A Pure and Honest Heart
by Zambezi
Chapter Eleven
The next two weeks consisted of nothing but exams for Brad, and he studied hard. He was unsure of his own performance, unusually so, and with some trepidation he came out of his last exam breathing a sigh of relief as a newly-free man. Many of the Trinity pupils left immediately after their last exams to take a few weeks out until they reconvened for Speech Day at the end of term and the Leavers' Ball immediately afterwards but Brad, with little to go home to, decided to mainly stay at school until the beginning of July along with a handful of others who passed the time playing sports or music or both, planning the Ball with St Catherine's, or just plain frittering time away.
He spent his days in the immediate aftermath of the exams mainly in bed suffering with a seemingly all-conquering fatigue which accompanied relief at the end of his school days. When he did get up and about it was to just dabble in the things which concerned him. During lesson time, he helped out with a total recataloguing of the school's Great War library, as well as help Mr Newman take a few of the junior PE classes. Brad had qualified as a pool lifeguard the year before, and was glad to put it to some use as well as help out the man who had coached him in most sports over the previous decade. He also helped out with some cricket coaching, both for the Trinity teams and their prep school squads. On the occasions he played for the school, he was clearly at the very top of his game: taking wickets with bad balls and good alike, virtually undismissable at the crease, and seemingly able to predict the tactical course of a match.
Most of his evenings were spent with either Richie, in his room, or his acting Headmaster, Tom Stephens, as they discussed Brad's contribution towards backfilling the loss of the teacher as Wordsworth's Housemaster and planned the best way forward for the school over a few glasses of something. If it wasn't a New World wine, it was something stronger.
Knowing that he was one of the great success stories of a great school, and with everything falling into place for him, Brad felt on top of the world despite his recent losses. He didn't suspect it at the time, but it was a feeling of euphoria and triumph he would struggle to recapture again.
Every night as he prepared for bed, he would receive a flying visit from Richie. There was always time for a hug and usually a kiss. Each time, Richie's words from a lifetime ago, that he hoped Brad was in it as the real him, not as a confused and grieving shell of the man he normally was, crossed his mind. And as the days progressed and June turned into July, Brad was ever more sure that he was. The confused and grieving Bradley Johnson loved Richard for everything that he and his family had offered, but the real Brad was more and more in love with him, and as the days passed he began to realise why.
Every now and again, Richie would get picked on for his growing relationship with Brad. Mostly it was good natured teasing. Occasionally, it was more homophobic. Each time Richie defended himself, Brad, and them. With increasing dignity each time he passed up the opportunity to betray Brad for an easy life Richie was the epitome of discretion and loyalty, regardless of the personal cost. On top of those narrow shoulders lay a very mature and dedicated head. Brad's love for him grew to the point that it hurt.
Tony Fleming also stayed behind for the remainder of the term, not wanting to miss the revelry of the Leavers' Ball but not being able to return all the way home to see out the final few weeks of term. After his earlier jealousy at the growing relationship between his best friend and the young Third Form boy he had gradually accepted that the two of them had a wonderful and growing bond. He sometimes wondered whether it was a sexual one, but on the few occasions he raised it with Brad - including once over a bottle of Asbach brandy with Tom Stephens, soliciting a raised eyebrow from the older man to his House Captain Emeritus - Brad merely smiled and replied with monotony: "a gentleman never tells."
The last weekend of term was the return home cricket match against Woodlands. Bearded Wonder had clearly decided that non-school pursuits were more important to him than having the last word on the sports field, so Brad mentally claimed victory in their personal rivalry as Trinity racked up 250 on a slow turning pitch and then blew Woodlands away in little more than an hour.
The Sunday after the match Brad and Tony headed down into the village immediately after Chapel and liberated the Passat from the lock-up garage. Twenty minutes later Brad eased the big VW onto the M40 and headed south-east, music playing and his best friend in the seat beside him enjoying his last week in England. They blasted through the hills past High Wycombe and round the now-familar Middlesex stretch of the M25 before heading down the A3 towards Guildford and then east towards Inglewood. They enjoyed a late lunch with Zelda and took the opportunity to have a swim in the now open air pool in the afternoon. Tony was amazed at the wealth that the Young boy had behind him. He didn't act like a spoiled brat as far too many of his contemporaries did. Tony also finally cottoned onto the depth of the relationship that Richard and Brad shared with each other as he saw everything that the younger boy had wanted to share with Brad. They left in the Toyota after a light evening snack and continued towards the farm in Faversham where they were to bed down early for the night, anticipating a long day ahead.
As they rejoined the M25 in its rush-hour glory Tony remarked about Inglewood, "Nice place they've got there."
"Yeah, you'd think that they would live in a world of their own but I find both Zelda and Richie very down to earth. They're really good people."
"You know, Brad," the Zimbabwean continued, "I still have no idea where you and that boy stand with each other. You keep saying 'a gentleman never tells' but that just means nothing."
"It's just magical and special, knowing that we have an amazing bond between us. Do I love him? Of course I do, like he was my own brother. Do I look at him and think 'I want to shag you senseless?' No. That's all it is. In fact, we practically will be brothers. Zelda wants to adopt Jamie."
"Cool. What about you?"
"I'm over eighteen so it's irrelevant."
"But won't you live with them as well?"
"In all probability, yes."
"So that explains why you two are in each other's pockets."
"I guess so," Brad replied as the traffic started to move again. He hesitated a moment, before deciding to come clean. "If you want to know where Richie and I stand with each other, I'll tell you as long as it doesn't leave this truck."
"Done."
"Our relationship is very close, but it's not sexual, I swear to everything holy. The problem is I can't guarantee that it will always stay that way. I have very strong feelings for him and I'm not sure how they're going to grow over time. I am terrified, but excited, that one day sharing a physical relationship with him will be the logical next step."
"Cool. I'm glad you could trust me with that, but if you're going to go all gay on us, don't come to Zim. You'll never be allowed in."
"I'd heard. What was it Mugabe said? Homosexuals are worse than dogs and pigs?"
"Something like that. Anyways, if they knew they won't let you in through the front door. Or the back one, if you'll pardon the expression."
Both boys roared with laughter. Once he brought himself back under control, Brad responded, seriously, "Sounds like the kind of regime I could do without supporting."
The following morning they rose with the sparrows and blasted down the A2 to Dover to catch an early morning P&O ferry to Calais and France. After disembarking they quickly headed out towards the giant Cité Europe mall near Boulogne. They did not take any prisoners as they raced around Carrefour and then Oddbins comparing prices and checking their budget. Before long they settled for ninety bottles of each of forgettable French red and white (Cahors and Muscadet) from Carrefour, to which they added a dozen cases of cheapish champagne. After they loaded that onto the truck, they headed back into Oddbins and picked up a further 180 bottles of Australian Shiraz and 180 of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, reminding themselves that if Her Majesty's Customs were to ask the question then this was for a private party for Tony's eighteenth birthday at Inglewood the following Saturday, and most definitely not to resell at the Trinity School Leavers' Ball coincidentally taking place in Oxfordshire the same day.
In fact, the journey back passed without a hitch and they were back in Faversham before the evening rush-hour made the roads impossible. The following day, Tuesday, saw a trip to the Shepherd Neame brewery in Faversham itself as Brad called in a few favours and a few backhanders occurred out of everyone's sight. The Toyota left half an hour later under the weight of four kegs, tapping equipment, and a further 120 bottles of Spitfire ale.
With nearly a tonne of booze, aluminium, and glass spread between the load bay and horse box which Brad had borrowed from a farmer friend the long journey back to Trinity was slow to say the least, particularly after a stop at Inglewood on the way back to collect Richard's karaoke equipment which was then perched precariously on the back seat of the truck amongst the plonk. When they arrived early on the Tuesday evening, they stowed all the alcohol and the sound equipment away in Tom Stephens' garage in preparation for the following weekend.
For Brad, Wednesday and Thursday were heavy music days. He did not play an instrument any longer, but had been a keen singer and percussionist in his earlier school days, blessed with perfect pitch and a natural flair for classical music. He had continued singing in his own time, but not with the choir as other commitments had gradually taken over his life, accounting for his instrument playing as well. His final contribution to cultural life at Trinity would be musical: drumming, singing, and then orchestral special sound effects at the Eve of Speech Day Concert on the Friday night. Games on Thursday afternoon saw the entire programme in very noisy final rehearsal.
That morning, Brad and Tony had taken the 4Runner into Oxford and gone to a suit-hire shop to rent tuxedos, all the other boys making their own arrangements with the help of their families. They were able to stand and be measured before collecting their suits from stock minutes later. Brad had tried to obtain Richie's measurements the night before, in a conversation that rapidly descended into innuendo and farce. "I'm getting the dinner jackets tomorrow," Brad had begun. "What size are you?"
"About two and a half inches soft, more like four hard, but I'm growing all the time," came the grinning reply.
"Dufus!" Brad responded, starting a wrestle with Richie on his bed which only ended when he realised how aroused he was becoming with the physical contact and called it a day. Eventually, he grabbed a piece of cable and measured Richie - with rather more contact than strictly necessary - and placed the cable against his ruler to obtain the suit measurements.
Suit collecting for all three done, Brad and Tony headed to a warehouse on the outskirts of town to pick up fifty cases of Zambezi beer that a friend of Tony's in Harare had arranged to complete the alcohol acquisitions for the Ball on the Saturday night.
Friday July 9, 1999, dawned clear and bright as memorable summer school days often do. With no more classes for anyone and the Upper Sixth and Fifth Formers arriving back in drips and drabs throughout the day, in the morning the scene was set for the traditional Leavers versus Staff all day cricket match with the whole school watching. With his fan club of Richie, Jamie, Marcus, Bob, and Allesandro cheering him on from the side of the pitch, Brad was inspired to another match-winning performance. As he hit the winning runs through the covers in the middle of the afternoon he once again pointed his bat at Richie and held it there, making sure his boyfriend knew the innings was dedicated to him as he ran off the hallowed turf of the Trinity cricket pitch for the last time as a pupil.
In the evening, after dinner, Brad walked across the parade ground to the indoor Sports Hall, which had been kitted out with a stage and seats for the concert that evening and then Speech Day the following day. He made sure his equipment was safely placed under his seat at the back of the orchestra before walking back to Wordsworth and getting dressed for the occasion.
The Sports Hall was packed to bursting for the 7.30pm start. Most boys' parents made the trip over for the musical highlight of the year, and of course the entire student body was there too. The opening piece was the full orchestra playing Tchaikovski's Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture and from his position behind the kettle drums at the back of the group Brad could see over to Richie, sitting with the wind section as he played his clarinet. About halfway through the piece their eyes met and, with a while to go until he was needed again Brad's mind drifted back to his early encounters with Richie the previous autumn.
Then, the boy had been merely Young, one of a dozen or so new thirteen year olds who would, he had been pretty certain, be forgotten about within months of leaving. Brad cast his mind back to those eyes, those tortured expressions of pain, anguish, and something else which he had never really identified. And now, as his eyes settled on Richie's, he knew. The pain and anguish had gone completely. All that was left was "I love you. I feel safe with you." Richie's eyes told Brad everything he needed to know about how the younger boy felt about him. He prayed to everything holy that his own eyes were sending the right message back, just as he became aware of the conductor, Mr Robinson, about to cue him in to the climax.
Next up, there were some string pieces, before a few Elgar choral pieces. Richie then delivered a stunning solo in Copland's I Bought Me a Cat, which brought a smile to everyone's face, and a tear to Brad's. The emotion of his final hours at Trinity, after nine years, was getting to him, while his feelings for Richie ran wilder inside his mind by the minute.
A couple of Sousa marches followed, before the penultimate piece of the evening. Brad had not had a great deal of operatic singing experience, but in what had been a musically-challenged cohort by Trinity's standards he had been the only realistic choice to represent the class of '99 in their officially approved farewell gesture. As he walked up on stage he spotted Richie hiding in the classroom corridor which formed the wing of the makeshift stage, gulping water after his own exertions. As the applause started from the audience, Richie put his bottle down and - out of sight of the rest of the auditorium - blew him a kiss before raising his hands above his head and joining in the applause, moments before he walked out to join his former House Captain, boyfriend, and future adoptive brother as his accompanying solo clarinettist.
As a 'farewell to life' in Puccini's Tosca, E lucevan le stelle seemed the perfect representative aspect of Brad's feelings as he bid farewell to the only life he and his classmates had ever really known. The passion and tension in his voice was palpable as, accompanied by Richie's haunting notes and the unobtrusive backing of the orchestra, he delivered a flawless rendition of the aria. As the final notes died away and the audience erupted into applause, Brad turned to shake hands with Mr Garnett and the leader of the first violins, who then beckoned Richie to stand up and step forward with Brad. In front of the entire school and their parents Brad and Richie hugged each other tightly as they each whispered "I love you" in the other's ear. As Brad scooted out of the side door, and then back in at the rear to take his seat in the orchestra, he was as hard as he had ever been in his life.
The finale to the evening was another Tchaikovski masterpiece, the 1812 Overture. For a smallish independent school - the class of '99 notwithstanding - Trinity had been blessed with a generation of talented musicians for the previous few years' intake, and in 1999 was able to mount not only a full orchestra for the first time in years, but add a fairly substantial choir. The 1812 was the only choice for showing that off.
Richie was in with the wind section from start to finish, but Brad was able to chill for a while, having handed over the drums to someone else. He looked across at his boyfriend and suddenly noticed how attractive he looked sitting in his band uniform, concentrating on the music. Despite being head over heels in love with the boy's personality, Brad had never felt any kind of physical lust for Richie: he would have walked past him in the street without so much as a second glance. It suddenly struck him that because Richie was never an object to him, he had got to know the personality first, and genuinely and securely fallen in love that way. As he looked at the young teen, he began to wonder if that absence of lust was changing. As the music began to build up towards its inevitable climax, he felt his erection throbbing in his briefs more and more. A couple of times Richie looked sideways and smiled, his eyes once again saying "I love you."
Brad's erection just was not going away. As he shifted in his seat to try and hide it, the friction merely heightened his arousal, and then no matter where he looked Richard was in his sight arousing him even more as he found himself heading inexorably towards orgasm..
Suddenly, he became aware that his contribution would be needed within a few seconds. He reached under his seat and pulled out the General Purpose rifle he had drawn from the CCF armoury, cocked it, and aimed high up in the ceiling at the bunched up cricket netting which had been slung over the rafters. Unable to see the conductor without looking away from his target, he listened carefully for his cue and then fired his blank rounds to provide the cannon effect the music deserved, just as he came in his briefs. Slightly flustered, he put the rifle back down on the floor as soon as he had finished shooting - in every sense - and turned to the tubular bells to ring out with several peals in harmony with the chapel's bell tower across the quad, before resuming his cannon effects as the concert came to a close.
As soon as he was able to leave his seat, Brad rushed to the bathroom and cleaned himself up as best as he could before stripping the rifle down, cleaning it, and returning it to the armoury. Thankfully, nothing had soaked through his trousers. As he headed back to Wordsworth he was intercepted by Tom Stephens, inviting him to join the rest of the Upper Sixth at a reception in the staff room.
Brad responded politely. "That's very kind, Sir, and I may take you up on it later. But this is my last night here with the rest of the House and I want to spend a bit of time with them. There's always tomorrow night for the Upper Sixth."
"I thought you might say that. Come later if we're still there."
Brad headed into the building and walked around all the corridors, chatting to the boys who had been his surrogate family at school. He made a point of telling them all how much he had enjoyed serving them as their House Captain, and thanked them for their personal support over the last few months in difficult circumstances, pointing out that Jamie would need that to continue from them to make the most of his potential.
Finally, he reached Nathan Gregory, who was nominally the duty Prefect that night, although last nights of term were traditionally fairly lawless. He had just made a fresh cafetière of coffee. Together they sat down in the House Library and poured themselves a cup each, as Nathan asked, "Any last words of wisdom from one captain of Wordsworth to the next?"
"Just have standards and stick to them. Then you'll all know where you stand, and you can maintain your dignity. Remember that the majority of people here are not fully independent grown ups who can handle everything by themselves. Most would never admit it, but at heart they're really all just scared kids, cut off from the security of their parents, who need a hug and a bit of space to air their feelings now and again. With the right leadership, you can provide exactly the right environment for that. The wrong one, and you will provide a climate where people are too afraid to ever say what's on their mind, and you'll end up with fifty five emotionally stunted thugs."
"You're absolutely right. I just hope that I can carry on where you've left off, and do justice to your philosophy."
"I'm sure you will. If you want to speak to me about anything at all, I don't know where I'll be come September, but Jamie will be here and you can get hold of me through him."
"OK, thanks bud. I'll look after him, you know. Actually, I'll look after them both. I know you've gotta be worried about what will happen to them once you're gone." Nathan smiled at Brad, not needing to say any more.
Brad knew he understood. "Thanks, I appreciate that."
"Now," Nathan continued with a glint in his eye, "what's up for tonight?" Another final night tradition at Trinity was that staple of English public schools: the massive practical joke.
Brad grinned back, and fished in his pockets for two keys. "This one is the key to the Sports Hall that the school doesn't know about. It doesn't officially exist. It's now yours, to pass on to whoever you see fit in twelve months time." He held up a second key. "And this is the spare to the Stephens' car. I lifted it from their kitchen drawer a couple of days ago, although I've actually told Mrs Stephens I have it and what's going to be done. She's on our side."
"Cool."
"Wait until I go and join the reception, then give it five minutes. I'll do a little speech thanking all the staff to distract them, and you can make your move then. You'll have about ten minutes to move it in there."
"Understood."
"Cool, now I want to get changed from this bloody band uniform and go have a drink."
"I bet. Brad, can I just say one more thing?"
"Sure."
"I first met you when I started at prep school eight years ago. You were the only boy in your year who even gave me the time of day, and we've been friends ever since. I've always looked up to you."
"Thanks, that means a lot."
"There's more," Nathan continued. He took a deep breath. "You've been a breath of fresh air here. You're the first person in any kind of position of responsibility who has thought that the best way to get through school is to hug people, not beat them; to make friends rather than enemies, even with the juniors. They all really admire you: all of them, not just Richie. I do too. If you hadn't fallen for him, I'd have tried to get you for myself."
"Excuse me?" Brad was lost for words.
"I know you two are in love with each other. If you know what you're looking for it's so obvious. I suppose what I'm trying to tell you is that I'm gay, and I'm jealous of him." Nathan breathed a massive sigh of relief. "There, I've said it. I'm gay, and I wish you could be mine." He stared at his feet, Brad wondering if this was the universal signal for closeted gays.
"I had no idea, I'm so sorry," Brad replied. "I'm so sorry you've had to carry this secret for so long, and that I didn't see you were carrying it." He pulled Nathan into a hug.
"I couldn't have asked for more. You were always there, I just didn't have the courage to talk to you about it, even though I knew I could. This is, after all, boarding school, and one has to conform!"
"Then maybe you can use your experiences to drive you into providing that safe environment I talked about just now, where people can be themselves and not have to hide behind the stiff upper lip."
"I suppose."
"God, I honestly never suspected that you might be gay. I mean, you play rugby and stuff."
"So do you."
Brad smiled. "I meant what I said before, I'll always be there for you if you want to talk. In the meantime, have a drinks reception to go to, and you have a prank to pull." They broke the hug and smiled at each other before Brad ruffled the hair on Nathan's seventeen year old head. "Come on, let's get the party started."
Brad had just joined Tony at their table for breakfast on the final day of the school year, Speech Day, when a rather bemused looking Tom Stephens marched into the dining room and appeared at their table with a plate of hangover food. As the acting headmaster gulped down a cup of black coffee, he looked up at the boys and muttered with an air of resignation: "My car wasn't where I left it last night when I woke up this morning. Is it safe, or should I call the police?" The look in his eyes suggested he suspected the prank, but was happy to let it go. He was an Old Trinitarian himself.
"Why don't we go for a walk around the grounds before Chapel, just to be sure?" Brad was being excruciatingly diplomatic. He and Tony both had alibis - they had been with the teacher the night before.
"What an excellent idea."
By the time they reached the Sports Hall, Brad and Tony were barely able to contain themselves. They had been joined by Matt Ingram - cricket captain and newly appointed House Captain of Tennyson, and his Wordsworth counterpart Nathan, all of whom were in on the joke as well.
As they stepped inside, Tom Stephens' mouth dropped. The stage, which last night had been at the far end of the hall, had been repositioned in the middle, with all the chairs in concentric circles around it. Spot lights had been set up to shine on the stage, and flashing fairy lights from a Christmas tree highlighted the edges. Right in the middle of the platform sat Tom Stephens' pride and joy, his 1992 Fiat Croma.
The acting Headmaster turned to his pupil friend. Sternly and loudly, he spoke just as a flashbulb caught the look of total bewilderment on his face. "Bradley, this had better be sorted out by lunchtime. I don't care who did it, but I am holding you responsible for getting it put right." Then, he added in a whisper that no-one else heard, "Nice one. Couldn't have done it better myself." And he winked.
The rest of the day, when recalled in the shadow of its start and finish, went in something of a blur for Brad. There was the final Chapel service, at which they sang Jerusalem and Old 100 and did sundry other public school things. There were exhibitions, where parents walked around classrooms pretending to be interested in what their children had learned at school. There was a picnic lunch, for which Brad and Jamie joined Zelda Williams, Peter Young and their son Richard. Knowing how much not having had the support of his parents at events such as this in the past had hurt Brad, Richie also insisted that the parent-free foreigners, Zimbabwean Tony Fleming and Italian Alessandro Correlli, joined them.
Then there was Speeches and Prizegiving. Richie had won Third Form Music and French prizes and as he strode up to the hastily rearranged platform to collect them from whichever minor Tory MP had drawn the short straw, Brad surprised himself when he felt feelings of pride welling up in him. Brad himself had picked up the Upper Sixth Economics prize for the year, but it was when he stood up to receive the open prizes for General Merit and High Endeavour, as well as the Headmaster's prize, that all hell broke loose and the entire school burst into long and genuine applause for one of their favourite sons.
A rendition of God Save the Queen later and Brad was on the Headmaster's lawn enjoying tea and cream cakes, profusely thanking newly appointed Headmaster Tom Stephens and Chairman-elect of Governors Peter Young for all their help in getting him to where he was today. Shortly afterwards, he wished his brother Jamie farewell as the younger Johnson climbed in the passenger seat of Zelda's Mercedes for the trip back to his new home at Inglewood.
By the time five o'clock struck on the parish church clock the only people left at Trinity were the Upper Sixth staying for the Leavers' Ball that night and Richie, who had been retained by the Ball committee at Brad's suggestion to operate the karaoke equipment which would serve as one of the side-shows during the course of the evening's entertainment. He would set it up while the Leavers dined.
The boys retired to their Houses to shit, shower, and shave before getting dressed up in their tuxedos prior to drinks with their Housemasters at 7.00pm and then the Ball itself. At 7.30pm, right on cue, the St Catherine's girls arrived in their coach and eagerly mingled with the panting boys and the champagne at the central drinks reception held in the Sixth Form bar, before heading for the Sports Hall on the stroke of 8pm.
The Hall itself had been completely reconfigured - for the second time that day. Since the speeches had ended the caterers had been in and completely transformed the place. An indoor marquee had been set up, complete with tables, chairs, and a passable wooden dance floor. In the equipment storage room at the back, the caterers had set up their equipment, while the bar - well stocked with the fruits of Brad and Tony's continental expedition - stood promisingly in one corner. The cheaper French wine sat breathing on the tables; the antipodean stuff was stacked behind the bar alongside the beer, to be sold as the evening progressed.
Brad had found himself stalked from the moment he arrived at the general reception by a huge beast of a Cats girl, who it transpired was somewhat unfortunately named Bertha. After several attempts at shaking her off and remaining unattached, he gave up and started to talk to her and as the evening progressed started to rather enjoy her company. Since there was absolutely zero sexual tension between them they were able to hold relatively intelligent conversations as most of the pupils got drunker and drunker.
Brad had resolved to pace himself slowly, and in a sea of increasing inebriation was feeling unnaturally sober by the time the loyal toast was said and a rather more lengthy toast to the schools took place. A live jazz band had been booked for an hour and most of the pupils got up and danced for at least the first half hour or so until the other diversions opened. Down the classroom corridor, one room had been converted into something approaching a casino, with blackjack and mah jong tables. An impromptu poker game sprang up as well. At the other end of the corridor in the sound-proofed music wing was the karaoke, at which a small crowd had already gathered by the time Brad fought his way to Richie's side to announce it open. To get things rolling, the two boys sang I Got You Babe together, resulting in more than one wolf-whistle from the boys and a rather graphic request - involving a live act - from the girls.
As they sang, Brad looked at Richie in his rented tuxedo for the first time. It fit him like a glove, and he certainly scrubbed up well, looking far less like a child and much more like a hot young man, Brad noted, his cock beginning to rise involuntarily as he drank in the sight of the boy he loved in front of him. Thankfully, a few flashbacks to his 'date' outside and he was soft again.
As they finished and Richie started to pull discs for the requests, Brad whispered, "Are you going to be all right in here by yourself?"
"I'm sure I'll manage, but it'd be nice if you could check up on me from time to time." The younger teen tried his hardest to look like a lost little puppy.
"I'll see how often I can get away from Big Bertha," Brad winked, before scooting out of the door.
As Brad headed back into the main hall, Tony approached and diverted him to the bar where they bought a bottle of wine and immediately slugged a couple of gulps each. "Jesus," Tony began, "it's like a meat market out there. Big Bertha was looking for you, by the way. I think she wants another dance."
"Oh jockstraps," Brad responded. "Just what I want. Hey, how's it going with Babezilla?" Tony's date was a bit of a salad-dodger too.
"I'm still shaking like a leaf," Tony responded with a smile. "She scares the shit out of me."
Brad headed back to the dance floor, where the band had been replaced by a disc jockey, for another twirl with Bertha before stepping out several times with a selection of his teachers' wives after he had checked on Richie. By midnight he was exhausted, and went back to the karaoke lounge to spend a bit of time with his young boyfriend. The crowds had mainly drifted away back to the main hall and the booze, or to dark corners across the campus where they could do the things that frustrated teenagers do at parties when granted rare access to the opposite sex, and there were just a handful of die-hards left at the karaoke. As they all had their turn, Richie asked Brad to join him for one last song by the pair of them to round the karaoke off for the evening.
Unchained Melody was written for, and made famous by, two men singing together. Yet as Brad looked into Richard's eyes as they warbled together, he was definitely singing to him, not with him. Richard's eyes told him the same, and the older boy once again found himself hardening. As they finished to sporadic applause they pulled each other into a warm hug, right in front of the other pupils. Brad ruffled Richie's hair, and then planted a big kiss on his forehead, before he shooed the stragglers back out of the room to the final half hour or so of the Ball.
When the last of them had gone Brad closed the door behind them and pulled Richie into a much closer hug. He felt Richie hardening as their crotches rubbed together through their suits, and they kissed passionately, their tongues probing deeply into each others' mouths. When he came up for air, Brad looked Richie directly in the eyes.
"Remember just after my parents died, when you said that you wanted me to be in this relationship as me, not as some confused and grieving guy/"
"Yeah."
"I think I can be pretty certain that I am," Brad continued. "As the real me. I am totally madly, deeply, one hundred per cent in love with you Richard, and I want to be your partner in whatever manner we can achieve."
Richie pulled his older friend back into the hug and pressed his face against Brad's chest. "You've made my day. All year I've been waiting for this moment. I thought we had it licked the night you, you know, found out, but now I'm certain. I love you too Brad, as much as I've always done."
Brad continued: "I could see that in your eyes the day I met you. That first morning in chapel, you looked terrified of everything, but you also looked at me for something. I just never knew what it was until last night, when I realised it was love. Love from a pure and honest heart, and with that the acceptance of you for who you are - just a normal guy growing up trying to make sense of everything around him. I hope I can give all that to you. It's all I've ever had from you, and I am eternally grateful."
"You know what I was really thinking in chapel that morning?"
"Go on, make a fool of me."
"Well, I was thinking how hot you were. But I was also wondering how I'd be able to cope having to shower every morning with all those naked guys. I was wondering which of the other new boys I might do stuff with, if any. And yes, I was wondering if I could ever have you hold me in your arms and make me feel like I do when you hold me now. I know it has been a pretty awful year for you, but for me it has been great. Meeting you, falling in love with you, and being held by you in those warm arms of yours makes up for anything else that has happened to me. You will always be worth whatever the cost is to me."
"I appreciate that; this year would have been pretty unmanageable for me without you. Now, let's lock this room up; we can collect the stuff in the morning. If we go back into the Hall I'm sure no-one will mind you slipping in. I'll buy you a beer and we'll have a dance, OK?"
"Deal."
Richard was positively beaming as Brad led him into the marquee where nearly two hundred Sixth Formers were busy getting even more drunk and the drunkest were making their parting shots at their teachers. The slow dances had started by the time they had each swigged back a bottle of beer and as Brad took his boyfriend's hand and led him onto the floor he thought he felt eyes boring into him, but when he looked no-one appeared to be paying any attention.
The two young men slowly danced together and in truth it did solicit a couple of strange looks from the others. But Brad remembered his father's words as he and Richie held each other close: "Those who care don't matter, while those who matter don't care." Sure enough Tom Stephens, dancing with Susan, merely smiled a knowing smile as their eyes met across the floor. And Tony, trapped in Babezilla's bear hug, gave them both a huge grin accompanied by a thumbs up.
Ultimately, Carriages was called - appropriately enough, as the Cats coach returned to collect all the girls. Brad gave Big Bertha a cheerful farewell and breathed a huge sigh of relief as the girls' coach headed off down the long driveway. Most of the boys staggered back to their rooms to an alcohol-induced coma. Brad and Tony, with Richard, stayed to help Tom Stephens secure all the remaining booze in his garage before they rescued a couple of spare bottles of champagne and retreated into his cottage.
As the three boys sat together on the sofa the tiring Richard leaned into Brad and snuggled up against him, knowing that - amongst friends - he could. As Brad cuddled him close, he and Mr Stephens reminisced about the previous half decade that they had shared together, describing the hilarious moments and the embarrassingly tortuous ones to general amusement. Finally, after they had finished two bottles of the fizzy stuff and laughed to within an inch of their lives, they bid goodnight and the boys headed back to Wordsworth for the night, for the last time for Brad and Tony. The Zimbabwean went straight to his room, exhausted and eager to give Brad and Richie a few minutes alone together. He sensed they needed it.
And so, at nearly three in the morning on a warm July night, Brad found himself standing outside the building that had been his real home for half of his life. He had been wondering - guiltily - for most of the previous six months about how he would be able to leave his beloved Richie there to face another four years without him but he had also realised that their very special relationship was always destined to grow outside the walls of Trinity, in a whole other life that was now awaiting both of them outside. The silence in the clear, still Oxfordshire night was deafening.
"And the stars were shining," Brad began philosophically, as he looked up at the sky. He wanted this night to be memorable for all the right reasons, for both of them.
"And the earth smelled sweet," Richard continued with a cheesy grin, referring to the Puccini aria with which Brad had been obsessed for the previous month. "You know Brad, there's no one but me down the Third Form corridor. If you slept in my room, no-one would ever know."
Brad smiled back, feeling himself harden in spite of the alcohol he had just consumed. "Are you reading my mind?"
"Just speaking my own." The fourteen year old winked and turned around to head into the building and up the stairs. Brad followed.
As they reached the Third Form dorm and closed the door behind them, they started another passionate kiss. As they came up for air, Brad placed both hands on his young lover.
"Are you totally sure about this?"
"We've shared a bed before," Richie replied, somewhat more flippantly than he had intended. Then, "Yes, I'm one hundred per cent sure," he added. He started to unfasten the onyx studs in Brad's dress shirt as the older boy repeated the action on his own.
"It may be the wrong time to say this, but there was something I noticed tonight when you were singing," Brad continued.
"What?"
"I think your voice is starting to break."
"About bloody time too. I guess that makes me a man."
"It makes you an adolescent. The only thing that will make you a man are the choices you make," Brad explained, rather paternally.
"Yeah, I suppose I've known that for as long as I've known you. But the choice I make tonight, as a free man, is to remove your clothes and get you into my bed." Richard unfastened Brad's tuxedo trousers and pulled them down. The bulge in his briefs was unmistakable. "Looks like you approve?"
"Kind of," Brad blushed as he unfastened Richie's trousers and removed them and his briefs in one smooth motion. As he leant down to remove them Richie stepped out of them, and the younger boy's erection poked him in the eye. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Richard replied. "It happens to everyone."
Both now completely naked except for their matching watches, they embraced passionately as their tongues met again and their entire bodies rubbed together. For the first time ever, their hands had free reign over every square centimetre of the other's body. Richie ran his hands up and down the muscular back before cupping Brad's buttocks and pulling the older boy further into him. Brad just pulled Richie close with one arm and stroked his back with the other.
Eventually, Richie broke the embrace and climbed into his bed, holding up the duvet as Brad had so often done in the past. Only this time his throbbing cock was on display.
"Come on Brad."
"Coming," replied the older boy.
And he clicked off the lights.
THE END
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