
'Not him . Not really.'
'Someone?'
'Umm. It's boring not having anyone.'
'Having to go solo?'
He laughed.
'What do you do then Alex?'
'Remember. That's all I can do. Thoughts and pleasant memories are one thing Duncan, and sometimes all we have to sustain us until…….'
'Until we find someone? When you have to rely on memories, who is it?'
'Goodness, I wouldn't know where to begin.'
'Not Quintus I hope?'
'No, not him. Do you see Charlie Van Hoeven much?'
'Quite a lot, but the boarders are kept busy. It's difficult. We want to but we can't.'
'Yes you can. They go home for weekends don't they? Once a month?'
'Do they?'
'Yes. Exeats. Invite him back to Morwenna. If he wants to come. Of course he might have other fish to fry, but you can find out from him what his status is regarding best friends he might have?'
It would be a different voice that I would hear through the thin partition wall that divides me from Duncan. Charlie's?
'Can you find out?'
'Yes, I can ring Quintus when we get home. He could deal with it easily.'
'Can I stay here for a while?'
'Sure. I'll toddle off and talk to Quintus. What are you going to do here?'
'Dunno. Just watch for a while. Robbie might come down. I could play with him for a while.'
What? In the bushes over there or on the swings? No, that's a mean thought of mine. If it were I, I'd lure Robbie away and into the bushes for swift bit of togetherness on a bright Saturday morning, but that's just me. Anyway, I don't think we have the same Robbie these days. Life is not so gay now he's turned the other way as most of them do. I didn't as we all know, but I had no choice in the matter. It's just how I am, just as how Quintus is too, very similar to me it would appear. Anyway, not much could have shocked me more than what I was about to hear from Quintus, later.
I Ieft Duncan to his own devices at the park. He'd always find something or someone there to amuse him until twelve or so when he and Robbie would appear, hungry for a sandwich, or whatever. Rosie too if she hadn't gone on the bus to Truro to meet a girl friend.
I picked up the 'phone and dialled his number. Quintus answered after a few rings………
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