Flip’s Tale

Chapter Eight

The Sequel: Part 2

S17: Back to Home

We walked over to the hospital and found a much more coherent and happier Archie. He was full of the fact that when he’d had his dressings changed that morning he’d been allowed to inspect himself with the aid of a mirror. He said he was rather black and blue but he did have two balls. The left one, although false, was larger than his right but looked quite natural. He said he had to keep the dressings on until Sunday then have the stitches out on Tuesday. He was a bit concerned about this as the Community Nurse was his mum’s younger sister and she might tell his young cousins about his artificial ball. We laughed and said he should be proud he’d been given a big one because the Prof obviously thought he was a growing lad still and, anyway, we would need to check him out too once he was home.

While we were having a laugh at this, Dr McMillan (Marty to Richard and Simon) came in and we told him that Richard had offered our services. He grinned and said he was glad and he would put our names down. He then said that Archie was to have his chemotherapy injection on Thursday morning and if the blood tests were OK he could go home on Friday, with a check-up in November. We arranged that he would see Archie onto a train to Fort William and we would pick him up there and ferry him home. He gave us a note for Archie’s parents and another for Aunt Margaret, and asked us to deliver them.

As we said cheerio to Archie I told him he’d better not check anything until he was home. He whispered back that Wilf had told him to wait a week, if he could!

We went back to Simon and Richard’s flat, thanked Simon for having us, and loaded our bags into the car. We set off in good time and I negotiated the exit from Edinburgh very well, even with Tom sitting beside me. We did a detour off the motorway and had lunch in Dunblane. Tom took over the driving from there.

We didn’t hurry back, and got home to find Wayne busily finishing installing the ‘carcase’, as he called it, in Stuart’s room. He’d already finished the one in our room. Nosey sod wanted to know if we’d had a good time in Edinburgh, and how was wee Archie Ferguson? We said he was OK and would be home soon. We didn’t say any more as we knew old motormouth would broadcast any news to all and sundry. He said he would be back in the morning to finish off, but he wouldn’t be able to start on the doors and fittings until the following week. We did tell him there had been a message for us inviting us to lunch on Monday at the Laird’s. He was rather impressed. That news would soon get round, we thought.

He was still busy when Stuart’s school bus arrived in the village. He rushed in demanding news and we were able to say all was well so far. He said all the kids at school wanted to know where Archie was but he hadn’t said why he was in hospital. I raised a finger to my lips and pointed to his bedroom where it had gone ominously quiet. He grinned and shut up.

Later, Tom and I went to see Archie’s parents and his grandfather to tell them what had happened and to give them the letter. We glossed over the ball removal and the replacement, or ‘prosthetic’ as Marty McMillan called it, and said the operation had been successful. His parents were very grateful that we would pick him up from the station because they were working until six o’clock on Friday.

During the evening I asked Tom if I could see the file of Ghazi’s letters and he gave it to me when we went to bed. I leafed through the fairly substantial file and was amazed at the detail Ghazi had written about life, and my life especially, at Kinloch. He must have spent his Sunday hour, when we were all supposed to write letters home or to friends, writing these missives to Tom. I was overwhelmed by his kindness. However, there was something that rather puzzled me. When Tom came back into our room I asked him about it.

“Tom, these are wonderful. He even says I only did twenty-five reps one afternoon and he managed thirty. But what I don’t understand is the tick at the bottom of this page after his signature.” I riffled through until I got to letters he’d written more recently and the ticks got more abundant. “There’s more here, look, there are five here and seven there.”

Tom snorted. “Flip, sometimes I think you’re mentally deficient or suffering from loss of memory.”

I looked up, startled. What did he mean?

“Think!” he said, and then began to laugh.

The penny dropped. Each tick represented an occasion when Ghazi and I had some sort of sexual encounter.

“Oh, Tom, what must you have thought?” I got up and flung my arms about him. “There we were, Ghazi and me, and you knew about each time.”

“You are a bloody fool, Flip! Of course I knew. There wasn’t much I didn’t know about you while you were at Kinloch. Ghazi swore he’d tell me everything, and we made a pact that he would keep you safe for me. Don’t forget, Ghazi’s my friend too.”

“But, Tom, there I was, all happy with someone, and you were all alone here.”

“Oh, Flip, you and Ghazi didn’t bother me.” He chuckled. “In fact, I had to work hard to keep up with the pair of you.”

I flicked through the pages; there were lots of ticks. When I thought about it, I realised that in our final two years we generally did something every night.

Turn the tables!

“But Tom, you’re such a randy so-and-so, surely you could keep up with these?”

He laughed. “Yes, I did, but you have to remember each of those ticks means it was you and Ghazi—two! I had to keep up with both of you!”

I wasn’t quick enough to catch him and get him on the bed to tickle the life out of him. He flicked at me with the tee-shirt he was holding and told me go and wash, then he would show me what I was really missing!

That night, Tom fucked me quietly and sensuously, and filled me with his boy cream. I held his balls and gave thanks that he was so well endowed and randy enough to keep up with two, I thought, equally randy boys! As we lay in each other’s arms afterwards I reminded him of our name for it and how we had pulled Ghazi’s leg about the fact that we were producing man cream before he was. But boy cream was how I still thought of it, and mine was later carefully sucked from my ever-willing shaft. There was a great tick in my mind for that night’s experiences!

Tom had caressed my rod with his almost prehensile tongue, touching that spot where ridge joins shaft with such tenderness that my orgasm was, as ever, earth-shattering. I was in a state of post-cum euphoria when he slid up the bed and shared my spunk with me.

He nuzzled my neck and whispered, “Oh, Flip, your prick is so ergonomically perfect.”

I mumbled something and he licked the tip of my nose.

“That shaft… rock-hard… and straight as an arrow…”

I licked him back.

“Um… that lovely ridge…”

I murmured something about how his tongue had caressed that heavenly area under the ridge.

“Um…” he whispered again, “that lovely ridge… beautiful… so perfect…”

He paused.

“It stops my tongue from sliding off the end!”

S18: Tom’s News…

The next morning we received sad news. Tom’s father came across just before eight o’clock and told us he’d just heard that Tom’s grandfather had died suddenly the night before. He was going to try to arrange the funeral for the next Tuesday, as he and Tom’s mother were moving out on the Wednesday.

Tom’s grandfather had lived in Ullapool, about 125 miles further up the West coast. Tom’s dad was born there, and his parents ran a general store until his mother died, then his father sold up and bought a very nice house nearby. Tom said his granddad was a real Highlander, very strict and Presbyterian and that was why his only son (and only child) had left home as soon as possible to join the army. He had gone back to marry Tom’s mum, who came from another village just up the road.

Later in the day Tom’s dad came back to tell us everything had been arranged, and we both said we would go to the funeral. Dad told us he’d been in touch with the solicitor who had drawn up his father’s will. As the only grandchild, Tom was the sole beneficiary. Not only did he inherit the house, but there was also some land, and a sizeable amount in the bank. Tom’s grandfather had been a very canny Scotsman! Tom was both happy and sad. He hadn’t really known his grandfather, only visiting him about once a year, if that, but he was happy that he was now financially secure.

S19: Archie’s Balls

We spent that day and Friday morning painting the bungalow. Then we had to drive to Fort William to pick up young Archie. The train was on time and we could see him anxiously looking out of the window as the train drew in. We helped him down off the train and Tom carried his bag to the car. Archie was limping a bit. He said he was still a bit sore and the injection he’d been given was rather painful too.

We took him back to the bungalow and fed him up on Tom’s mother’s scones and a pot of tea. Eventually, he couldn’t contain himself.

“D’ya want to see what they did?” he asked, looking from one to the other of us.

We couldn’t contain ourselves and Tom said if we had a look he wasn’t to say anything because we would probably have to look again when Aunt Margaret (he actually said Dr Menzies) would need to see Archie.

We went to our bedroom and without further ado Archie dropped his jeans, pulled up his shirt, and displayed his balls, snugly held by a sort of net-like jockstrap. He pulled down on one side, then the other until his thick young cock dangled neatly against his pendulous sac. The Prof had been kind. The left ball was bigger than the right and hung a good half inch lower. The left side of his ball sac was still a bit bruised, but other than a neat stitch or two he looked just as he had before the operation.

“Christ, Archie!” I said, quite amazed. “If I didn’t know that left one was a fake I’d say you had the makings of mighty fine spunk factory that side.”

“Och, aye,” said Archie, very proudly. “And the other one works gae fine. I didnae touch myself last night but it squirted when I was asleep. I was all sticky when I woke, and Wilf said I’d had one of they wet dreams.”

“Haven’t you had one before?” Tom asked.

Archie shook his head.

“Never?” I asked.

“No, I didnae know you could have them until Wilf told me this morning. He said boys sometimes have them before they know about doing it. But I’ve been doing it regular since I was ten to get the feelings, and I made ma stuff come when I was eleven. As I do it regular, Wilf says I probably wouldn’t have had one.”

A new Archie! No embarrassment about telling us about it, nor having discussed it with Wilf, and he’d confirmed what Stuart had told us about him. Lucky little bugger—having all that pleasure every night from such a young age. Gosh, he’d been doing it longer than I had! I’d only heard about the pleasures of dry cums from others at school when they discussed the pleasures of prep school days.

I could see that Tom was rather impressed with Archie’s prowess, too.

“You’d better not do it your usual way until you’ve had those stitches out on Tuesday,” Tom suggested. “That’ll give you time to build up a head of steam as well.”

Archie grinned. “I dinna want tae cause myself any more trouble but there was a wee spot of blood in it this morning but I can’t wait to try! Och, roll on Tuesday!”

I told him to pull his jeans up before he got too excited. I’d noticed his mighty worm had begun to turn a little during the display. I expected young Stuart would be privy to a demonstration when all was healed and the stitches were out.

Soon after the school bus had decanted him Stuart came rushing in. I was in the kitchen getting veggies ready for the evening meal.

“Where’s Archie?” he demanded.

“Oh,” I said nonchalantly, dropping the spud I had just peeled into the bowl, “he had to have his other one removed as well and his cock shortened. We’ve suggested we take you next week so you can donate one of yours and he can have a transplant.”

A look of puzzlement passed over Stuart’s face, until he heard laughter from the living room.

“You wait!” he said, and rushed off.

I followed, wiping my wet hands on a tea towel. Stuart was hugging Archie. Tom was still holding a hand of cards, since he and Archie had been playing two-handed whist. Having heard what I’d told Stuart, both were laughing their heads off.

“Archie, how are you?” Stuart managed to gasp out despite the stranglehold he and Archie had on each other.

Tom stepped up and parted them.

“OK, Stuart,” he said, “Archie’s alright, but he’s got to rest. Sit down and he’ll tell you the truth, not like our evil brother.”

So the tale was told. While Stuart was avidly listening I made him some fresh tea and took it in to him. He looked up at me.

“I’ll get you for that,” he said. “You scared me stiff.”

“What about? You being a ball donor?”

“No, you fool! You telling me he wasn’t here and had to lose both!”

Archie laughed. “Och, Stuart, Wilf said this morning if you hadn’t found ma lump I wouldna be here soon. And if I had tae hae a transplant I would be proud tae hae one of yours! So, I wouldnae be here if it wasn’t fae you and your brother and Tom. You should be glad to have them as your brothers.”

What did Archie mean by that? He’d picked that up quickly from what Tom had said!

S20: Pete

The weekend went quickly. Stuart and Archie were together most of the time. Tom and I finished painting the outside woodwork of the bungalow, and Aunt Margaret bustled around cooking superb meals. Wayne called in to say he couldn’t start until Tuesday, which suited us fine since Tom and I would be going to Ullapool for the funeral. Tom’s dad had suggested we stay at the house there to start clearing things up.

But first we had our invitation to lunch with Pete’s family on Monday.

We dressed, as usual, in kilt and sporran and looked very smart as we set off. Pete was waiting for us, similarly attired, when we arrived and immediately took us through to his mother, who apologised that her husband was away in Perth on business.

Of course, we had to tell Pete about the soon-to-be new bugs, the Prof’s twins. Tom made a point of giving him the lowdown on how to distinguish between them. Out of his mother’s hearing we recommended that he keep a watchful eye on any sexual activity, because we thought they would be prime targets for certain of the older lads and we wouldn’t be surprised if they were willing subjects, or even perpetrators. Pete grinned. He said he knew exactly what we meant and he would keep an eye on them.

We told Pete we knew Wayne and that Tom had been at school with him. After lunch Pete took us up to his room and showed us his latest drawings, mainly of the countryside. After a bit of prodding he shyly produced the sketch he had done of me, full frontal and very life-like. Tom was most impressed and had the gall to say he thought the perspective exaggerated certain aspects. Pete just laughed and said he disagreed, having noted things from all angles.

Pete also said he had decided not to go to art college. At the prompting of people he and his father had consulted, he was applying for entry to the Fine Arts degree course at St Andrews University.

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Is that because ‘you know who’ is going there?”

“It’s alright, Tom,” Pete said with a grin. “I shan’t make a bid for him; I’ll leave that to all those American girls who are applying!”

S21: Ullapool

Next day Tom and I drove up the coast separately from his parents since we would need my car to get back. The funeral, at the church in Ullapool, was very well attended. Tom’s dad, resplendent in his new Inspector’s uniform, was congratulated on his promotion by lots of his father’s friends.

When we got back to the house there was a letter for Tom from the solicitor, or Writer to the Signet, as he styled himself. This informed Tom that not only did he inherit the house and the money, but his grandfather had also bought the small house Tom’s mother was born in, and this was let out until the next June. The solicitor added that if Tom was minded to sell the main house and land there were two people almost vying to buy it already, and thus Tom would get a good price.

He discussed this with his father, who suggested he sell the house and land, and keep the smaller house. We and the family could use it for holidays. Tom arranged to see the solicitor the next day and put things in motion. His parents went off to get ready for their move the next day.

They had hardly left before we were upstairs in the main bedroom, stripped off and in bed. We had a very intense lovemaking session, ending up in our favourite sixty-nine position, drawing each other slowly onward and upward until we could climax almost together. That final exchange of spunk, with tongues in each other’s mouths, was always the most passionate ending for any of our encounters. We fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke when it was dark.

“We’ll be able to come to the cottage up the road whenever we want a holiday or a break,” said Tom. “We’re going to share it. It’s ours, not just mine.”

We kissed and caressed each other and I felt even closer to him. I was happy that Tom now had no worries about financing his years at university. His grandfather had died but we felt that he would have approved Tom’s use of the money because of the Scots love for education.

We found food in the freezer and went to bed again very early, spending several hours in complete harmony. I think we both came three times more that night but the number of times and the time passing were incidental to our simply being together.

The solicitor the next day was kindness itself. He said he would do all the transfer and deal with all the legal side and if he could handle the sale of the property he would be happy to keep his fees as low as possible. He handed Tom a cheque for five thousand pounds, ‘on account’ as he put it, until the estate was settled. He also said he’d opened a bank account in Tom’s name and he should deposit the cheque as soon as possible. Tom’s face was a picture. He was more than solvent. All Tom had to do was to sign a number of documents and that was that.

We spent quite a bit of the rest of the day sorting through his grandfather’s effects. He had been meticulous in keeping things in order and had made notes of where things were. He must have known he didn’t have long to live. Tom said he would keep most of the books, which ranged over many topics from astronomy to sailing to history to geology. Grandfather had been a self-taught, well-read, man.

We stayed until the Saturday morning and I think we had some of our happiest days together. We were alone, able to do what we wanted when we wanted. We explored the countryside, the harbour and the town. We found nice restaurants or pubs and ate out. Then, when we returned to the house, we had the most ardent sex sessions that either of us had ever experienced. There was such an intensity in our love for each other, in the way in which we felt each other’s bodies, the way in which we sensed each other’s feelings, the way in which we tried to match each other’s climaxes or to give the other the most exquisite means of reaching their apex. Three days when we got to know and love each other better and more deeply, sharing thoughts and feelings, hopes and desires, goals and ambitions. We both felt this time would be crucially important to whatever happened to us in the future.

On our arrival back in Glenfinnan there was high excitement. Aunt Margaret’s senior partner had announced his retirement, so she would be in charge of the practice from December. She told us she would try to reduce her own load to have more time to pursue other interests, but having watched and listened to her, we knew she would work just as hard because she loved her job. She did experience sadness, especially when her older patients were ill or died, but she had an enthusiasm which both Tom and I picked up on and hoped to emulate in the future.

There were a lot of messages for us, either on Aunt Margaret’s answer phone, or cards and letters. She did point she wasn’t our social secretary but had had a long chat with Ghazi, who had phoned from London. She was very fond of Ghazi and said she hoped we’d be seeing him again soon. Clyde had phoned from France as well but he’d told her things could wait a bit.

Stuart reported that Archie was doing well. He’d had the stitches out but was still tired. Of course, Stuart had been allowed an inspection! Aunt Margaret had examined Archie at the proper surgery and she said the Prof had done a neat job. He grinned when I asked him outright if Archie had broken his resolve not to have a wank. “He’s OK,” he said. I wondered if Stuart had helped Archie to find out what he could still produce.

S22: Wayne’s Worried

Wayne had done a wonderful job of the shelves and cupboards. Unfortunately, Stuart had left the printout in its folder on his desk when he went to school on Thursday, and nosey Wayne must have read it. He was dying to ask Stuart questions but was rather embarrassed. At least, that was what Stuart surmised from Wayne’s odd openings to sentences, which then changed—and the fact that the folder had been moved and a couple of pages were misplaced. Perhaps, Tom said, we should confront him with this when he came to do the final varnishing!

Wayne came early Monday to finish the work. It was fairly evident he had things on his mind and matters came to a head when I went into the kitchen with him for elevenses. Tom followed us in just as I was pouring out three mugs of coffee. He was carrying the blue folder containing Stuart’s printout.

Tom sat down opposite Wayne and plonked the folder on the kitchen table. “Aye, Wayne, and what did you learn when you read what was in Stuart’s folder? Eh? Did you learn how to have a decent wank at long last?”

Poor Wayne. He went bright red and gobbled like a turkey cock, muttering something. Tom went on relentlessly, opening the folder and riffling through the first few pages.

“Which do you like best now—straightforward fist, or backhand, or three-finger? I bet you’ve tried them all in the last few days, haven’t you? And how do you measure up against the average weekly score for lads our age, eh?”

Wayne blustered. “I dinnae dae it ivery day and I dinna ken what you mean…”

“Come off it, Wayne,” Tom said. “We know you read the printout and it’s all about what boys of eighteen do, and you’ve just said it. So, tell us the truth!”

Wayne looked from Tom to me, his mouth half open.

Tom continued. “Tell us, Wayne, come on, who do you think about when you pull on that midget love-muscle of yours? Is it Mary Collins or Fiona Maclellan? Or do you think of your pal Gavin’s big fat cock? And what did you mean when you said you’d never had any complaints? Come on, confess!”

Wayne was now darting glances between Tom and me. The experience of the mock court-martial had taught me the wisdom of keeping an impassive face.

“Och, Tam, dinnae ask me sae many questions,” he said in a low voice. “I hae to dae it all the time, I cannae stop! I dinna think…” He stopped. One could almost see the brain a-churning. If Tom knows all about the printout, he must know…

Tom was one step ahead, as usual.

“Look, Wayne, Flip and I are going to be medical students so we’ll have to know all about what boys do. That printout gives plenty of information and advice, so I’m going to ask you questions. It’s all in confidence; we won’t tell anyone. Anyway, I already know quite a bit about you, don’t I? You wanked off most of the boys in our class, including me, and we did the same to you, eh? And you shoot a good amount of cum, too. All the boys know that. You used to be proud of that.”

Wayne shot a worried glance at me.

“It’s no problem, Wayne. Flip and I have no secrets from each other. Eh, Flip?”

Poor Wayne. I thought Tom was being a mite cruel. I just shook my head.

“So, Wayne,” Tom continued, “how much time did you take reading all this? No doubt you did it in the time you charged Dr Menzies for working here. And I bet you had a wank as well. Still, we’ll allow that, never takes you long, does it? Stroke, stroke, squirt, isn’t it, Wayne? Fastest gun in the west of Scotland! We’ll say that was part of your tea break so you won’t have to confess to overcharging for that!”

“I couldna help it. That was on the desk and when I moved it, it opened…”

“And you were curious, eh?”

I thought Tom would have made a good policeman. He could certainly interrogate.

Wayne looked from Tom to me. Perhaps I was the good cop!

“Can I ask you something?” Wayne said very quietly.

We both nodded.

“Do I do it too much?” This even quieter.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Wayne was in rather a quandary. He wanted to know something important to him but Tom had been rather severe in his questioning.

“What do you mean?” I repeated, keeping my voice very quiet.

“Och, I do it more times than that says,” he said very rapidly.

“But that’s only the average. Some lads do it a lot more, some do it fewer times. I shouldn’t worry. You’ll soon know if you do it too much ’cause you’ll make it hurt.”

A look of great relief appeared on his face.

“Och, I have tae do it lots, I’m always thinking about things…” he said.

“What things?” I asked.

Wayne was in straightforward confessional mode now.

“Och, all they girls in our class at school before I left, and Gavin, and Tom and you…”

He stopped, realising he’d, perhaps, let more cats out of bags than he’d intended.

“But it’s alright, Wayne, boys often think of other boys wanking when they do it. Is that what you think of? But you think of girls as well?”

Wayne nodded at both these questions.

Tom leaned forward. “What happened about Mary Collins? You were keen on her and I thought you’d had it off with her after that party. Was that no complaints? You think of her?”

“Och, aye,” said Wayne resignedly, “but I didnae hae it with her. I boasted I did but I couldnae stop myself shooting ma stuff when she was touching me and she slapped me and said I was a dirty wean for getting it on her leg. I didnae dare ask her to be my girlfriend after that.”

“Lots of boys come quickly like that,” I said, from the pinnacle of knowledge I’d reached after reading the printout. “You mustn’t worry about that.” I waited a moment for Wayne to digest that gobbet of information.

He nodded.

I went on. “Do you still think of her?”

“Aye,” he said, his eyes brightening a bit, “I do a lot.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?” I asked.

Wayne shook his head. “She works at that shop with Archie’s sister and she told ma sister Marcie she wasnae interested in any boys.”

The bush telegraph again!

“Maybe, she’s not interested in any boys because she might be interested in one boy, you,” I said. I looked at Wayne. He was a good looking lad. A slight residue of adolescent acne but I would have given him a run any time if Tom wasn’t my choice. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Thankfully, Tom kept quiet. Wayne thought for a moment.

“My dad’s supposed to be doing some work at the shop next week. Perhaps I’ll ask him if I can do it and then I’ll be there. But why would she want to go out with me? I’m not interesting.”

“Wayne,” I said, “I would have thought you could get any girl. You’re not bad looking. You do very good work—no, I think you do superb work, when I see what you’ve done in our rooms. And you are a good artist as well. Are you frightened she might remind you of that one time when you fired off too soon?”

Wayne nodded.

“Well, why don’t you ask her out next week when you’re at the shop. Take her out to the pictures or for a meal… but don’t try any hanky-panky. Be nice, find out what she’s interested in.” Agony Aunt Flip was in full flow! “And don’t go telling everyone’s gossip like you do.”

Tom nudged me. “You’ve given old Wayne plenty of ideas for beating his meat, eh? Oooh! I bet he’ll make his old bed rattle tonight! Oooh! Mary Collins here I come! Oops, sorry, I didn’t mean the pun.”

Wayne shot him a baleful look. “And I dinnae suppose you canna keep your great hands off that gey big cock of yours you were always boasting about. You’re a fine one to talk! You and that Lachlan were always awa’ in the storeroom and I niver saw you with any girls.”

“Spying, now, Wayne? Is that an addition to your accomplishments?”

I chipped in. “I know all about him and Lachlan…” I turned and gave Tom a sweet smile. “And he knows all about me, don’t you?”

Tom had the grace to smile a bit.

Wayne looked at me. “And disnae he keep you awake with his wanking? He’s a gey wan to talk!”

He then stared at me. Pennies were dropping. Two lads sharing a bed. One a known wanker. The same one known to have wanked with other lads. No girlfriends. What about the other? He’s just said Tom knows all about him.

Wayne stared hard at me. “Does that mean you and him…?” The question hovered.

I plunged in, feet first. “Tom and I intend to live together. We’ll be living together in Edinburgh, anyway, and it was quite sensible for Tom to move in here because his parents were moving. And that’s that.”

Wayne fixed his eyes on me, ignoring Tom.

“And does that mean you and him…?”

“What it means is none of your business, Wayne,” I said. “What we do with our lives is for us and what you do with yours is for you. OK?”

Wayne nodded. He was about to say something but Tom reached out and laid his hand on Wayne’s arm.

“You can think what you like, Wayne, but if I hear one word of anything about this household being bandied about and I find it came from you, then your wee cock and bollocks will be in a glass case next to the dodo in the museum. And Mary Collins will have to satisfy herself with a candle! Understand?”

“Och, Tam,” Wayne said, with some feeling, “you’ve always been such a good friend to me, what would I do to hurt you? I know I blether and tell folks things but I dinnae mean any harm. You gave me a fright just now, and the other day, but I promise I won’t be saying anything.”

Tom grinned at Wayne and patted his arm reassuringly.

“Sorry, old mate, I was pulling your leg just now. No hard feelings? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t ask Dr Menzies to dock your pay for wanking time. But you did, didn’t you?”

Wayne looked at me. I grinned too. The atmosphere in the room changed.

“’Course I did! More than once. And I bet you two did as well when you read it!”

S23: The End of the Holidays Approacheth

Time flew. Tom and I were both packed and ready to go to Edinburgh days before it was necessary. At least, we packed, thought, unpacked, thought again, and put everything back.

The two of us were getting a bit edgy, so the day before we were due to set off Aunt Margaret took the three of us out for a meal in Fort William. This time she went in first escorted by Stuart, with Tom and me following as before. She said the last time she had been Ghazi’s girl for the evening. That was a phrase I would have to pull his leg about!

When we got back Stuart and Aunt Margaret soon went off to their respective beds. Tom and I were still a bit restless, so I sat down and wrote my letters.

I started with Little Dick. I enclosed a photo Tom had managed to take with the time lapse on his camera. It showed Tom, Stuart and me, kilted and sporraned, against a backdrop of our beloved Scottish scenery. On the back I wrote Two Red Polls, Flip and Stuart, with a Black Angus named Tom.

Since Ghazi had already started his course at the London School of Economics I said I hoped he was working hard and wasn’t bothering Bernard too much. During a rather long, discursive phone call from him I’d discovered that Bernard Mattheson, the ‘battered’ rugger player Hamed and I had met in Perth, was also ensconced in the flat in St John’s Wood. He was reading for a similar degree, also at LSE.

I wrote two letters, but enclosed them in the same envelope, to Hamed and Clyde, who were still at the health spa in France. Hamed had written to say they were very busy and enjoying things. Clyde had phoned to tell us we were expected out there at Easter.

Letters to Dr Williams and Mr and Mrs McCrae said how much I appreciated and valued all they had done for me and I hoped that what I was about to embark on was going to be successful. I knew in my heart it would be, but five years of study stretched into the future.

Finally, I couldn’t put it off any longer.

S24: Edinburgh, Shuggie and Coming Out

The lead-in to student life was gentle because we stayed with Simon and Richard for the first couple of days. It then got more hectic with all the Freshers’ activities and the start of the course.

On the course we soon made friends and linked up with another couple of lads and two of the girls to work as a group. The work was demanding but interesting, and after getting over a few initial qualms about the subject matter I think we made good headway.

A letter arrived that first week. It was from my mother. I couldn’t open it for several days but when I did, with Tom’s arms round me, it was a wonderful occasion. Mum said she’d loved me every moment of every day I’d been away. She was sorry I had to go but she had news about me all the time from Aunt Margaret. She was so proud of all my achievements and she would see me and Tom, she hoped, at Christmas. Her love was for us both.

Simon and Richard were also very busy and our paths didn’t cross much but we all played in a rugger match on our second Saturday, and had supper together afterwards. Richard was obviously highly popular with his teammates and gagged his way through all the dressing room banter after the game, which we managed to win. Tom and I were made very welcome and so was Alistair, one of the two lads who had teamed up with us on the course.

That Sunday Tom and I decided to explore Edinburgh. As good tourists, for our first venture we toiled up to the castle. We watched the changing of the guard, both of us struck by the small stature of the Jocks. Tom said his father had told him a lot of soldiers for that regiment were recruited in Glasgow, and Glaswegians were often shorties. That didn’t mean they weren’t fearsome, though. During the First World War the Germans had called the Highland regiments, in their kilts, the Ladies from Hell. He had also said that as a policeman in Glasgow he never got in the way of a drunken squaddie on a Saturday night—or any other night as it happened.

A little later we were standing looking out over the expanse of country from the vantage point of the parapet wall when a voice with a strong Scots accent made us turn in surprise.

“Och, it wouldnae be Tam McLaren there, would it?”

Standing there was a very smart young soldier, wearing a kilt, a big hairy sporran, and the shiniest boots imaginable.

With a huge grin on his face, he said, “Och, it fucking is! You’re so like your faither it fucking must be! Hi, you fucking ’member me, Danny McHugh?”

Tom looked open-mouthed then a smile lit up his face.

“Oh, my God, it’s Shuggie!”

Explanations followed. Tom and Danny, or Shuggie as he was usually known, had been at junior school together and had attended the same high school. Although Tom’s father was the neighbourhood copper the boys had got on well, because when Tom’s dad was in the army he was Shuggie’s father’s sergeant. All rather complicated, but as the lads hadn’t seen each other since Tom had left Glasgow with his parents over four years earlier there was plenty to discuss. We made arrangements for Shuggie to come to visit us on Tuesday afternoon as he had duties until then.

Tom explained further as he and I made our way back to our residence. Shuggie’s brother, Dougie, was one of the lads who had ‘kidnapped’ Tom when he was ten or so and made him toss them off. At that time Dougie hadn’t realised who Tom was or that his father was a policeman.

Tuesday afternoon came and Shuggie turned up at our flat in civvies, but still very much the young soldier with his close-cropped hair and his liberal insertion of ‘fuck’, or its extensions, in every sentence and even between syllables. His accent was pure Glaswegian and I sometimes had difficulty in deciphering the stream, so Tom had to do a bit of translating. I did understand the repetitious swearing, but with his distinctive accent it came out more like ‘fook’ and ‘fooking’.

Tom wanted to know what had happened to Dougie. Danny’s face broke into a broad grin.

“Och, he’s in the army, too. He’s married and got two bairns. He’s awa’ in a peacekeeping force. That’s where we’re going in three weeks’ time.”

Closer questioning did not elicit where the peacekeeping was taking place and after a few stories from Danny about drunken revels on Saturday nights with the squaddies I wondered whether ‘peacekeeping’ was the right term.

“Och, and ye ken Tam it was your faither who put Dougie in.”

Tam expressed some surprise at this, so Danny told us that Dougie used to frequent the toilets near the bus station and would pick up a pound or two giving or receiving blowjobs. Apparently, Tom’s dad was off duty and was stepping down from a bus when he saw Dougie ‘loitering with intent’. Instead of arresting the lad, he took him home to his father. When the story was told of where he was found, and Dougie confessed, Tom’s dad said he would leave Dougie’s father to deal with it.

Danny said he dealt with it ‘aye fucking firmly’ with his belt, giving Dougie twelve whacks on his ‘bare fucking erse’ in Danny’s presence. Then, to remind Danny what he would get if he got into trouble, he had to bare his ‘own wee fucking erse’ and he was given three stingers. Danny said what scared him more than the three he got was Dougie screaming out after each of the fifth and later strokes. Both boys vowed that was that. As soon as Dougie left school at sixteen he was taken to the recruiting office and hadn’t looked back since. In fact, just before he was posted he was promoted to corporal.

Danny said Dougie had kept out of trouble but it’d been ‘aye fucking difficult’ as his friends were into all sorts of petty thievery and twoccing. I was puzzled at this until it was explained that it stood for ‘taking without owner’s consent’ and referred to cars. Danny said he had kept away from that, especially as one of his pals had pinched a Jag and had been killed when he didn’t negotiate a bend near Bridge of Allan. So his father had also—gently, he said—suggested Danny join up, and he was ‘fucking enjoying it’.

I went off and got a Chinese carry-out and left Tom and Danny reminiscing. When I got back they were laughing about things that had happened at junior school.

“Och, Tam, do’ya fucking ’member that Miss Hibbs and that fucking Willy Cameron?”

Apparently, according to the two lads, each trying to tell me the story, Miss Hibbs was a not-very-popular member of staff and one afternoon she was ‘fucking blethering’ about something and stalking around the class when she became aware that something ticklish had brushed across her face. As she continued walking round she kept shaking her head as more ticklish things passed over her. In the end she stopped and saw a black piece of cotton dangling in front of her. She caught it and then spotted more pieces of black cotton floating around the room. The ‘fucking weans’ watched as she pulled the piece of cotton down and found it was attached to a large bluebottle. The ‘fucking shit hit the fucking fan’ according to Danny.

Willy Cameron and a couple of other enterprising youngsters had trapped half a dozen of the biggest flies they could find—‘off a fucking great dog turd’ Danny thought—and had dextrously looped strands of black cotton round them. They secreted them in matchboxes and surreptitiously let them free when Miss Hibbs wasn’t looking. As this happened before the tawse was outlawed, the culprits, who didn’t need to own up as they still had the incriminating empty matchboxes in their possession, had their hands leathered. But, all in all, it was considered ‘a real aye fucking laugh’.

I’d also got a six-pack of lager to go with the Chinese, but Danny refused any. He said ‘the fucking bevvy had been the death of his grandda’ and his father had persuaded the two boys not to drink. Tom and I had one each and said neither of us really indulged. I had still to experience what it was like to be ‘rat-arsed’, or ‘fucking bladdered’ as Danny put it so elegantly. Some of the team on Saturday had downed enough to sink a battleship and the last we saw of a couple of them was a not-too-edifying spectacle. Anyway, Danny said he wasn’t going to start to drink even if it meant some of his pals thought him a ‘right fucking poofter’.

Oh dear! That word. We were to meet it again a couple of Saturdays ahead. One member of our rugger team was in our first-year group and was particularly loud-mouthed. He’d already, in the space of less than a month, got the backs up of most of the class, and even the group he was in were not too happy. Anyway, we were having a practice friendly and there was the usual horsing around in the packs. Mainly this consisted of one’s shorts being caught hold of and roughly pulled to squash vital pieces of equipment. Of course, loudmouth Preston was in the forefront of this petty horseplay and after having his own privates strangled let out a roar and said it was a bloody good job there weren’t any bloody poofters in the teams.

Oh dear! Not only would Tom and I qualify but Simon and Richard were also there. There was a moment’s silence and then Marty spoke. He very quietly said that Preston shouldn’t make too many assumptions and, as far as he was concerned, anyone who wished to play could be in the team. I think Preston was rather gobsmacked at this. The tone and the phrasing Marty had used meant he couldn’t be certain there were no gays present. At least it shut him up.

Shuggie was an asset. He turned up at our flat whenever he wasn’t on duty and maintained it ‘fucking forever fucking needed a fucking good fucking clean’, or words to that effect. His soldierly training had taught him the importance of cleanliness and we often got back after lectures to find the rooms spotless and a happy Shuggie in an armchair reading some sensational book poached from ‘aye one of those fucking squaddies who hae the fucking book in one fucking hand and their fucking prick in their fucking other fucking hand all the fucking time’. His graphic descriptions of some of the bedtime habits of the squaddies when they were in training were entertaining, if rather lurid. I’d never heard of the practice of lighting farts but his prescription of six pints and an Indian curry in preparation was quite believable. We fed him, often having an Indian carry-out, but we never got him to practice what he preached—he kept off the lager, anyway!

The flat was comfortable. There were two single beds in one room, a separate study cum sitting room, and a kitchen and bathroom to complete it. We pushed the two single beds together the first night and bought a king size duvet the first Saturday. Our sex every night was stupendous. We had our tensions, mainly from the pressures of the course, but the closeness we felt for each other and the release in those slow, unwinding sessions in our makeshift double bed were so rewarding. We tried not to make our sex into a habit or just something to do once we were in bed together. We worked at loving each other. Although Tom preferred to be fucked and I liked to be sucked, we varied our approaches to each other and drew on our strengths and our stamina to maintain a high level of arousal, then release, for both of us.

I am sure all this helped with our work. The other four in our group paired off quite naturally. There were no questions about Tom and me. Neither of us had the looks or mannerisms associated with ‘the other way’. We were accepted as ‘Tom and Flip’. The six of us worked happily together and I was always heartened by the way in which Tom and I complemented each other in our work. Tom grasped situations and the materials we had to deal with in a startlingly rapid way. That time he distinguished between the twins was a minor example, but he brought that quickness of recognising essential detail to everything we did. He seemed to need to read something only once to know the substance of it. I won on my meticulous memory. We would invariably discuss the day’s work as we lay together in bed each night. Tom would start by mentioning an incident or something we had encountered, and make some (usually, very subtle) statement. I was able to back this up by recalling even the most abstruse names or facts. In this way our knowledge and our understanding advanced. These quiet review sessions were thus the prelude for our lovemaking which, by its intensity and complete involvement for both of us, made each day more precious than the one before.

Two particular incidents gave us confidence to talk to others about ourselves. One occurred one afternoon when Shuggie appeared at the flat where I was working away in the study alone. Tom was in the Library and was checking on some references for a tutorial the next day. I was a bit tired with the book I had to read and Shuggie asked if I would like to see the Palace. By this I knew he meant Holyrood House, and he said a pal of his on duty there would show us bits the tourists never saw. We left a note for Tom: Gone to the Palace to find a suitable dungeon for you. Chains and gruel later. Flip and Shuggie.

I had noticed when Shuggie was with me he left out up to ninety per cent of the ‘fucks’ in his conversations. He was, obviously, very bright, and I thought he would make his way up the ranks if he kept his nose clean. As we walked to Holyrood House he told me how much he and his brother owed Tom’s father and how much Tom reminded him of his dad. He said his brother had admitted only on his last leave when they’d met up that he had no hard feelings when Tom’s dad had taken him home that night and his own father had beaten the living daylights out of him. He’d said to Shuggie that if it wasn’t for Constable McLaren ‘I’d a now been in fucking Barlinnie haeing ma fucking erse reamed iv’ry night by they fucking shitheads!’. Barlinnie was the notorious prison frequented by Glaswegian ne’er-do-wells. Shuggie said his brother’s wife, Jeannie, was a sweet girl and Dougie doted on his two young sons.

Shuggie also remarked that he liked Jeannie’s sister, Karen, who, like him, was eighteen. She was training to be a nurse, and he thought she liked him. I said she sounded just right for him. I added that lots of medical students ended up marrying nurses so he should get in first. He gave me a quizzical look.

“You’re married already, eh?” he said quietly.

I took the plunge.

“Not quite,” I said, equally quietly, “We live together but we intend to make a commitment to each other at Christmas.”

“Och, I’m sae glad,” he said with great emphasis. “I see how much you two care for each other. I hope I can find someone to love me in the same way. Karen would be perfect.”

It was Shuggie’s quiet acceptance of us two lads being together in the same way that he wanted to be with Karen that gave me the confidence to tell him a lot more of how we met—I omitted being pissed at!—and how we had seen from those early days a love for each other which was getting stronger every day.

“Och, Flip,” he said, “I saw how happy you were when I met you that Sunday afternoon. Then I saw your beds were together with the duvet and I wondered and I watched and I couldnae wish more happiness for ye both. My uncle Geordie has a friend he lives with and they are so happy and so nice.”

A simple, heartfelt acceptance and, amazingly, not a single ‘fuck’!

His pal certainly did let us see the dungeons and we trailed round while he explained all about Mary and Darnley and all the grizzly happenings. It was an entertaining and enlightening trip in many ways.

On the way back Shuggie insisted he got food for the evening meal and went off to a supermarket and I went back to the flat, where Tom was busy making notes for the tutorial.

“Huh!” he said, as he saw me enter alone, “I suppose you shagged Shuggie and did a Rizzio on him. Where have you buried him, under Mary’s bed? Or in it, more likely!”

Was this the green eye of jealously?

“Come off it, Tom, you can be exceedingly crude. I’d shag Shuggie any time. He’s got ‘a pert wee erse’ as you big heathen Scots say. He’s a great guy, but we both have too much respect for you, great chieftain o’ the puddin’ race, to have a bit on the side. Here, ask him yourself when he comes back. Anyway, he wishes us both well.”

Poor Tom. I think he was a mite jealous. I’d gone off for once without him and with a very tasty young lad. We both knew nothing had happened and he was now rather distraught. He hadn’t trusted me. He got up and clasped his arms round me.

“Oh, Flip, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It was that you weren’t here and I couldn’t bear it if you went off with anyone else—and Shuggie’s a lovely wee man, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Tom,” I said, “Shuggie would never come between us. He’s so pleased for us both. You’re not jealous of Ghazi so why Shuggie all of a sudden?”

“Oh, Flip, it’s probably because we were such good friends at school. I suppose I loved him a bit then, and I could see it wouldn’t have taken much meeting up with him again for me to think I was in love with him.”

I smiled and pecked his cheek. “No good, Tom, he’s got his eyes firmly fixed elsewhere and the lucky person doesn’t have that essential bit you’ve got.”

We hugged each other tightly and that moment passed. Something in the open and defused.

The second incident came just after half-term. I was having a midmorning cup of tea with Jenny, one of the two girls in our group. As we sat together, books piled on the table between us, she asked me outright if Tom and I were more than good friends. I could sense from her tone there was no hostility in her question. I took the plunge again.

“We’re good friends, and we love each other too. We’re making our commitment soon.”

I waited for whatever response came. She smiled, then reached out and laid her hand on my arm.

“I’m so glad. I wondered, and Alistair wondered. We’re fond of you both. Chris and Helen asked me the other day and I decided the only way to find out was to ask. You don’t mind?”

I shook my head. I was very close to tears. I hoped the others would be as accepting as Jenny. That acceptance was very close at hand. At lunchtime, just after I’d told Tom of the encounter, Alistair came up, his face wreathed in smiles. He congratulated us and said Helen and Chris wouldn’t be far behind. Alistair said his father was a minister in the very strict Presbyterian church but he’d always told Alistair to accept people as they were and not to judge if you couldn’t be judged yourself.

As it happened the news went round the group very slowly, until only Preston eyed us with any wariness. He had made himself obnoxious in several ways with the rest of our class and was becoming increasingly isolated. I knew he viewed Tom and me with suspicion but we were still in the same rugger team where he now kept conspicuously quiet. Great-hearted me had taken pity on him towards the end of November and when we needed another willing victim for the tests we were doing I asked him to join us. Even Alistair made a slight face at this, but all was well. All came to a head on the last Saturday of term. We’d played a match against another of the intramural sides and had won convincingly, largely thanks to Simon bullocking through to score two tries. Afterwards the four of us went off and had a meal and finally bade farewell to each other about half-ten.

Tom and I were ready for bed about half past eleven when there was a great scuffling and banging about outside the door of our flat. We investigated and found a very drunk Preston staggering against the door. As we opened it he fell inwards and landed on his knees on our inside doormat.

“I’ve come to ’pologise,” he began, all slurred. “Want to say sorry, please, want to say sorry.”

With that he sprawled full length in our small hallway. Fearful of getting unwanted attention from other residents, who we knew would not like drunken rugger players on their doorsteps, we hauled him in and shut the door. Somehow, as drunks are a dead weight, we got him to the sofa and laid him down. His eyes were open, but glassy and he kept mouthing, “’Pologise, ’pologise.” He then burst into copious tears and tried to sit up. I rushed and got a washing-up bowl and he was promptly sick. After more attempts at apologising he gave up and quite docilely let us remove his windcheater and shoes and trousers, and then we wrapped him in a spare duvet and left him—with the bowl handy in case he was sick again.

Within moments he was fast asleep and we retired to bed. It was rather awkward. Both of us wanted sex but with the unwanted visitor in the next room any noise—and we were invariably noisy in some way—might rouse him. He’d already made wild comments in the past, and we didn’t want him to have ammunition for anything else.

“In any case,” I said to Tom, who was rubbing wintergreen liniment into aches and pains and bruises he said had accumulated that afternoon in the rugger match, “if you think my tongue is going to come in contact with that vile stuff on your vile body you’ve got another think coming.”

Unfortunately, I was just in the process of removing my briefs so he lunged at me and applied a liberal amount of the smelly liquid to my back. As I turned, he tried to grab my rigid cock with the same hand and I only managed to evade his grasp as I didn’t want any of the stinging stuff near my precious balls.

“Come here you great oaf,” he whispered. “Let me rub it into your back, it’ll cure all your stiffness.”

“It would bloody well cure my stiffness if you put it anywhere near my cock,” I retorted, grabbing the bottle from him.

We fell about laughing, silently, both thinking what Preston might make of us lumbering giants anointing each other liberally with the liniment which we then proceeded to do with quiet enthusiasm. Sex that night was also quiet. Our lips were touching and our tongues gently caressed as we slowly jacked each other until our joint streams of boy cream mingled on our torsos.

“Think of what poor old Preston is missing,” Tom whispered as he nuzzled my ear before we settled to sleep.

I woke early for a Sunday morning, got out a pair of old shorts and a tee shirt and went to the bathroom first to have a quick wash and then went to the sitting room to see how Preston was. He was still fast asleep. No accidents in the night! I went into the kitchen and made coffee and took him a steaming mug.

“Come on, Preston, wake up. Here’s some coffee.”

I shook his shoulder gently. He grunted and opened a bleary eye. He woke slowly, not really knowing where he was, then realised and started to babble his apologies.

“I shouldn’t have come. What must you think of me? I got so drunk last night, but I had to come to see you.”

Tom had also woken and came and stood by me. He was still naked having just got out of bed. Preston gawped and sat up unsteadily.

“Oh God!” he said, “I wanted to say how sorry I was about what I said. And then, if Flip hadn’t asked me if I would like to join in with your group, I would have left the course.”

His shoulders heaved with great sobs. I sat beside him and nodded to Tom to go back to the bedroom. He took the hint and I heard him go to the bathroom first. Good job. There was a crusty patch of dried spunk on his hairy belly!

“Come on, Preston, cheer up. You’re still here. Drink your coffee and when Tom gets out of the bathroom go and have a wash. By the time you’ve done that I’ll have breakfast ready and we can all talk then.”

He sniffed and nodded. I went to the kitchen, covered myself with an apron and got out eggs and bacon with bread ready for toast. The glorious smell of a fry-up was soon apparent and the three of us, in silence, sat at the table. None of us knew where to start.

At last Preston began. “I’m so sorry if I made a fool of myself last night. I got pissed to pluck up courage to come and see you.” He smiled wanly. “Seems I made an utter fool of myself, didn’t I?” He looked across the table straight at us in turn. “I want to apologise for what I said during that practice game. I shouldn’t have said it and I’ve regretted it ever since. Please forgive me…” He sighed. “Seems I make a fool of myself all the time.”

The story then unfolded. His unusual name came from the fact that his father, a doctor, had his first practice in the English town of that name. After he’d moved and got married he named his first-born to commemorate his start in medicine. Preston had gone to a very tough boys’ independent Grammar School in another northern England city where he was brought up, and had cultivated his outer super-macho image to survive. He confessed that actually he was very shy and had never really liked himself for behaving in such a way. He said he really liked classical music and plays and books, and was determined to be a doctor. However, he’d upset so many people during this first term he was on the verge of giving up the course when I asked him if he would like to join our group.

He said he’d seen how happy Tom and I were and when the news got round about our lives and intentions he saw all his bravado as meaningless. My acceptance of him, even after what he’d said, had made him determined to change. The first thing he wanted to do was to tell us how he felt.

Tom said he shouldn’t worry. We would probably have many sticks and stones thrown at us, but so far we had found everyone very accepting. If he wanted friends we would be there. In fact, he said, he didn’t think Marty was referring to us at all that day. I grinned and chipped in, saying that there was at least one other pair in the team so he might have to do some more apologising at some time.

Preston was rather taken aback at this. We didn’t let on about Simon and Richard; that might be for another time. We ended up having a most interesting talk with him and we both realised that he wasn’t so bad after all. As it happened, we’d arranged to go for Sunday lunch with Richard and Simon and asked if Preston would would like to come along as well. He said he would love to, but would have to go back to his residence and change.

After he’d gone, Tom and I sat and discussed this most unlikely outcome of my little friendly act. The other thing we wondered about was how the drunken mind could have navigated from the Students’ Union bar to our flat. And how did he even know where we lived?

Even after the lunch I don’t think Preston had twigged that Simon and Richard were the other pair although he must have had some inkling of their relationship. In fact it wasn’t until sometime in our second term he asked me, confidentially, if Simon and Richard were the others.

Another little excitement was Archie’s visit for his checkup. We met him at the station on the Friday morning and ferried him to the hospital by taxi. We left him in the gentle hands of Wilf, who said he’d look after him and all should be over by four o’clock. Archie was quite ecstatic when we went to fetch him. All seemed clear, and he just had to return in six months’ time for another checkup. We took him and Shuggie out for a meal and he and the two of them got on like a house on fire. Both were great fans of some pop group that neither Tom nor I had ever heard of, and they swapped lyrics and tales of intrigue until it was time to deposit Archie at Simon and Richard’s, where he was to stay the night. Shuggie insisted that his pal would show Archie the Palace, so Tom took him there the following morning.

Shuggie’s departure to pastures new came a few days later at the end of November. Tom and I had enjoyed his company. He was bright, quick-witted and cheerful, and we all kept each other amused and relaxed. His ‘cleaning’ campaign was a constant joy. Not that Tom and I were too untidy or mucky, but Shuggie’s standards were far above ours. We fed and watered him. No alcohol. Still, the fateful day came, although Shuggie was not too clear about his eventual posting. As we said our goodbyes at the flat, after treating him to a superb meal in a very nice restaurant, he handed us each a silver bullet engraved with a T and an F.

“Och, the pair of ye,” he said, a great grin on his face. “If I hear ony of you’ve fucking upset the other I’ll fucking use one of these on ya!” Then he laughed, adding, “There’s nothing fucking in them. They’re fucking dummies, but ya know what I fucking mean. And I tell you what, I would ha bedded doon wi’ the pair of ye onytime if y’ had wanted me.”

Praise enough.

S25: The Commitment Draws Nigh

Parallel to all the other excitements of the term were the arrangements being made by Ghazi and others for our commitment ceremony. Ghazi was constantly phoning about invitations and other details, and he also provided some welcome news.

I had asked that Michael and Darryll be invited. In their reply to Ghazi they said they would like to join in the ceremony because they also wished to make a commitment to each other. So, it was now to be a triple ceremony. This solved a slight problem, too. Stuart wanted to be our sponsor, but Paul Campbell was my first choice, and he had readily agreed. Stuart was more than mollified when he received a letter from Darryll and Michael inviting him to be their sponsor.

The venue and date were fixed by collaboration between Ghazi and Clyde’s granddaddy: Saturday, December 16th at a very upmarket hotel in Edinburgh. In fact, Clyde’s grandfather insisted on footing the whole bill as a fourth couple, Clyde and Hamed, would be there to make their vows as well.

Halfway through the arrangements I received a phone call from Pete Douglas, who had been invited, along with his parents. He was full of it and said he was looking forward to the occasion very much. He was also bursting to tell me about the twins, the Prof’s little darlings.

They had quickly fitted in to life at Kinloch. They were the undisputed leaders of the new bugs and delighted in twisting the tails of the older and superior lions, in McCrae’s menagerie especially. Pete said he’d managed to keep them out of too much trouble, but they had surpassed themselves the previous Saturday. They had, uncharacteristically, volunteered to help serve the post-match tea to the assembled rugger teams from Kinloch and the visiting school. Luckily, a keen-eyed Sixth Former from McCrae’s, who wasn’t playing because of an injury, spotted the pair just as they were about to lace a jug of orange squash with a 50mg Viagra tablet. He confiscated the three tablets they had on them, and invoking memories of Pete’s own court-martial, the Sixth Formers in the House later that evening carried out an investigation and set up a confrontation. The little bastards confessed to having stolen a box of five tablets from their father’s study at home. They were fully intent on not only jazzing up the rugger teams’ drinks, but also on giving the lads in McCrae’s the benefits of extra-strong erections that evening by putting the rest of the tablets in the squash supplied for supper.

Pete said he’d been entrusted with the tablets and asked if we could get them back to the Prof somehow without the story getting out. I suggested a handover to me or Tom before the ceremony and I would guarantee the Prof would get them back with a minimum of explanation.

“Bloody hell!” was Tom’s comment when I told him the tale. “If the rest of the horny bastards at that school are anything like you they certainly wouldn’t need Viagra, they’d have erections up to their ears for weeks.” Later that evening, in bed, I commented that although Tom hadn’t had the benefit of a Kinloch education there was nothing wrong with his ability to maintain an erection.

Of course, the other members of our heptad were also invited. Fergie and Paul were at King’s College in London, just down the road from Ghazi and Bernard at LSE, so they were in constant contact. Then, out of the blue, three letters arrived one morning in late November. All bore the same Suffolk postmark. The first I recognised as being in Little Dick’s neat, small handwriting. The second was addressed in a firm, angular hand. The third was unmistakeably feminine in character. I opened Little Dick’s first.

I passed the letter to Tom who was eyeing me with increased wonderment as I giggled, then chuckled, then burst into laughter. Little Dick had certainly dipped his wick with a vengeance! And wait until I meet this Charles!!

The second letter I noted, as soon as I opened it, was signed by Charles.

I passed this one over to Tom, who was giggling about the contents of the first. The third contained two cards, one for me and one for Tom, inviting us to the wedding and then to a reception at a hotel in Bury St Edmunds. There was also a letter.

Tom gave me a quizzical look after he had read the third letter and studied the beautifully engraved invitation card inviting him at the behest of Sir Michael and Lady Pamela Miller to the wedding of their daughter Ann Louise to Lord Richard Fordham. I nodded.

“We’ll be going.” I said, “We don’t have cows to look after, and you’re the only young heifer I’d willingly service any time. I think I’ll change your name to Moo.”

Term came rapidly to an end. We decided to stay in Edinburgh until after Christmas and then go to Glenfinnan for New Year. To fill in time and to earn a bit of pocket money we had taken positions as porters at one of the outlying Edinburgh hospitals. As Simon said (he had done the same thing in his first year), “At least you’ll learn things at the coalface.” Rather a mixed metaphor, but we knew what he meant!

It was certainly an eye-opener. Two big strong lads were seized upon to do all sorts of tasks. We loaded little old ladies, large mums and drunks, in particular, onto wheelchairs or trolleys and carted them from Casualty to wards, and so on. The little old ladies were generally the nicest, even when nursing broken bones from slipping on icy streets. The drunks were usually belligerent and invariably were given the roughest rides because of their rudeness to the nursing staff and us.

We were impressed from the start by the dedication and the hard work of the nursing and medical staff, and appalled by the general inefficiency of the administration. I had never heard of the term ‘jobsworth’ before, but I encountered that attitude so many times from clerks and managers when asked for even simple bits of equipment or supplies for the wards. We also had our first experiences of all sorts of badly injured people—the result of car accidents, stabbings, home accidents, and so on. The first few times were a bit stomach-turning, but we learned to cope—even on the day when two young, badly-injured guys, our age, were brought in after being in a car crash. Later that night we had a call from the ward for the special trolley. One lad had died from his injuries and we had to collect him and take him to the mortuary. We looked at each other as we pushed the trolley along the corridor. The unspoken “Could have been us…” was sobering.

Still, we had each other and we filled our leisure time in being together and making sure each was as satisfied as possible. With the pressures of the course off we indulged freely and frequently, especially on the cold afternoons before we went on duty at the hospital in the evening. Tom was, as ever, almost insatiable, and I must admit I wasn’t far behind. We tried not to have a set pattern or get into a rut, but varied our lovemaking from tender and passionate to an orgy for two. My most exquisite moments were when Tom ministered to my ergonomically perfect rod with his hot lips, tongue and mouth. His moments, he said, were when that rod was deep inside him. In between, we tried to raise each other to heights of pleasure in as many ways as possible. Tom reckoned the soundtrack of our sessions would have made the top ten of the Hit Parade.

S26: The Commitment

Our sealed orders arrived from Ghazi on the last day of term. We were to be at the hotel at twelve o’clock to be booked in to our room. Dress: Highland casual. Lunch at one o’clock. Afternoon free. Cocktails and introduction of guests at seven. Dress: Full Highland. Commitment ceremony at seven forty-five. Dinner at eight. Highland dancing to follow. All guests to be accommodated overnight.

There was no guest list included. I knew that the four from our uni group had been invited but only Alistair and Jenny could come. Aunt Margaret would be there and another letter from Mum said she would be there too. What it was going to cost Clyde’s granddaddy was anyone’s guess, but Clyde was the favourite grandson—or so he always told us.

What it was going to cost became more apparent as Commitment Day progressed. As instructed Tom and I arrived at the doors of the hotel having lashed out on a taxi to carry us and our bags. Inside, once we had given our names to the receptionist, we were escorted to a most sumptuous suite. We had a double bedroom, a sitting room, and a palatial bathroom. It made our nice flat look like an East End dosshouse. We hadn’t been in the room more than fifteen minutes when there was a peremptory knock on the door. When Tom called out “Come in” Ghazi marched in wreathed in smiles, followed by the most handsome young lad, as well as Bernard, whom I recognised from our meeting at the rugger match.

Ghazi rushed up to Tom first and hugged him, then turned to me and did the same.

“Oh, it’s been so long,” he said. “I’ve missed you both.” He turned to his two waiting acolytes. “Flip, you know Bernard, but this is Etienne. And this is Tom!”

So, this must be the French lad he’d met at the health resort. He was beautiful. About the same height as Ghazi, with perfect features, darkish skin, and black, beautifully cut hair. He was wearing a typical, highly fashionable young man’s outfit. The sort of clothes you only see on models in the Sunday magazines.

Ghazi turned to him and let out a stream of French. It was so rapid I had difficulty making out what was said. I knew he mentioned me and his description of Tom was something like ‘chaud lapin’. Tom was the least likely person to look like a rabbit, even if hot, so as soon as he turned back I asked him for a translation—especially of the ‘lapin’ bit.

All three of them laughed. “I just told Etienne that Tom was the sexy hunk I’d described, and asked if he agreed.”

So ‘chaud lapin’ meant ‘sexy hunk’. Funny ideas the French had!

It did break the ice and the five of us then had to fill in all the details. It turned out that Ghazi and Etienne were now intent on making their own commitment. It was planned for the following Easter at the health resort and Tom and I were commanded to be there. Bernard was uncommitted to anyone, male or female. It was fairly obvious that dear Ghazi had both lads twisted round his little finger. Their lifestyle was incredible. Etienne was doing a very similar Economics course to that which Ghazi was taking in London, but his was at the Ecole de Management International at Cergy-Pontoise, just outside Paris, with English and German as his subsidiaries. Bernard was doing the same course as Ghazi but taking Russian as a subsidiary. At weekends they alternated between England and France. One weekend Ghazi and Bernard—whose father was a high-up in the OECD in Paris—would take the Eurostar to Paris. Ghazi and Etienne would meet up at Etienne’s grandmother’s and stay Friday evening until Sunday evening. The next weekend Etienne would do the reverse and end up in London, staying with Ghazi and Bernard in the flat in St John’s Wood. What it cost was anybody’s guess. They were all very well-heeled young men. But all were devoted to each other, with Bernard seemingly not concerned about sex.

While we were chatting, having heard all this, there was another knock on the door which heralded the entry of Paul and Fergie. Fergie had to be introduced properly to Tom and then we heard their tales of London life. Though not quite shacked up yet, both had girlfriends at the same college and both admitted they weren’t in Little Dick’s league. Neither had any intention of getting married yet and precautions were strictly imposed. In fact, having a love life seemed to have lightened Fergie’s somewhat dour temperament and I could imagine that with the lengthy tool he possessed he was able to satisfy any demands. In fact, thinking about it, he and Little Dick were the only two in our dorm at school I hadn’t had a sexual encounter with, although I had witnessed Fergie’s release of nightly tensions countless times.

We all went down to the lounge for tea at four o’clock and found my brother sitting with Darryll and Michael scoffing plates of sandwiches as if there was no tomorrow. Ghazi said in a whisper to me at one point that if he wasn’t committed to Etienne he would be in the running for my brother. I disabused him of any chance, saying we were like chalk and cheese in our sexual preferences. Ghazi’s response was to say he knew which of us was the cheesy one.

We were still chatting away when there was a roar from the doorway and there was Clyde with Hamed. Their plane had been delayed and so had only just arrived.

The big surprise was that when Clyde greeted me with great hugs he spoke without the Southern accent and there wasn’t a ‘goddam’ in sight. All that had been a careful facade. Hamed admitted he’d known ever since they became good friends in that first year at school, and had aided and abetted the toad in his pretense. Clyde explained that he did it to get noticed. It had started when he first joined the school; after that he had simply cultivated it. His grandfather—note no ‘granddaddy’—had told him to stop it and so he had. In fact, that evening, when I was introduced to grandfather, he spoke with a marked English accent which he said he’d acquired as a Rhodes scholar at Oxford—and, no, he hadn’t inhaled! More news was that Clyde and Hamed would be going to Oxford at the beginning of the next academic year, as grandfather and Hamed’s uncle had insisted they finish their education before settling down to run the hotel and health resort.

Gradually other guests turned up and greeted us, but at six o’clock we decided to go up to our room to change and get ready for the evening. Just after half-six, when Tom and I were in the bedroom completing our change into our ‘full Highland’ there was a discreet tap on the door of the suite. I went through and opened it and there was my mother. I was so overwhelmed I just burst into tears and so did she. We hugged each other. Tom stayed in the adjoining bedroom and carefully closed the door. It was a most emotional time for both of us, even more when she said she wanted to meet Tom. When he came out she hugged him and said, “You’re my son now, too.”

Another knock came. This time it was Stuart and the emotions started again. My little brother was rigged out in the most expensive looking black jacket, white jabot, and a silver mounted sporran to match mine. He said it was his Christmas present from Aunt Margaret. Then he handed Tom and me silver pins for our jabots as his present to us on our commitment.

Mum and Stuart left just before seven. Our final visitor was Pete, resplendent in his Douglas dress tartan. He handed over a small box sealed in an envelope. He giggled as he did so and made us promise not to open the box and give any of the contents to Paul, who was downstairs with the other terrible twins. Paul had intimated that they would be coming with his mother and father. They were staying at Linnhe because their own parents had gone off to Australia for a month. Carefully, I put the little parcel into my bag, promising that I would get the tablets back to the Prof. Pete said the kids were shitting themselves over what might happen, but he had assured them I would do my best for them. Oh God, good-hearted Flip in it again!

Dead on seven an escort party of Ghazi, Etienne and Bernard came for Tom and me. With the other participants in tow we made our way down to a superbly decorated banqueting room set out with a number of round tables, each seating about ten. I was nervous and the normally imperturbable Tom was glancing around as well.

We were greeted at the door by Clyde’s grandfather. Clyde, in full Highland, introduced us all. Grandfather shook our hands heartily and wished us well. Gradually the room filled. As people were introduced to Clyde’s grandfather, glasses of champagne or cocktails were handed around by very suave waiters. My nerves disappeared with so many friends arriving. Tom’s mother and father were already there. Tom’s dad looked hugely impressive in his kilt, and his mother had the McLaren plaid over her shoulder fastened with a huge silver brooch. I didn’t know, but Tom had bought it for her on one of his forays into Edinburgh. She looked almost regal. My mother and Aunt Margaret looked glorious in lovely long evening dresses. With Mr and Mrs McLaren, our sponsor Paul, and Pete and his parents, they made up our table.

I noticed Rory and Adam, the terrible twins, deep in conversation with my classmates Alistair and Jenny. They sat with the Campbells. I also made a note to try and find out what Tom’s father had done to get that terrible pair out of a tight spot.

Simon and Richard came in with, I assumed, their respective parents, and more relatives or friends. Tom and I stood when Simon came across to give us his best wishes. He said the butterflies were still fluttering a bit. Then he told us Mr and Mrs McCrae had just arrived and were outside. Another surprise!

Then, just before Tom and I sat down Clyde came across with a stunningly beautiful young lady and a blond hunk.

“I’d like you to meet my sister, Genevieve, and Beauregard, her most beloved. They tie the nuptial knot in August, so keep your paws off her.”

Genevieve and Beauregard both gave Clyde a hearty dig in the ribs.

“Behave, little brother, or Beau will have to deal with you! Do not forget he was wrestling champion at college.”

Brother and sister then went into a long explanation of where the marriage was taking place and told us that we were invited. Grandfather would be sending details.

While this was going on I took a further look at Beau. He was about five foot nine, a good inch or so shorter than his prospective brother-in-law, but his blond hair and chunky figure made him quite desirable. I wouldn’t have minded having the best of three falls or a submission with him. Tom must have been reading my mind because he nudged me and whispered something about my standing around with my mouth open. All I needed was an orange and I would look well on a slab in a butcher’s shop—and he’d put me there if I ogled the guests again.

As we sat down again I noted that Michael’s parents were present. Darryll and Michael looked great in their dinner jackets. With their very trim haircuts they looked very sharp. I looked again. Talking to Darryll was another figure from the past. It was Dr Williams. He turned and saw me and waved and smiled. Then he shook his head, as if in disbelief. I wanted to get up and run to him and give him the biggest hug I could manage.

Finally, Ghazi come in. He was, as usual, stunning in the borrowed Campbell tartan. He was followed closely by Etienne in a most superb black silk suit, and Bernard in highland dress. That black suit was certainly not off the peg! And what were Bernard’s Scottish credentials?

I looked at my watch, reminding me that the owners of six of the seven initials on its back were present, and saw that it was almost time. Ghazi stood up and went to the middle of the little dance floor at the side of the room. He was Master of Ceremonies, and our time had come. I glanced at Tom. He smiled and I knew nothing would or could stop us now.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” Ghazi began. His voice was clear and distinct, so he must have had a radio mike secreted somewhere. The slight hubbub receded and all eyes were on him. “My task tonight is easy. All the participants are my friends, and they have asked me to conduct this very important ceremony. The task of those I am going to ask to take their vows of commitment will be much more difficult. Each will pledge to his partner that their commitment is permanent. They know in their hearts it will be. They will need your support and your love, because we all know the ways of this world. So… Clyde and Hamed, Darryll and Michael, Tom and Philip, Simon and Richard… please come forward.”

Proudly, we stood and made our way to the little dais, followed by our sponsors. We stood in a semi-circle facing Ghazi, our sponsors standing just between us and slightly behind us.

Ghazi turned to Clyde first and began the litany which he would use for each of us.

“Do you, Clyde, agree to cherish, love and support Hamed as your true partner, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity, for all time?”

Clyde said very clearly and with great feeling, “I do.”

After Ghazi had repeated the question for Hamed, with his firm “I do” following, he continued. “Fergus, please give them each a ring, which we will see them place on each other’s fingers to seal this pledge.”

Fergie handed them rings just like ours. They looked each other straight in the eye as they held out their hands and simultaneously slipped the ring over their partner’s outstretched finger.

Darryll and Michael were next. Stuart handed them their rings to help them seal their pledge.

Then it was Tom’s and my turn. I had never felt so emotional. It was even more so than meeting my mother again after four years. My love for Tom was overwhelming, but my voice was steady as I made my vow. Tom’s eyes were fixed on mine as he said a profoundly intense “I do.” Paul, in a lovely gesture, kissed the rings before handing them to us. We were as one now.

I barely heard Simon’s and Richard’s part of the ceremony. My thoughts were with Tom. We stood side by side, our hands clasped and fingers entwined, until Ghazi proposed a toast. There was a spontaneous burst of applause. Glasses appeared, and we toasted each other and everyone present. On our way back to our places we were hugged and kissed by all and sundry. Dr Williams gave me a special hug as I passed his table. “You’ve made it, Fiery Phil, eh?”

During the evening the twins, Rory and Adam, came over to our table and Tom’s dad asked if they had managed to stay out of anymore trouble. They grinned and said they had. Tom and I cornered them a bit later and found they’d been trespassing on private land and had been apprehended by the owner’s ghillie and assistant and accused of poaching. Luckily, the confrontation took place near the road and Sgt McLaren (as he was then) happened to drive up. As it was well known that the twins’ father and the irascible Colonel Livingstone were not on very good terms they would have really been up shit creek if the ghillie had taken them to the Colonel. Tom’s father said he would deal with it. He drove them home, and they told us they were grounded for a week—and Tom’s father got the haunch of venison for defusing the situation.

The dinner was superb. I’d never had a seven course dinner before and we didn’t finish eating until past ten o’clock. A seven course meal followed by eightsome reels… try that! We finally staggered—replete, tired, and so very happy—to bed at one o’clock. It may have been our commitment night but it was the first night for several months that there was no sex. We just wanted to be together. So we lay, contented, and fell asleep.

So started the rest of our life together.

Postscript

P1: Returning the Pills

Of course, there were presents and cards from all and sundry. One special one for each of the three couples based in Britain, plus Stuart, Paul, Fergie and Bernard, was first class open tickets to Nice for Ghazi’s and Etienne’s commitment at Easter. The six of us said we would all help to conduct the ceremony. Ghazi giggled and said the four French ex-paras were insisting they act as pageboys. I said he was bloody lucky they didn’t dress up as bridesmaids, complete with hairy legs and military moustaches.

We stayed just overnight at the hotel. Next morning I left Tom at the hotel with Aunt Margaret and my mother as we were having lunch there before mum had to catching a train and Aunt Margaret drove back to Glenfinnan. I took the package and made my way to the Prof’s house. Luckily, he answered the door and I asked if I could see him privately. As he took me into his study I heard a noise at the top of the nearby stairs and guessed it was the twins.

The Prof was obviously puzzled, but I explained that I was there to return something that had been confiscated at Kinloch. When he opened the package he went very silent. I told him how the twins were caught with the Viagra just as they were about to lace the jug of squash after the rugger match, and that Peter Douglas had asked me to return the tablets.

“Just wait until I get them in here,” he said with gritted teeth. “It’s a good job my wife is at church or real wrath would descend on them. Can I trust you to keep this quiet?”

I nodded.

“We’ve been doing a long-term study on these things and I noted there were some missing, or at least I couldn’t account for them. I thought that one of my not-so-priapic registrars might have had them, or they had merely got lost. But I would have to account for them in the end. Anyway, I thought those two had been rather quiet since they got back from school.” He had a gleam in his eye, but there was also a twinkle. “Not that teenage rugby players would need these, and fifty milligrams would have been pretty diluted, anyway. Does Mr McCrae know?”

I said I didn’t think so, but added that in my experience not much got past his eagle eye.

“OK,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you would stay in here until I’ve seen them about this. Then I’d better think up some form of retribution and hope and pray that Lizzie doesn’t find out or the poor little buggers will never hear the last of it.”

He went to the door. “Will! Geoff!”

He came back in and winked at me. Two downcast boys almost immediately entered the room. They had obviously been skulking in the corridor.

“What have you to say to this?” He pointed at the package. “You know you’ve severely embarrassed Peter Douglas, and Flip here has been good enough to try to get the pair of you out of the deepest mire. This is a drug! A prescription-only drug. You stole them from here, I assume, to play some foolish prank on boys at school. What would you have done if they had been mislabelled and were something quite dangerous? Eh? Do you want me to tell your mother?”

Poor kids. They were just on fourteen and the tears were rolling down their cheeks. They shook their heads.

“I’m afraid I put too much trust in you. So what am I going to do? I think I’ll sort out some tasks for each of you—and don’t expect the earth for Christmas. You should be very glad you’ve at least got a couple of friends. Peter has stopped you getting into serious trouble at school and Flip has brought the tablets back. What have you to say for yourselves?”

“Oh, Dad,” snivelled Will. (I knew it was Will as I spotted the scar when he looked up.) “We didn’t mean any harm, we thought it would be a joke. We’re ever so sorry…”

Here Geoff looked up and continued where Will left off. “We’ve been worried you’d find out ever since we got back home. Please. We’ve learnt our lesson.”

“Right, no harm has been done, but you could have got me into trouble as well. Just remember that. You’d better get your faces sorted out before your mother gets home.” Here they looked even more worried. “No, I won’t tell her, yet! But, one more little prank and the heavens will open, I can assure you. So, wash your faces and then go and make four mugs of coffee and bring them in here. Go on, get on with it!”

They scurried out. He looked at me and shook his head.

“Who’d be a father? But, you won’t want to know that.”

I looked slightly puzzled. Did he know about the commitments made the night before.

He laughed. “Your reputation goes before you. I heard there was to be a rather special ceremony last night. Richard told me when he was round here earlier in the week. He’s joining my team once he qualifies.” He grinned again. “When you appeared this morning and asked to see me privately I wondered if you had caught something, or wanted advice.”

I shook my head vigorously. “No, neither of us would cheat on the other, and I think we’re pretty clued up, so far.”

He smiled. “If you ever need me, I’m here. I was most impressed with your friend’s questions when you came in to the hospital with that young lad. And I hear you’re doing well. Have you got work to do this vacation?”

Worse than school! Everyone knows everyone else. I said we had some assignments but that Tom and I were also doing a portering stint until Christmas Eve, then we were going home. He laughed and said it was a good idea to get some experience at the sharp end. He said the whole family were going to stay with the Douglases for Christmas and then asked how Tom and I were going to get back to Glenfinnan. I said by train.

“No, we’ll give you a lift. Plenty of room in the people carrier and if your aunt provides a bit of lunch I can have a good gossip with her.” He laughed. “Haven’t seen Maggy for some years. Phones me sometimes with a case, like that lad, but I’ll be glad to see her again. Shouldn’t tell you this, but she was my first girlfriend when we were students together. She dumped me, though. She said I spent too much time playing rugger. And then I met Lizzie. She was a nurse. Surprising how many doctors marry nurses.”

I said I’d heard that, thinking of Preston’s mother.

There was a discreet tap on the door. He roared out, “Come in!” and the twins came in with the mugs. As mine was handed to me I said, “Thank you, Geoff.” He gave me a look and I could tell he wondered how I knew! I also noticed on his freshly washed face that he had the first pimple appearing on his chin. As Will handed me the box of biscuits I saw he had a slightly bigger crop, one of which he must have picked because it was bleeding slightly. Oh, the first blemishes in the Spring of Youth. My facial acne had receded but I still had a row of spots at the top of my back, which rude Tom referred to as my pox.

The Prof told the boys they weren’t forgiven yet; they had to do penance. One task would be to clean the Mitsubishi ready for the visit to the Douglases. The kids brightened up visibly when they were told Tom and I would be taken to Glenfinnan first. I explained that I’d better go as we were having lunch before my mother and Aunt Margaret, with Stuart, departed on their separate ways.

P2: Parting

Over lunch Mum explained that she had to get back to her busy law practice and that was why she couldn’t stay for Christmas. She said she hoped Tom, Stuart and I would visit her when we could. She realised we were very busy, too, but she didn’t want another separation like the last one. On the station platform at Edinburgh just before she got on her train, she hugged each of us three boys. I heard her say, “Look after him, Tom,” and I knew he had been accepted into our family.

After we’d seen her off Aunt Margaret and Stuart left in the Range Rover to return to Glenfinnan. Of course, I’d told her of the offer of a lift. I didn’t explain how or why I was at the Prof’s that morning but I did say I’d heard little secrets about her. She said she’d make sure to have a good lunch for the Prof and his family… then told me I’d better watch my tongue!

We said cheerio to the others who were also going their various ways. I congratulated Paul on having the other twins to keep him company until they returned to school. He made a wry face and said he would try to curb them, but unfortunately it was two against one. I made arrangements for him to travel with Tom and me to Little Dick’s wedding. We were going to drive down to Suffolk!

We also made arrangements to meet up with the others for the wedding. Including Tom, there would be seven of us as special guests, and we had already decided we would be a Scottish contingent. We said fond farewells to all. Clyde’s grandfather said he’d never enjoyed himself so much as at the ceremony and shook hands heartily with us. Beauregard repeated the invitation to his wedding and told me I was to bring my brother with me. Stuart had made quite an impression on Clyde’s sister, having given her expert—I don’t know how—tuition on the intricacies of an eightsome reel.

P3: Christmas 2000 and New Year 2001

Portering in Christmas week was rather horrendous. The proportion of little old ladies to drunks changed for the worse. How grown men would allow themselves to fall—or be pushed, even—through plate glass windows was beyond belief. There were a couple of nasty car accidents, so we had to deal with very badly injured people from those. On the whole, I think the pair of us learned a great deal from all these experiences.

We’d borrowed a couple of mountain bikes from students who had already gone home and cycled to and from the hospital. I think we were liked there. A couple of the nurses commented on our rings. We didn’t elaborate but one of the male nurses recognised their significance, and told us his friend and he had been together for over ten years. On our last morning he wished us well.

On arriving home in the mornings after our shift, we would sleep for a few hours, then spend some very intense times bringing each other to stupendous orgasms. We were now so familiar with each other’s bodies that we both knew how best to excite and tease and tempt, and—finally—to draw out those most intense climaxes. We had a tenderness towards each other, but underneath there was an urgency, which, upon discussion, we decided was due to the hormone-packed teenage bodies we possessed. We couldn’t tire of each other. Each climax and release conditioned us to generate just that little extra tension and that little extra surrender to each other’s wants and needs. Oh, that these occasions would last for ever!

The morning of Christmas Eve arrived. We cycled back to the flat just before seven, having cajoled the other two porters to cover for us, since, for once, there was little traffic in injuries. We showered and changed, then, with our bags, cycled to the Prof’s in time for the planned departure at nine o’clock. We left the bikes there and would collect them when we got back.

The twins were somewhat subdued. The Mitsubishi was gleaming and the inside was spotless. I thought of Pete’s and Jamie’s task when they were caught in their compromising position. The Prof and his wife sat in the front passenger and driving seats. Tom and I sat in the two outer positions on the rearmost seat with one of the boys between us. The other sat in the seat in front of us. As the journey progressed they kept swapping places as they thawed out.

They asked innumerable questions, until at last, feeling tired because I’d had no sleep after working all night, I gripped Will’s leg just above the knee and gave him a squeeze to make him squirm and told him to stop his rabbiting for a while. He turned his attention to Tom and continued asking questions. Then, as I was quietly contemplating the infinite and watching the scenery pass by quite rapidly, the lad caught hold of the little finger of my left hand which was resting on my leg. I thought he was going to try to bend it back as that schoolboy ploy had been tried on me in the past and I had retaliated by doing the same to others. But, no, he just looped his first finger and thumb round it and ran his circled digits up and down about four times. Then he dropped my finger and continued talking to Tom as if nothing had happened. I could hardly say anything. Was this an unconscious gesture on his part? It seemed to me a very clear signal for something. I am afraid that just thinking about it, as I relapsed into my dozy state, required me to wriggle in my seat and rearrange my position.

Soon after, the boys exchanged positions and I was content to hear Geoff asking Tom about our course at med school. Geoff’s only contribution to my discomfiture was that he was a constant fidget and rubbed his jeans-clad leg against mine perhaps a bit more than necessary.

We arrived at Glenfinnan just after noon, having stopped just once at a filling station, where a quick pee, with difficulty, was on my agenda. At the bungalow Aunt Margaret was waiting as soon as we arrived, with Stuart hovering in the background. With a shout of “Maggy!” the Prof jumped out of the vehicle and enveloped her in a hug. Lizzie looked on, smiling. Having been given quick instructions by their father just before we arrived, the two lads proceeded to take our bags out of the car.

I took the boys along to our bedroom and told them to dump the bags on the floor. Tom and Stuart had taken Lizzie to the living room. The two urchins stood there eyeing the newly installed cupboards and shelves.

“Do you and your brother share this room?” Will asked.

“He’s just like you,” Geoff added.

“No, this is Tom’s and my room,” I said. “We will be living together.”

They didn’t say anything, but just looked at each other. I thought I’d better change the subject.

“You two could have been in the shit up to your eyebrows. You know that, don’t you?” They nodded, and slight grins appeared on both their faces. “Promise me you won’t do anything like that again. It was awkward for me to talk to your dad.” They both nodded again. “In any case, I don’t think boys need that stuff, eh?”

Will looked at me. “We’ve noticed that…”

“…Recently,” Geoff added, completing the sentence.

They began to giggle. They were irrepressible.

“Look,” I said, “this is serious stuff. If you want to get on at Kinloch don’t do daft things.”

“You did…” Geoff began.

“…But you did get rid of that Crowley,” Will added.

“Tiger Woods told us when he found out that we knew you,” was Geoff’s contribution.

Antony ‘Tiger’ Woods was now in the Upper Sixth. He was a very studious lad, but possessed of a very acned complexion and, reportedly, an excessive libido. It seemed that our exploit was now to be passed down in schoolboy history.

“Will you tell us what you did?” Will asked.

“Would you come and see us…?” Geoff asked.

“…With Tom?” Will added. “And your brother?”

I said I would as soon as the Easter holidays started. I hadn’t finished though.

“Now, you behave yourselves when you’re at Pete’s. You’re not to hassle him.”

They shook their heads, then looked at each other and back to me.

Geoff spoke. “Could we have a look at that ring?” Will pointed to the third finger of my left hand. “Tom’s got one just like it, hasn’t he?”

I took it off and they examined it closely. They looked at each other before handing it back.

“It’s for you and Tom, isn’t it?” Geoff asked.

“For living together?” Will added.

“Yes,” I replied, not wishing to elaborate just then.

At that moment Tom came in. He saw me with the ring in my hand. He slipped his off and handed it to Will. “Mine’s exactly the same. A very good friend gave them to us because he knew we wanted to be together.”

Both boys solemnly nodded and Will passed the ring to Geoff. He said, “They’re beautiful.”

Tom took the ring back and slipped it onto his finger. “Anyway, lunch is served. It looks pretty good and we’d better get in there quick before that gannet Stuart gets too stuck in.”

It was good! Smoked salmon in abundance with fresh rolls, bannocks and other delicacies. The boys wolfed tremendous amounts and when finished there was a nod from their father and they got up and cleared the plates away. I followed them into the kitchen to get the pudding. I went up to Will and ran a finger round his chin. He ducked his head.

“Instead of pinching pills you ought to get your dad to prescribe something for your spots. If he gave you enough you could make a fortune selling it at Kinloch, especially to zit-king Woods.”

They were giggling over this when Stuart came through with some of the now empty dishes. The boys looked him up and down from their much shorter height. He was kilted whereas I was wearing jeans.

“We wear ours on Sundays for Chapel…” said Geoff.

“…Just like your brother did,” Will echoed.

“He started that, you know,” Geoff concluded.

“You go to Tom’s old school, don’t you?” Will asked.

“Do you like it there?” Geoff asked. “We like Kinloch.”

“Your brother’s famous there,” Will said.

Stuart laughed. “Don’t say things like that, he’s got a big enough head already.”

I took a brotherly swipe at his cheek. I shooed the three of them back to the dining room and followed them carrying the tray of puddings. Aunt Margaret, Tom, the Prof and Lizzie were deep in conversation but stopped as we got to the table. There was a slight pause while the puddings were dished out than general conversation started again. Time flew and they had to go.

After the twins had been stowed in the back seat—with them and Stuart mouthing things at each other through the window—the Prof was saying goodbye to Aunt Margaret when Lizzie came to Tom and me and gave us both a little hug.

“I don’t know what the little hounds have done, and whatever it is I am not going to enquire, but at least they’re behaving. I suppose you know, but I won’t ask. Anyway, I expect to see your both when you get back to Edinburgh.”

After we had waved them off Tom and I went to our bedroom to unpack.

His first words, after he had closed the door, were, “Oh God, I didn’t know I could maintain a hard-on for three bloody hours. I think I’ll rename that pair Viagra One and Viagra Two.” He grinned. “You suffered, too.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I think it was deliberate.” I told him about Will and the finger episode. He grimaced but said nothing. “I shudder to think what they’ll do to Pete,” I added.

“Don’t worry, you and Ghazi know he can stand anything thrown at him, so I think he’ll survive.”

I asked him what the intense conversation had been about. He smiled and said Stuart had asked Aunt Margaret if she thought he could also train as a doctor.

Although we were both very tired we found neither of us needed any artificial stimulants that night in bed. I hoped the new cupboards against the wall dividing us from Stuart added to the soundproofing as Tom was rather vocal as I sucked two days’ worth of his thick boy cream from him. He insisted I should fuck him, so I entered him as he lay on his back, my whole weight on him as he clasped me tightly and we were one. As I slowly thrust and withdrew we tongue fucked as well until I could hold on no longer and released spurt after spurt of my love deep inside him.

Tom whispered, “That was the first for our true life together.”

We celebrated Christmas quietly. On Boxing Day Tom and I drove up, with Stuart, to have lunch with Tom’s mum and dad. Their new house was much bigger than the village copper shop and had stunning views from the back. We were all invited to come and stay any time, since there was plenty of room. “All the bedrooms are doubles,” was Tom’s father’s comment.

Young Archie was a constant visitor from the time we arrived back. In fact, he insisted that we inspect his balls on the Wednesday after Christmas, and I was certain his tool had lengthened even more in the months since I’d last seen it. His balls were certainly looking healthy. The right one was now almost as large as his falsie, which Tom insisted on tapping with a pencil. He said Archie should go on the stage as the boy who could batter his ball with a hammer and feel no pain. All the lads in the audience would cringe and he would make a fortune. Even better, he should ask the Prof to do the same with the other one and put ball-bearings in to rattle and he could have his own inbuilt maracas if he joined a pop group. They could call themselves the Maracas Knackers. I let Stuart and Archie deal with Tom who ended up on the bed pleading for mercy—and for help—as they sat on him and tickled him.

New Year came and the village Ceilidh was a real occasion, ending with the celebration of the true start of the Third Millennium. We three lads appeared early and were immediately surrounded by Wayne’s three sisters demanding partners for the first reel. We reeled and left them breathless. They weren’t bad looking, but did nothing for my sex drive. Even Stuart later confessed that they scared him stiff. He laughed and said, “No, not that sort of stiffness.”

Wayne was there, squiring a very pretty girl, the Mary Collins of his dreams. Tom, of course, the great tease, made a great play of wanting to dance with her, much to Wayne’s chagrin. She had a bright, bubbly personality and entered into the pretence quite willingly. Poor Wayne could hardly tell her we were gay as the threat to his manhood was still there. But, in the end he took it in all good part and confided to me that he’d been more successful the first time he’d ‘tried it’ and they were getting engaged at Easter. I knew, looking at the smiling Mary and the ever-attentive Wayne, that they were made for a life together. And they knew it, too.

P4: Stuart’s Stuff

‘Trying it’ was also on dear Stuart’s mind. The following morning he brought us mugs of coffee in bed, wearing just those ancient green running shorts Simon had handed down to me. He announced that Aunt Margaret had been called out early. He sat on the edge of the bed as we sipped the welcome brew. It was clear that he was itching to get something off his chest.

“Can I ask you something?” he said at last.

“You don’t need to,” I replied. “I checked in the library and found that younger brothers of auburn-haired older brothers always have much shorter pricks. If they get it to five and a half inches on a fine day they are lucky.”

He looked at me guardedly and then Tom guffawed.

“Take no notice of that fool, ask me.”

“You’re always taking the piss out of me, Flip. I’ll go and ask my other brother.”

He got up and walked around to Tom’s side of the bed.

“Tom, it’s very personal, but he’ll only take the mick. I think I’ll ask you when he’s not here.”

“No you won’t,” I said, “No secrets. We’re three brothers now and even if I do tease you, you know I don’t mean it.”

The rude child stuck his tongue out at me.

“OK, I’ll ask, but you keep quiet unless you have something sensible to say.” He turned to Tom. “We had this lesson the other day about personal relationships. The teacher said that one shouldn’t make someone do anything unless there was trust. Is that what you would say?”

Tom said it was very true. Stuart then went on to ask what he should do if he was with a girl and they wanted to make love. Tom asked whether he meant ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’, because they were very different.

Stuart said he wasn’t sure. “What if it was an experiment?”

Tom said, “You don’t experiment in that way. That way you lose your virginity. It’s a precious thing, and you shouldn’t give that up without love and trust.”

“What about you?” Stuart asked.

“The day Flip and I lost our virginity to each other was the day we knew love and trust were the important things for us. We’ve loved and trusted each other from that day.” He put his hand out and held Stuart’s arm. “We might have been younger than you are now, but we knew then—even though we might not have been able to explain it—and we’ve known it ever since.”

Stuart nodded. “Archie says the same. He doesn’t want to do it until he’s sure that he loves the girl. I don’t know. There’s a girl in our class and I want to fu— I mean, I want to see what it’s like.”

Tom gripped his arm. “I’ve never fucked, or even loved, a girl, but I know what you mean. You haven’t said you love the girl. You’re curious. And you hear about doing it all the time. You see it on telly, you read it in the papers. You’ve experienced sex of a kind with Kenny and Archie. That’s not love, even though you are such good friends with Archie. If you want a one-night stand to find out if the feelings are different from having your best friend’s hand on your prick, then try it, but I reckon you’ll find you’ll only experience a release of your spunk in a warm place. Believe me, someone told me once that virginity is like a balloon, one prick and it’s gone forever, but I think if it ’s done with love, losing your virginity will be much more memorable than that momentary bang.”

Stuart leaned down and kissed Tom’s forehead.

“Thanks. I don’t love that girl. I want to love someone just like you love Flip. Perhaps I’ll find someone.”

He returned to my side of the bed. He kissed my forehead. “Thanks for keeping silent. I know you agree with Tom. And he is a sexy hunk, isn’t he? Your friend Ghazi told me that and said you were the luckiest man alive. Then he said you weren’t bad yourself. I agree, even though you are my brother! Eh, hunk!”

I grabbed him and hauled him onto the bed.

“Cheeky monkey. You need a good slapping like Wayne gets from his sisters.”

I walloped him twice on his thinly clad butt. Tom grabbed him from me and rolled him over to his side of the bed.

“Come on, Stuart, I’ll protect you, then we’ll give old Coppernob the treatment.”

Over the next five minutes I thought the bed would collapse. They launched themselves on me and I was tickled, pinched, turned and sat on, my bare bum being walloped in turn by a crowing Stuart and a yodelling Tom. By dint of a tremendous heave and turn I managed to dislodge Stuart, catching him around the waist with my legs and encircling Tom’s torso, pinning his arms with mine. I pulled Tom down over me and clenched my legs tightly together to hold Stuart.

“Got the pair of you!” It was my turn to crow. They were laughing too much to retaliate immediately but my victory was short-lived. Stuart put a hand down and clutched at my balls.

“Let us go or I squeeze!”

“That’s not fair,” I cried.

“All’s fair in love and war!” he shouted. “And you won’t be making love anymore if I squeeze! Sorry Tom, but it’s my insides he’s squashing!”

I let go of both and they rolled off me, clutching each other.

There was a strangled cry from Stuart as they lay entangled on the bed beside me. “I’m sorry Tom, I couldn’t help it.”

They rolled apart. Stuart’s shorts were half way down his thighs and the last two squirts of a spontaneous orgasm landed on the bed between us. The rest was evident on their torsos where it had pumped out between them as Stuart’s hips had bucked with the reflexive force involved.

Tom put his arms round him. “Don’t worry, Stuart, you couldn’t help it. God, you’re just like your brother, look at the amount you came! And the force! Good job you were facing downwards or you’d have painted the ceiling!”

Stuart was still gasping. I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s OK Stuart. You must love us to do something like that.”

He sniffed and said very quietly. “I think of you all the time. How you love one another. I want to love someone just like that. I do love you both.”

Tom was looking at me over Stuart’s shoulder. I nodded…

I saw Tom put Stuart’s hand on his own erect cock. “Show me how you love me.”

Stuart must have only caressed Tom’s wonderful shaft a few times before Tom gasped. Stuart kissed him and they lay together for some minutes. Stuart slowly disengaged himself and moved to me.

“I love you, too, big brother,” he whispered.

His gentle touch on my shaft released my own copious torrent which jetted all over him. He lay back and put his arms under our necks until Tom and I rolled toward him and clasped us all together.

I nuzzled his ear. “Ghazi said that Tom was a sexy hunk, eh?”

“Yeah, he said you were as well, but I wasn’t going to tell you that ’cause your head’s two sizes too large for your hat already.”

I gave his earlobe a pinch between my lips. “You’re a cheeky hound, but I think you too are a real sexy hunk, my not-so-little brother. In fact, you’ve grown since we last saw all of you.”

Stuart snickered. “I know. Auburn-haired little brothers will always beat auburn-haired big brothers in the end!”

“Don’t cheek your brother,” said Tom, for once on my side. “Come here. I think you need dealing with properly.”

With that he scooped Stuart across the bed and got up and straddled his thighs. Stuart lay motionless looking up at Tom’s face. Tom reached down and circled Stuart’s partially erect pale prick. It quickly stiffened fully as Tom pulled down and unsheathed his darker coloured knob. Stuart lay with his mouth half open, almost smiling, staring straight up into Tom’s eyes. Slowly Tom’s hand worked up and down on Stuart’s now lengthening teenage prick. I was mesmerised, because lying next to me was a younger clone of myself, enjoying and savouring that act which Tom so often performed on me.

Stuart’s body was mine as I had been just over three years previously. The defined chest, the dark pink nipples, the curly auburn bush surmounting an ever-eager cock, the thighs beginning to develop muscles, with their light dusting of reddish hair, and the lengthy legs ending in over-large feet were all me.

After about five minutes of Tom’s slow, relentless stroking, Stuart’s hips and thighs bucked and he gasped four times as four pools of glistening creamy liquid appeared on his stomach and between his developing pecs. Tom’s hand stopped moving. They stared at each other and two smiles appeared. Tom let go of Stuart’s still-rigid young pole. He dipped a finger into one of the pools and smeared the boy cream across Stuart’s just-parted lips. He leaned down and kissed him lightly on those moist lips, then moved his body over and kissed me, too. I licked my lips as we parted and tasted a slight residue of Stuart’s offering.

We were silent for several moments before Stuart said, or, rather, whispered, “Thank you, my brother.”

The green running shorts had been discarded much earlier and lay between Stuart and me. I picked them up and wiped up the ample amount of pearly cum from Stuart’s body. I rubbed down Tom’s front where the mingled spunk from the earlier encounter was still evident. Finally, I cleaned up the rapidly drying remains of my own effusion.

Stuart was again the first to speak.

“I’m going to have a shower and get dressed, then I’ll cook breakfast for us all. I think we need a bit of sustenance, don’t you?”

He crawled out from between Tom’s legs. As he climbed over me, deliberately dragging his slimy young cock across me, he kissed me quickly on the cheek and I handed him the shorts. Tom pulled the duvet over us as we moved together and clasped each other and entwined our legs. I pecked him on the nose.

“That was wonderful, Tom. I know what you meant when you said that about Stuart and you the other day. I can see he is so like I used to be.”

“He’s beautiful, just like you, my lovely Flip. I knew you’d let me do that because you know I love you both. That was that. Stuart and I have closed a chapter, but we’ve opened another as true brothers. I am so happy you both accept me and trust me.”

I kissed his nose, then each closed eye. In return, he dabbed my nose with his tongue.

“You know, Flip,” he said, “teenage boys are supposed to be stroppy, horrible, uncooperative, you name it.” He giggled. “I know you’ve had your moments, and I suppose I have, to a much lesser degree.” He licked the tip of my nose again. “But we’ve got through it and I think Stuart will, too. True, I see you in him. You both have that wonderful gentle streak, and I can’t see him hurting anyone. And you both know how to make and keep friends. I’m proud to know you both.”

We were interrupted by Stuart, freshly laundered and stinking of Tom’s Aramis aftershave, bouncing back in.

“Come on you two, you can break up that clinch. Or are you practising a few holds to try on Beau?” He dropped the green running shorts over our faces, then snatched them up again. I felt a dampness hit my cheek and smelt the very familiar aroma of the results of boy sex. “Shan’t ever wash these. They’re my treasure. Thanks!”

We got up and, as we shared the bathroom and cleaned ourselves up, we decided to let Stuart look after some treasure of ours.

Stuart was true to his word, and when we appeared, showered, shampooed and shaved, there was a stack of bacon, eggs and sausages ready. Before we began Tom and I held out our hands simultaneously to Stuart who had our hot plates ready to be loaded. He looked carefully, put the plates down, and took the two silver bullets.

“We told you about Shuggie,” Tom said. “He gave us these to remind us of him and to make sure we never parted. We want you to look after them. If you ever think there is anything wrong between us you must tell us, whatever it is. Keep these safe and think of us. You’ll do that for us, won’t you?”

Stuart nodded slowly and slipped the bullets into his jeans pocket. He had been given an important task. Who could know the future? His eyes looked moist, but he smiled. “Breakfast’s ready and it’ll be getting cold.”

We had just begun when Aunt Margaret appeared, dumping her medical bag on the draining board.

“Gosh, that smells good. Got a plateful for me?” She looked at the three of us. “You all look pleased about something!”

We grinned and said nothing. We just got on with eating breakfast, and savoured the memories of a wonderful morning…

P5: Pete and the Twins

We hadn’t long finished breakfast when there was a phone call. It was Pete inviting the three of us to lunch the next day. Stuart said he’d only met Pete at the commitment but he seemed very nice. Although Stuart knew he’d stayed at the bungalow with me we didn’t let on that he was gay as well. If that came up we would deal with it at the time. In any case, I wanted to find out how Pete was getting on with Jamie.

Pete said the twins were still staying with the Douglases. The Prof and Lizzie had gone back to Edinburgh as soon as Christmas was over, and the boys would be with him until they all went back to Kinloch. Oh, God! I wondered if Pete was able to keep them in check.

There were just us six lads and Mrs Douglas at lunch, which was very substantial. When I thanked her afterwards she said she had learned the quickest way to keep boys quiet was to feed them plenty. In fact, the twins were very well behaved. They took Stuart off to show him around the house and the outbuildings while Tom and I had a chat with Pete in his room.

There were more drawings around the room, including a very nice watercolour.

“That was a Christmas present from Wayne,” Pete explained when I commented on it. “He’s very good. Dad says he should do some training.”

As well as the original drawings of Tom and me there were two others as well, but not the full-frontal of me. There were also two of the twins. I asked if that was all he’d done. He grinned and fished out a substantial portfolio. The top picture was the one of me.

“Would you like it, Flip? I can always do another from memory. Unless you’ve grown, of course!”

“Don’t feed his ego,” said Tom. “I think it would be better if I took a rubber to that; I still think you exaggerate!”

I took a playful swipe at him.

“Actually, Pete,” he said, “in confidence…” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think he may have grown a couple of millimetres since you last saw him. Just give him the benefit of the doubt!”

“Philistine!” I said. “You wouldn’t know a good picture if you saw one.”

Pete took out the next drawing. It was another one of Tom, head and shoulders.

“Here you are, Tom. I don’t think even a Philistine would look like this.”

Tom took it and looked at it carefully. He murmured, “Oh, thanks, Pete! I know that’s good!”

I turned to Pete. “And, what about you and Jamie?”

He turned the pages in the portfolio and produced another carefully drawn head and shoulders. It was unmistakably Jamie. It hit one quite forcibly that it was done with love and affection. Even Tom could see that!

“When we’re ready we’re going to have a ceremony as well. Jamie was rather upset that I was invited to yours but he wasn’t. I said I would ask you both to ours.”

“Sorry, Pete, we should have asked you both, but Ghazi made all the arrangements and we never thought to tell him. I’ll write to Jamie when school starts again.”

Pete nodded.

Tom asked, “And what about that pair? Are they behaving?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “It’s amazing! My mother says she’s never known two such well-behaved boys. What the hell you did to them, Flip, I don’t know, but you’ve got another couple of ardent fans.” He looked at Tom. “And you! It’s me and Jamie and the others all over again with them! It’s Flip this and Flip that… but it’s also Tom said this and Tom said that.”

Tom and I laughed.

“I only did what you asked me to do, Pete,” I said. “But anything else?”

He knew what I meant. He shook his head.

“Not with me. I know they’re at it between themselves but they know I’m off-limits. They’ve suggested…” He shrugged his shoulders. “But they know I’m not interested in them. Still, I like them and we’ve had some great fun. They have an idea about me and Jamie but they’ll have to find out more in good time.”

Tom told Pete about his inheritance and said he and Jamie would be welcome to come and stay at the croft house we were keeping, perhaps during the coming summer vacation. Pete looked very pleased at this.

We came away happy for Pete and interested that the twins were still under control. I had my portrait and Tom had the head and shoulders sketch of him. Stuart was also pleased; he had invitations to visit Pete and the twins any time.

Finale: Little Dick’s Nuptials

I had told Aunt Margaret Tom and I were intending to drive down to Bury St Edmunds, taking Stuart and Paul as well. No way, was her response. She certainly wasn’t going to allow us to take my ‘rattle-trap’, as she called it, over one thousand miles there and back, in the middle of winter. No way. Full stop.

I said I’d promised to take Paul and leave him there because he would be going on to London. No way. What about the Land Rover? She gave me a withering look and mentioned insurance. No way. Fly down, or walk.

Tom and Stuart looked on as the battle raged. It wasn’t a battle. Battles are two-sided. They laughed. I was getting nowhere. They were sensible; I wasn’t. All right. Compromise. With a couple of phone calls—one to Paul, one to Glasgow—it was all arranged. We would fly from Glasgow to London, then go by train to Bury. Solved. Tom looked relieved. Stuart looked happy. He had been invited, too. When I phoned Charles to thank him for his letter I had asked him to pass on Stuart’s congratulations to Little Dick and Ann. Stuart had never met Dick but he was determined not to be left out. As it turned out, he wasn’t. Charles promptly said he must come too, invitation on the way. That invitation had been prominently displayed on Stuart’s new shelves since it arrived. No way was he going to miss the event! Titles!!

In all my years with Aunt Margaret that was our only altercation. Slight, but significant. I knew who was boss! My teenage years would last only one more year. I was doing well.

Tom and I drove the other two down to Glasgow Airport, parked the car at an exorbitant rate and had a pleasant flight. The trip across London by four kilted lads on the Underground prompted some looks, especially from the numerous foreign travellers. We made good time to the hotel booked for us in Bury and met up with the others there.

The six other members of the seven—Ghazi, Hamed, Clyde, Paul, Fergie and me—together with Tom, Stuart and Bernard (another hanger-on, as he described himself), all had a most convivial evening. We heard that Little Dick, at the insistence of Ann’s father, had had his Stag Night the night before and the combined forces of the Rugby Club and the Young Farmers’ Club had just about drunk the town dry. Little Dick, or Richie as he now preferred, was last seen being pushed round the city in a large pram with a larger-than-life dummy stuck in his mouth. Apparently he had baulked at being stripped and placed in a nappy, so the pram was filled with a mixture of beer and shaving foam and he had been unceremoniously dumped in it. Obviously, a great night was had by all!

The next day we took a couple of taxis to the village church. The sight of nine kilted lads was a surprise for the assembled guests, especially as two of them were rather dusky and another obviously an American. We greeted Little Dick who had also just arrived and I met Charles, who was his best man, for the first time. He was large, built like a prop forward, and was just like one imagined a young, jolly East Anglian farmer to be like. His father was an older image of him and he passed us over to a dress-suited young man who ushered us into the lovely ancient thirteenth-century church and seated us on the bridegroom’s side behind Little Dick’s parents and his three remaining grandparents. The music was tremendous. Nelson was playing and I felt very moved.

Ann was only three minutes late. She was escorted in by her father and the ceremony began. I thought back to our ceremony and clasped Tom’s hand in mine. I noticed that Clyde and Hamed beside us had done the same. Perhaps we would share some of the blessing being given to Richard and Ann.

As we came out of the church, to the sounds of the organ and the bells in the tower pealing, the lads from the two clubs lined up and the bride and bridegroom and the guests passed through an arch of pitchforks, rakes, and rugby balls held aloft. Lord and Lady Fordham were truly married!

We were driven to the reception in a fleet of taxis with the bridal pair in a horse-drawn carriage in front. There was a superb meal after we were introduced to all their relatives and friends. The disco in the evening was noisy and the drink flowed freely. Most of the older members of the assembled throng retired to quieter pastures, but we younger ones joined in and jigged and jived in the modern way to clashing sounds and repetitious rhythms. Of course, as the merriment grew we knew there were the usual questions in the air about Scots lads and their accoutrements. Finally, during a pause from the din of the disco, as the DJ stopped to get more noise-making records ready, we nine were surrounded by about twenty-five of the Suffolk lads, obviously adept at training their sheepdogs to do the same thing, who linked arms and chanted, “Sing, sing, or show us your ring!”

Not to be outdone, we nine also linked arms with our backs to the chanting mob and, at a signal from Clyde, hoisted up our kilts to display nine pale pink or dusky brown bare butts to satisfy their curiosity. A great cheer went up and we were engulfed in a torrent of hugs and back-slapping.

Much, much later Tom and I crawled into bed a bit tired and emotional (that is, rather drunk). We had deposited young Stuart in the room next to us. He was in an even more inebriated state, unable to undress himself, so we managed to unbuckle his kilt and get that and his shirt off. Tom whispered, “Auburn-haired little brothers certainly grow, even in four months.”

Later that night, and again in the early hours of the morning, with the enjoyment of a wonderful day with all our friends fresh in our memories, we celebrated Richard and Ann’s commitment with slow, gentle love-giving and love-receiving observances of our own. Tom and Flip, as one.

THE END

Copyright © 2002–2025 Joel