CHAPTER 29


Saturday 27th May 1944

Tom had completed his paper-round and was just inspecting his bike for the tenth time I expect when I rode up to his front gate.

     “I'm ready,” he said rather breathlessly, “Dunc's checking to see I've got all my stuff ready.”

     “You don't need much,” I said, wondering whether a pantechnicon would be wanted.

     “No, I know I don't need much 'cos I've got to carry it, but Dunc's been to camp more than I have so he can check.”

     God!, what with worry-guts Matt and his anxieties have I got another?  Yes, I thought, dear Tom's come up with levels of distress before.  I kept my mouth shut and waited.  Not long.  Dunc came though the kitchen door.

     “Hi,  Jacko!” he called out cheerfully as soon as he saw me, “Do you think this will be too much for my little brother to carry?”

     He held up a medium sized rucksack which looked about the same size as mine.

     Tom stuck his tongue out at his big brother then looked expectantly at me for my judgement.

     “Yep,” I said as the figure of authority, “As long as he has a toothbrush, a spare pair of underpants and six pairs of clean socks he should be OK.”

     “Why do I need six pairs of socks?” queried Tom, looking mystified.

     Dunc laughed and nipped his nose between finger and thumb.

     Tom looked displeased.

     “If you're going to take the mickey before we start you'd better watch it,” he said menacingly, “I'll deal with you when we get there.”

     “You'll have Bran to deal with too,” I said, all sweetness and light, “He keeps nasty boys away from me.”

     Duncan was enjoying the exchange and butted in.

     “You'd better get a move on if you want to get there by lunchtime,” he said looking at his watch.  “Just on nine o'clock so three and a bit hours with stops for the necessaries.”  He turned his attention to Tom.  “Have you said cheerio to Mum?
     Tom nodded and said he had and we set off with Dunc blowing kisses at Tom and making him swear under his breath.

     Tom told me first of all the arrangements he'd had to make for his paper round to be done.  Most enlightening to someone most uninterested in such logistics but he was bursting to tell his tale.  As we rode out on the country road outside Kerslake Tom had finished his saga so I asked if he wanted to know what, or who, I corrected myself, I had found that morning.  He looked mystified again so I described in great detail dear Henry and his predicament.  Tom was gobsmacked.  I had to repeat the tale several times and, needless to say, the tale was embroidered.   I must say the journey to Ulvescott seemed so much shorter with the elaboration of the events, which contributed to Tom's amusement but also to his chagrin because he hadn't witnessed such a wonderful spectacle.

     We did stop for a pee and a sandwich and I noticed as Tom pulled up the leg of his shorts to get his cock out it was semi stiff so the tale was having an effect on him.  Me.  I'd had a stiff cock since I'd started the tale and wished I'd tweaked poor Henry's cock when he was helpless just to see what would happen.  Still Tom was happy and we made the journey in good time.

     Of course, it was Tom's first visit to Ulvescott Manor so I don't know what he expected..  He gawped rather at the ornate gates which hadn't been destroyed in the name of War Salvage and was intrigued by the smaller gate through which we wheeled our bikes.  Odd?  There was no Bran to welcome us.  Then I realised why.

     The first sight of Ulvescott Manor that Tom got was of enormous Bran shagging the much smaller black Labrador bitch belonging to Mrs Fry.  Bran was too far gone in his ecstasy to notice us homing in on him.  His flanks were pumping back and forth at a good ninety miles an hour or whatever measure one makes of pumping movements.  Wow, he was at the height of his exertions and was obviously coming gallons and almost crushed the poor bitch with his final few thrusts.  She let out a howl and he responded with four triumphant 'woofs' and then turned his head and saw us.

     Poor Bran.  He didn't know what to do.  I didn't know then that dogs got transfixed during a shag and had to wait until the extra bit of erection subsided to extract themselves.  We stood and watched until, with a tug, Bran was free and the poor bitch loped off without looking back at all.  Bran flopped to the ground and, if he had been human, I would have said it was  through utter embarrassment.

     Bran slowly got up, shook himself and came and sat in front of me.  He seemed even bigger because he didn't have to look up very far as I stared at him.  He carefully raised a paw and I took it and shook it.  I ignored the fuck just as Queen Elizabeth the First had ignored the Earl of Oxford's fart only to remind him of it after seven years absence.

     “This is Tom, Bran, say hello to him.”

     Bran turned, padded over to Tom, sat and held out his paw again.  Tom shook it.

     “Hello, Bran,” he said, with more confidence than I thought he would produce.  “I hope we'll be good friends.  Jacko has told me about you.”

     He let go of Bran's paw who then came over and  stood beside me.  I wasn't going to wait seven years.

     “Was that for our enlightenment, our education, or just your pleasure?”  I asked the poor dog.

     Tom giggled.  Talking to the dog as if it were human!  Bran gave another soft `woof' and set off down the drive towards the house.  We followed pushing our bikes.

     I wheeled my bike and left it beside the kitchen door.  Tom did the same, gawping a bit more, now at the size of the Manor.  It was rather quiet.  I knocked at the door.  A rather flustered Dora opened it and beckoned us in.

     “We be all in a pickle, young Master, ” she said breathlessly, “That electric's gone off these last two hours and Mrs Crossley is in with the hens 'cos it's time to cull some off and Miss Pike has gone to find if there is a wire down.  You do come on in and have a bite to eat.”

     She looked at Tom.  The question “'OO be 'ee?” was being signalled.

     “Oh, Dora,” I said, “This is another of Tony's and my friends.  This is Tom Buchanan.”  She nodded at him.  “And this is Dora.  She helps to keep us fed, don't you Dora?”

     She giggled and Tom smiled at her.

     “Ooh, do come on in,” she repeated and retreated into the kitchen.  “There's more trouble,” she continued, over her shoulder, “Mrs Fry's bitch has gone and she's in heat and Mrs Fry is all worrit!”

     I looked at Tom.  How does one explain to an upright countrywoman that you have just witnessed her employer's dog fucking said bitch.

     Tom so far had said nothing.  Even the spectacle of Bran's mighty copulatory activity hadn't elicited even a murmur from him.  He had said his piece to Bran but no comment.  He'd responded to Dora's greeting but that was all.  But now he took over.

     “I think we have seen Mrs Fry's bitch,” he said confidently.  “I think if she's in heat then Bran might become a father.”

     Dora turned, startled, her hand flew to her mouth.

     “Dear Lord,” she said, “That's where he's been.  Missus'll kill me when she finds out.  I let him go out when I knew you'd be along.  That scheming bitch must'a been there waiting.”

     I thought I'd better calm things down.  Dora was getting very agitated.  She looked as if she might wring Bran's neck if she had the power.  Looking at Dora's washerwoman arms I guessed she would have the power.  Bran, wisely, had only poked his head into the kitchen door, which was most unusual for him.

     “We'd better go and tell Mrs Fry when we've had something to eat,” I said.  “We might find her bitch on the way.  And Bran had better stay here.”

     Dora nodded and went into the pantry.  She came out bearing a newly baked loaf, some cold chicken and a jar of homemade pickle.

     “Here you are, me dears” she said, “I put the plates on the table in the breakfast room.”

     We went through and even after demolishing the sandwiches on the way we both scoffed a good helping of chicken with the very good-tasting, tangy tomato pickle.  There was a pitcher of apple juice already out so we had that as well.  Dora was beaming when she came back in.  Country people like hearty eaters!

     “We'll go straight to Mrs Fry's now,” I said, “Then I'll take Tom up to our room when we get back.”

     Dora looked even more pleased at that suggestion and I led Tom out round the back of the house towards the path leading to the village and Mrs Fry's house.

     Oh my God!  Tom was in for another surprise - and so was I!

     We were passing the second of the barns when I noticed through a slightly open window that there was movement inside.  I turned to Tom and put my finger to my lips and dropped down below the level of the window.  Tom did as he was bid and also got down to my level.

     “Shh,” I whispered, “There's someone in the barn.”

     I was rather puzzled.  The only people around on a Saturday would be the prisoners-of-war and then only Herr Vogel or Hans - and it was lunch-time.  I straightened up very slowly until my head was level with the side of the window.   I peered in.  Oh, my, what a sight.  It was Hans.  His overalls were down round his ankles and he was fisting a hugely thick, upright cock as if nothing else in the world mattered.  He was so far gone, with his head back, eyes closed and mouth wide open, I doubt if anything would have stopped him.  I put my finger to my lips again and motioned Tom to stand and look as well.

     We both stared, goggle-eyed as he pounded his very hefty piece of meat while making slight moaning sounds as he did so.  Then he pulled down very heavily about four times and each of these mighty pulls was accompanied by a tremendous squirt of white cum.  He stopped pulling but his erect cock squirted about five times more.

     I looked at Tom, he was transfixed.  What an introduction to Ulvescott!  A huge dog shagging, then a huge German wanking.   What next?
     Silently we dropped below the window again and almost crept along the path until we were well clear of the barn.  Neither of us said anything until we came to the gate leading to the village lane.

     I looked at him.  He looked at me. We both had a fit of the giggles.

     “Gosh, Jacko,” he said, recovering a bit, “I know what you've told me about you and the others here, but is everyone at it?”

     “Seems like it,” I said, “I've never seen either of those two doing things before.  Poor old Bran.”  I giggled again.  “I suppose dogs can't have a wank like us.”

     Tom was in fits.  But he suddenly sobered.  “Did you see the size of that man's cock?”

     I nodded.  Hans' prick was a real handful.  Probably not as long as Mike's but fearsomely thick, thicker even than Billy's or even Gareth's.  Yes, and Hans was a man.  Four years or so older than Mike, Billy or Gareth all of whom I'd seen wanking, or helped to wank.   Gosh, and the amount he squirted, too.  Even I didn't make as much as that!

     “He's much bigger than Dunc,” Tom continued, “He'd make two or three of Dunc.”

     “Yes, he is taller and bigger,” I said.

     “No, I mean his prick,” said Tom, “I think mine's bigger than Dunc's even now and your's is bigger than mine.”

     Revelations.  Tom had hinted before than Duncan was not very well-endowed.  Loyal Matt had never made any comments after his stay on the school rugger trip with Duncan.  I wouldn't ask him, he'd only get embarrassed and he was so devoted to the memory of that stay it would be an intrusion on my part.  I was curious though and a personal inspection was out of the question now as Duncan would soon be off for his military service.

     We walked in silence into the lane and then Tom stopped and put a hand out to stop me as well.

     “I think the dog's in there,” he whispered.

     He pointed to a small path leading off the lane.  I peered in but couldn't see anything so I went in about twenty yards and there was the black Labrador, pulling itself along by its front legs so rubbing its posterior on the grass in a clearing beside the path.

     Tom had followed me and I nodded towards the dog when he stood by me.  He was much braver than me as far as dogs were concerned because he immediately strode into the clearing where the dog stopped what it was doing, sat down and, whimpering, looked at him.

     “Come on, old girl,” Tom said confidently to the dog, catching hold of its collar.  “We'll take you home, now, OK?”

     He took a handkerchief from his pocket and knotted it into the ring on the collar.  The dog obediently stood up and nuzzled his hand.  It was quite a big Labrador but less than half the size of Bran.

     “No wonder it was dragging itself,” I said, “Look on its legs.”

     The black fur was streaked with strands of Bran's spunk.  He must have overfilled the poor bitch and this was evidence of the overflow.  There was also some blood as well.  I said to Tom we'd better get the dog to Mrs Fry pretty quickly in case she had to get the vet to look at it.

     The dog followed Tom quietly, padding along beside him and we soon reached the double gates leading to Mrs Fry's drive.  As we walked in over the gravel a young lad appeared round the side of the house.

     “Oh, good you've found her, Auntie's told me off for letting her out of the potting shed.  Is she OK?”

     Oh, this must be Mrs Fry's nephew, the famous Sam Catt.   Tom handed the handkerchief end to the lad.

     “I'm afraid Bran found her first.”

     The boy laughed, then put his hand over his mouth.

     “Did you see it?”

     We both nodded.  He shook his head.

     “I'm for the high jump when Auntie finds out.”

     He looked at us closely.

     “You're not with the Scouts?”

     “No,” I said, “We're staying at the Manor.  I'm Jacko and this is Tom.”

     The boy looked from one of us to the other.  He looked at me again.

     “I've heard of you, you're Tony and Roo's friend, aren't you?  They're here with the Scouts but I couldn't camp with them this time as the tents are full.  D'you know where they're camping?”

     I had nodded to the first question and shook my head at the second.

     “I expect we'll find them tomorrow.”
     He grinned.   “We're coming to lunch tomorrow so I'll show you first if you like.”

     Our conversation ended then as Mrs Fry came round the corner of the house.

     “Oh, hello Jacko, I heard voices,” she stopped and saw the dog.

     “I'm afraid....”  I started.

     “Bran?” she asked.

     I nodded.
     “Oh, can't be helped ...,” she sighed, then turned and wagged a finger, “And as for you, young Samuel, you take Sally straight into the garage and get that bath in there filled with water.”

     “There's some blood...,” I began.

     “Oh,” she said, resignedly. “Better see if  Peter is around. He's my husband's old partner,” she said in explanation.  “I'll try and phone him.”  She turned to the lad.  “Right, Sam, off you go!”  He looked a bit woebegone but went off with the dog following him on the end of Tom's handkerchief.

     “Was that yours?” Mrs Fry asked, pointing at the retreating figures.

     “It was Tom's,” I said.  “He found her in the clearing by the Manor gate.”

     “Very rude of me,” said Mrs Fry, “Should have introduced myself.  Of course I know Jacko, but you're not with the Scouts?”

     I explained that we weren't with the Scouts and this was Tom Buchanan.  Mrs Fry looked at him carefully.

     “Is your father Inspector Buchanan?”

     Tom said his father had been an Inspector in the Police before going into the Army.

     “Thought so, you look like him.  Knew him well when I was on the Bench in Kerslake.  Always very clear evidence.  Anyway, better come in and I'll replace the handkerchief.”


     We were greeted on our return to Ulvescott Manor by a rather irate Miss Pike who was telling Dora what had happened.  She was in a temper because the wire to the Manor had been damaged by an Army lorry hitting a post in the main road and the repairs wouldn't be finished until late in the afternoon.  I think the driver of the lorry, who had apparently been told to wait by the damaged post by an officer, had had a roasting from Miss Pike when she had discovered what he had done.  I think Bran had also been castigated as he was lying quietly outside the kitchen door and made no attempt to follow us in.  However she quietened down somewhat on being introduced to Tom and she said she hoped he would have an enjoyable and interesting stay.  We didn't say the interesting bit had started already with fucking and wanking as the main attractions!

     I took Tom on a quick tour of the ground floor before we climbed the stairs to our room.  Miss Pike said that we were in Piers' old room.  I was so glad as I liked that room so much.  Tom was very impressed, especially with the sheer size of the place and when he saw the bedroom he whistled softly under his breath.
     “Gosh, it's a bit bigger than mine!”

     It was, so this was the understatement of all time.

     As I retrieved all my clobber from my haversack and laid it out on the bed Tom was busy looking around, especially at the photos.  The inevitable remark came.  Another gosh preceding it.

     “Gosh, Jacko, you and that boy look very much alike.”  He was pointing at Piers.

     “I know, everyone says so, and there's another one downstairs in the drawing room which they say is even more like me.”

     Tom eyed me quizzically.

     “Tony told me that dog thinks you're that boy.”

     “He can't,” I said emphatically, “Piers was killed in the last War and Bran was born not long before this War.”

     “It's odd,” said Tom, “I have the feeling you belong here.”

     “What's that,” I said, rather disdainfully, “Your Scottish grandmother's second sight coming out.!”

     He snorted.  “You heard that from Dunc did you?”

     “No, he's never said anything.  But everyone knows about the stories up in the Highlands.  I heard a story on the wireless sometime about it.  Anyway, why did you think Dunc had said something?”

     Tom was silent for moment.  “Just I know sometimes when things are going to happen.  Like I knew where that dog was going to be.”

     I asked him to explain himself, but he wouldn't be drawn.  I finished unpacking then put my things in one of the cupboards.  To ease the situation a bit I showed Tom some of the things in the boxes.  I then took out the three diaries and was showing them to him when he said the most extraordinary thing.  He was looking intently at one of them.
     “That looks just like your writing, doesn't it.  And I know why he puts those extra full stops there.”

     He dropped the book on the bed and stared at me.

     “It's OK Jacko, I just know.  I like it here and it's just the place for you.”

     Oh, what on earth was Tom going on about.  My handwriting was none too easy to read, but it did look a bit like the writing in the diaries!   Then, I'd guessed what the extra full stops were for, but only after reading quite a bit of the diary...  As far as I knew no one had said anything to Tom about them even being there....  But he'd seen them, and he knew.  Then, why did he say he liked it here and it was the place for me?  But, I knew I mustn't ask him any more yet.  All in good time!

     We cleaned ourselves up in the bathroom and after I'd shown him the other non-used bedrooms, especially the one with the African collection in it, we went downstairs.  Tom was very quiet and, obviously, was taking everything in.  Miss Pike was waiting for us outside the dining room.

     “Have you found everything you need?” she asked Tom.

     “Yes thank you,” Tom said, then paused.  “I think I've been here before.”

     What an odd thing to say, but Miss Pike smiled.  

     “Yes, you have.  Mrs Fry just told me your father brought you to Ulvescott when you were quite small.  He had to see Mrs Fry about something to do with police work and you disappeared off and was found in the kitchen here talking to Mrs Brown our cook.  You wanted to see these rooms and you said you wouldn't mind living here.  And now you are, even if it's only for a weekend.  It's a start!”

     Tom shook his head.  “I don't really remember, but it does seem familiar.”

     Miss Pike laughed, “From what Mrs Fry said you must have been about four at the time so you've only got a fleeting memory of it.  Anyway, you're here now and I hope you enjoy your stay.”

     She turned to me.  “Surprise for you.  Your friend the Duchess is coming to lunch tomorrow.  So's her mother, so we'll have quite a gathering for lunch, what with Mrs Fry and her nephew and a couple of the Land Girls.  You'll play beforehand won't you?  You made quite an impression on Lady Bing last time.”

     Oh dear!  Luckily I'd crammed in a couple of the new pieces I'd recently learned in my haversack.  But before I could rush off to practise Miss Pike asked if we would get the wine up for the lunch tomorrow.  I took Tom down to the cellars with the list and we soon found what was needed.

     “Someone's been in here at some time,” said Tom.

     “What do you mean,” I asked.

     “Look,” he said, “These scuff marks and some of the bottles have been moved 'cos the dust is disturbed.”

     I looked and saw what he meant.  He moved some of the bottles and we peered through into the gloom behind.

     “There's something here,” he said.

     There was too.  There were several bales of cloth and behind them a little storehouse of tinned food and some other boxes.  Two had bottles of whisky and the others cigarettes.

     “Better tell Miss Pike,” I said and Tom nodded, “You've got sharp eyes to have seen those marks.  I bet this is to do with ex-Sergeant Higgs.”

     Tom knew about him as I'd told him about my help with the translations once when he saw me with a German book in my bedroom.

     Miss Pike was thunderstruck when we told her what we'd discovered.  I let Tom tell her because it was really his discovery.  She said we'd better not touch anything as she would phone the police immediately.  They took ages to come but they brought up quite a haul.  The Sergeant in charge said he expected this lot would put that blighter Higgs away for quite a few more years.  Tom was congratulated on his sharp eyes and when they were told he was Inspector Buchanan's son they said they weren't surprised and the Sergeant said did he think of following in his father's footsteps.

     All this excitement had made us forget completely about the Scouts who were camping somewhere on the outskirts of the Manor grounds.  Miss Pike had said in passing that there were two tents and, she thought, ten Scouts.  Yeah, that was what I remembered I was told by Phil Crowe.  Counting up I expected that as well as him, there would be Tony, Roo, Cleggy and the Foster twins and four unknowns.  I suppose one of those could be Vince but I couldn't hazard a guess about the others.  All would be revealed in good time, no doubt.  Anyway I wasn't too bothered at finding out.  If Lady Bing and the Duchess were coming to lunch I was a bit more concerned about having time for practice.

     After the excitement of the find and the police arriving it was tea-time and I left Tom talking to the Constable who had been told to stay to take statements and await a lorry to take the stuff away.  I practised all the pieces I could remember, plus the two newer pieces I'd brought with me and had a go at some of the things I found in the piano stool.

     I hadn't been playing long before I was aware that Bran had sidled into the room and was curled up by my side.  Obviously wanting to be forgiven for the unseemly show we'd witnessed earlier.  When I finished playing I turned round and saw that Tom was sitting silently on the chaise-longue at the side of the room.

     “You're good!” he said, quite enthusiastically, “I liked those last pieces you played, had a bit of tune to them.”

     Ungraciously, I stuck my tongue out at him and stood up.  Bran lumbered to his feet beside me and looked up at me.

     “I suppose we'll have to forgive you for your undignified behaviour,” I said, stroking his head.

     He responded with a little 'woof' and Tom giggled.

     “Don't take any notice of him, Bran,” I said quietly, bending down to almost whisper in his ear, “He's a randy little boy and he does things to himself every day and to anyone else if he gets the chance.”

     “What's that you're saying?” demanded Tom, “Are you saying things about me?”

     I looked up and smiled.  “Bran thinks you're just as bad as he is.  And he doesn't wish to witness you indulging in any of your activities.”

     Tom stared, then laughed.  “Huh, from what you've told me he's seen you and the others plenty of times.  That's where he's learned it from, you and those other dirty beasts.”

     I grinned.  “Speak for yourself, I bet you'll be wanting something tonight.”

     “Do now,” he said, “Leave that dog down here, I need a slash first... ...and so do you.”

     Crumbs, an order!

     I closed the piano and followed Tom as he strode up the stairs.  We entered the bedroom and he turned and locked the door behind me.

     “Get your fucking clothes off,” he almost snarled.

     Tom wasn't one for swearing.  I didn't say anything but shucked off my pullover, shirt and shorts as quick as I could.  Not so quick as Tom who was naked moments before me.  I saw his cock was erect as he stood up .Then, as I bent down to pull my second shoe off I was deftly picked up as a bundle and dumped face up on the bed.  Tom loomed over me and spread my legs wide apart.  He held me down by an arm over my chest as the fingers of his other hand, liberally coated with spit on the way down, rubbed around my hole.

     “You're the one getting fucked now, my little Labrador,” he said menacingly close to my ear as he put all his weight now onto me.  The arm across me was moved and forced under me so I was clamped to him.  His fingers, having located my pucker, drummed on the edge and I felt one finger being inserted.

     “Relax,” he said hoarsely, “I'm putting more in.”

     I flinched and as I did so a second finger entered me and the pair were pushed in further.  And that was all that happened.  I was suddenly released.  Tom stood up away from, a most peculiar look on his face.  I sat up a bit peered down and saw his erection had collapsed.  His stiff, short prick, was now a limp, short stalk curved downwards.

     “Oh God, Jacko, I'm sorry,” he began, then knelt and held onto my legs while he openly wept.  “I couldn't stop.  It was almost as if it was someone else.  It wasn't you I was trying....”

     He leaned over me and clasped me round the back and lifted me to him and held me tight.

     He was still sobbing.  “It wasn't me and it wasn't you.  It was that other boy and Piers.  He fucked Piers I'm sure and he hurt him!  I couldn't hurt you, you're my best friend.  Please forgive me, Jacko, please?”

     It was a heartfelt plea.  I put my arms round him and we rocked together for some time.

     “It's alright, Tom,” I whispered, “I'm OK, and so are you.”
     As we held each other I had noticed our pricks had stiffened.  I reached down and, with some difficulty as the pair together were thicker than they had been even a few weeks ago, grasped them tightly together and began to jack us both simultaneously.  Tom's sobs stopped and his laboured breathing soon began right beside my left ear as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

     “Oh, God!” he breathed out hoarsely, “Unh.., unh..., unh.......,  Unnnnh!”

     Four great squirts of warm spunk launched from his piss slit and landed up between us.  I was very close now and as I pulled down hard on our combined hardons he squealed and I shot.   Cum fountained up and joined his and we clung together.  Two best friends, sharing a joyous moment.

     Although I was lost in the wonderful feelings concentrated between my legs, but radiating out making me clench my arms around him, my thoughts were also racing.  What did he mean?  Piers and the other boy?  Why did he say that?

     Gradually we relaxed from the height of euphoria of our massive teenage orgasms.  Tom nibbled my earlobe and I licked the side of his neck.

     “OK, Jacko?” he asked, “Are you alright?”

     Ummm was my only answer, I was still experiencing the feelings in the pit of my stomach and along my still erect cock as well as trying to make sense of what Tom had said.  I thought it better not to question him too quickly but, instead, manoeuvred him so we were lying side by side on the bed, still stuck together with our shared spunk between us.

     Tom stroked my back.  “Thanks, Jacko,” he said in a more normal voice, “That was great.  Let's come to bed early tonight, eh?”

     Horny bastard!  Still, I was the same.  And I knew how I was going to get him to pleasure me tonight?  Those full lips of his were going to fit around my shaft without a shadow of a doubt!

     Slowly we parted, both with silly grins on our faces as we surveyed the large, sticky splodges of spunk decorating us.  I leaned forward and licked the tip of his nose, noticing his cheeks were still wet from the tears that had flowed.  Again, my big, hunky, tough friend had shown a soft, loving person underneath, but what had unleashed that demon?  I thought I'd change the subject.

     “Bet old Dunc hasn't had something like that this afternoon.”

     Tom snorted.  “Bet he tossed himself off, though.  Almost always does on a Saturday afternoon when he's home.  He doesn't know I know but he shuts himself in the bog and I've crept up and listened at the door and he makes a real noise when he comes.  He does when he does it in his room too and when we've done it together.”

     I laughed.  “You ought to hear yourself, you almost sing God Save the King when you fire your wad, and that's like a twenty-one gun salute anyway.”

     He punched at me playfully, “If mine's a twenty-one gun salute yours is a whole battery..., ...boom, boom, boooo...m.  Watch out Jerries, Jacko's ack-ack will get you...”  He cupped his hand round his mouth.  “...Germany calling, Germany calling,” he went, in a less than passable imitation of Lord Haw-Haw, “This is to announce the loss of one hundred of our aircraft, shot down over Ulvescott by a mysterious barrage of white tracer shells in a savage attack by the enemy power.”

     He collapsed in giggles.  I was not so overwhelmed, but rather proud that my prowess as the arch-producer of spunk was so recognised.  I suppose I'd better keep up the charade.

     “I might see if when I have a bath I can launch a couple of depth-charges and sink a couple of U-boats,” I said.

     Unfortunately, I'd meant a couple of orgasmic eruptions but dear Tom, of course, was misled.

     “Go on, your farts wouldn't sink a rowing-boat.  Now, Johnny Prosser's the one.”  He giggled again.  “He let one off, full rip, in class once.  Lucky for him old Campion was opening the window at the time and was making a row so didn't notice.  We did and old Campion thought we were laughing at him and gave us all a hundred lines to write...”

     I interrupted him.  “...I have no wish to know about Johnny Prosser and his noisy interventions, we have enough trouble in our class with Cleggy and that fool Peter Fry.  They have competitions as soon as the bell goes and the beak leaves the room.  And they stink,” I added.

     I thought it time to get up and make ourselves presentable for dinner.  I also wanted to see if I could glean any clues about Tom's strange behaviour from Piers' diaries.  Although I had glanced at all three I had only read part of the first one in any detail.

     “Bags I wash first,” I said, disengaging myself and hopping off the bed.  I ran into the bathroom and was running water into the basin before sluggish Tom had rolled himself off the bed.  After sponging down my front and washing my cock I changed the water and washed my face, hands and under my arms.  I smelt a bit better after that and as I dried myself Tom came through the door.  I pulled the plug and stood back.  I wrinkled my nose as he went to the sink.

     “You stink, mucky boy,” I said sternly, “Wash yourself carefully 'cause we don't want those Land Girls smelling your stuff, do we?”

     Tom stiffened.  Not his cock, but his body!

     “What girls?” he started, then remembered.  “What are they like?”

     I reiterated what I'd already told him about one of them being Julia Ward's friend and that Miriam was the nicest.  I then added he needn't think they would be interested in his little boy cock.

     “You're much too young for them,” I said, “Now if it was Dunc, or ....”

     I jumped out of the way quickly as he threw the loofah he'd just wiped down his spunk-spattered stomach at me.

     “I'm bigger than you,” he said, “I look more than my age, that's what everyone says.”

     I picked up the loofah which had landed harmlessly by the door.  I smiled sweetly.

     “You might be bigger than me that way...” I indicated height, “But they're much more interested in what some boys have which is much bigger than what you have...  Like me...”

     “Cheeky sod,” he said and lurched toward me.

     I threw the loofah at him and scored a direct hit on his chest.  Instinctively, just like the good rugger player he was, he caught the object cleanly as I scuttled out into the relative safety of the bedroom.  Tom did not pursue me so I carefully dressed myself to make myself presentable to the massed ranks of the Land Army - or the two or three to be present at dinner- as well as Mrs Crossley and Miss Pike.  I was just combing my hair into its usual parting when Tom came through from the bathroom.  His cock was at half-mast.

     “Jacko, I'm ever so sorry....” he started.

     I waved a hand.  “Don't worry,” I said placatingly, “It must have been something to start you off like that.”

     Tom nodded.  “Funny, It was almost like a dream.”

     “I expect you wanted it very badly.”

     He shook his head.  “No, I was going to wait till tonight and then when I got in the room I wanted to do it straightaway.  I couldn't help it.”

     He came over and stood by me as I stood in front of the mirror on the dresser.  I saw his eyes flick between my reflection and the picture of Piers on the wall by the dresser.  Neither of us said anything and he went and started to get dressed as well.

     “Will you play me those last two pieces again when we go down?” he asked.

     I smiled.  “Of course, I like them too.  One's a piece by Brahms and I'll play it tomorrow for Lady Bing.  She knew Brahms.”

     Tom's face was a picture.  “Gosh she must be old.  Mum's sung his German Requiem last year in the cathedral and Dunc went but I didn't.  He said it was good.  Funny, Mum said some people complained because it was German but Dunc said it was music not War and she said she agreed.”
     I thought about that.  I'd heard a Beethoven symphony on the wireless a few nights ago and he was German.  Odd, about the War.  I then explained, again, about Lady Bing and her daughter.  Tom said he was a bit apprehensive about meeting them.  I said they were people like anyone else.  He just made a face.

     While he was finishing sprucing himself up I went downstairs, to be met by Bran who guided me into the drawing-room and sat by the piano.  I played through the pieces again and as I finished there was a little round of applause.  Two of the Land Girls were sitting on chairs, either side of Tom, who was rather red in the face.  I didn't have time to comment as Miriam stood up and said dinner was just about to be served as she had seen Mrs Brown going into the dining room with a tureen.

     Of course, Tom was cross-questioned by the girls during dinner.  He got over his initial embarrassment and got on very well with the sharp-tongued Elizabeth, who, naturally, knew the Briggs and had heard of Duncan, the Head Boy of Kerslake Grammar School.  An important personage in girls' opinion.  The find in the cellar was another major topic of conversation but Bran's escapade was not mentioned.  So, soon after dinner had finished, Tom and I said as were tired we would go up to bed.

     Tom was rather quiet as we undressed and washed but he grinned as he saw me tuck my trusty towel under the pillow.

     “You'll need that tonight,” he said as he slid into bed first.

     As I got in he grabbed me and held me tight.

     “I want you to do it to me properly tonight.”

     Although he was in the Boys' Brigade he followed the Scout motto 'Be Prepared'.  He fished under his pillow and brought out a small jar of Vaseline.  I knew what he wanted and spread the towel under him as he slithered into the centre of the bed.  He greased my cock, which got very rigid especially when he touched my oh-so-sensitive knob.  I felt below his balls and found his rosebud and then dipped a finger in the jar and returned it to smear him ready.

     I positioned myself over him and he raised his legs around me.  I bent forward and licked under his chin which made him groan and I felt his short, fat, solid cock twitch against me.  I licked him again several times, each time he groaned or grunted and the muscles of  his legs on either side of me twitched in unison with his prick.  I nuzzled first his right nipple and then his left.  I glanced up.  His eyes were closed and his mouth wide open.

     I moved down a bit and positioned my cock at the gateway.  I felt for the entrance and pressed one finger in slowly.  He opened readily so I quickly joined that first intruder with a second finger.  He was so relaxed I couldn't believe it.  As I worked my fingers back and forth, forcing them apart,  I licked his nipples alternately.  His chest was heaving and he was beginning to pant.  I judged the moment then, aiming my cock, I pressed the knob end where my fingers had just left.  He gave a long sigh as I entered him and in one long movement I pushed all the way in.  He didn't try to stop me or make any movement which indicated that I might be hurting him.  In fact, he laced his hefty legs around my back and raised his back a little so I was able to press in as far as I could go.  The muscles around his buttocks were now also twitching rhythmically and without any effort from me my seed was milked from me in a matter of a couple of minutes.  I came quietly but copiously, my prick gripped and released alternately by his powerful muscular spasms.  Finally, I saw his face contort and I felt my cock squeezed as if in a vice, as with a series of primeval grunts he erupted with masses of his teen spunk squirting uncontrollably from the end of his cock.

     For the second time that day I was clasped and held tight to him.  He was gasping for breath and my shaft was still hard and fully in him.  He started to clench and unclench his buttocks again.  I reciprocated and slid my cock a little in and out.  That was enough.  His movements speeded up and within another ten minutes I shot again just as I thrust as deep as I could into him.

     We lay still for ages until my cock started to soften.  I moved down, careful not to get any debris on the sheet and walked, somewhat unsteadily, to the bathroom where I washed myself.  Tom was still on his back when I returned so, instead of my intent to have his lips clamped round my rod, I gently took his foreskinned knob into my mouth.  I must admit I had to open my mouth very wide because my friend Tom's prick was getting quite thick as he developed.

     I pushed his foreskin down and licked and sucked his bare knob and, with my hand, squeezed the base of his cock.  It wasn't long before his moans of pleasure got rather loud and his second load of the evening squirted from his reserves.  I swallowed most of his spunk greedily but kept enough to put into his open mouth on the tip of my tongue as I shifted up his torso.

     He accepted my gift of his spunk and clutched at my arm.

     “Oh, thanks, Jacko, that was wonderful.  You'll do that again, won't you?” he whispered, throatily, but with passion.

     I licked his very prominent Adam's apple.  I think all his muscles twitched as I did that.  His hand clenched my arm so hard it hurt, but I didn't mind.  If he thought that what had happened was all my doing he was wrong.  I, too, had had a most memorable experience.  We had undergone something which had sealed a great friendship of mutual love and respect.  Love in that rather special way which two, very close male friends can have and, even at our tender age, were beginning to realise.  Admittedly we were extremely sexual, we were teenagers, but we both knew that this burgeoning sexuality helped to cement a friendship which would last.

     Tom also left the bed to wash himself down.  He was quite a while in the bathroom and I was snuggled down cosily reviewing the wonderful feelings I'd had that night when he returned.

     “You shot enough spunk up me just then to drown old Adolf,” he said as he got under the covers again.  “Keep that up and we would win the War - you could be our new secret weapon.”

     I remonstrated with him saying I preferred being in bed with him rather than that mangy little man with the toothbrush moustache.  He apologised and said he agreed.  He said he would miss me if I was dropped with the next load of bombs over Berlin.  With that he switched out the light and we dropped off to sleep.

                              *
                         Whit Sunday

     I woke Sunday morning well before seven o'clock with a raging hardon.  Three times yesterday and I was ready for more!  However, I just lay there thinking about the events of the day before and the urges wilted.  I was still puzzled about Tom's outburst and why he had mentioned Piers and another boy.  I sidled out of bed and pulled the heavy blackout curtains back as silently as I could.  Tom snored on.  I went to the cupboard and got out the three diaries.

     I flipped through the ones for 1916 and 1917 because I'd read a good deal of those when I was counting up the wank marks  but it was while I was leafing through the one for 1915 that I solved the puzzle.  I noted that at Easter Piers had someone named Gordon staying here at Ulvescott with him.  Matt at the time had commented on the high frequency of crosses and then, on the Wednesday after Easter 1915 on the seventh of April, I found the answer.  The entry there was cryptic.

     'Gordon wrestled me and...'

     The rest of the line was crossed out heavily.  There were no crosses that day.  On the Thursday a single entry.  'Gordon decided to go home as he was worried about his brother in France.'  Two days without an extra full stop or any other indication.  I looked at the rest of the week.  Gradually from one extra full stop until the next Monday when there were three.  Piers was recovering from Gordon's onslaught.  Then I found something else.  At the end of the diary were a list of names.  Schoolmates I guessed.  The one crossed through was Gordon Thomas!  Thomas  - my Tom and his peculiar behaviour - a coincidence?  Should I tell him?  Surely he hadn't read that entry in the short time he'd been looking at the diaries.  In fact, I remembered he had looked only at the second one which he had dropped on the bed when he had noted the use of the wank code.

     I decided not to say anything.  At least while we were at Ulvescott.  I might ask him when we got back to Kerslake.  I didn't want to upset him and it did seem strange that the memory of what he tried to do seemed to fade so quickly.  He hadn't tried it again and our bedtime exploits last night were focussed on him and my more than willing participation.

     It seemed to be a nice day, the sun was beginning to rise in an almost cloudless sky.  I was happy.  I hoped Tom was happy.  He had said he liked it here.  I knew I did.  Musing on this I went into the bathroom and washed carefully and was ready dressed when Tom began to stir.  He looked at me and grinned.

     “Did you like that last night.  Pity you aren't my brother, we could have that every night!”
     I sat on the edge of the bed, remembering I'd expressed a similar sentiment to him.

     “I thought you already had a brother,” I said, “Have you forgotten?  Duncan is his name.”

     “Fool!  We've never done anything like that.”

     “Did you try the other with him?”

     I was referring to the fact that he had told me he'd never sucked Dunc and was miffed that Matt had.

     He grinned.  “Yeah, it gave him a great surprise.  I crept in on him Thursday night like I said I would and when he asked me what I wanted I showed him!”

     “And...?”

     “Nah, he just tossed me off.  I think he was rather surprised...”

     “Surprised and astonished I would say...”

     “He liked it though.  I made him pant!”

     Funny, as he got out of bed he didn't have a hardon.  In fact, he made no effort to grab me or anything.  I was dressed anyway but that had never stopped him in the past.  My shorts or trousers had been lowered plenty of times now when Tom wanted mutual enjoyment.  Anyway, he trundled off into the bathroom and was also washed and dressed when the usual thump at the door announced Bran's arrival and that breakfast would soon be ready.

     At breakfast Miss Pike said she and Aunt Mary would be going to church but would we take half-a-dozen eggs to an old lady in the village who was not well.  We readily agreed as neither of us were too keen on going to church.  Tom had said he was OK when it was Boys' Brigade but he hated long sermons and the vicar at Ulvescott usually droned on for ages - at least that was what Elizabeth had intimated the night before.

     So, we set off with Bran accompanying us.  He led the way and we were in the lane leading to the village very soon having by-passed the church rather rapidly.  We found the old lady's cottage and she said she was most grateful as she'd fallen and damaged her arm.  We commiserated and set off back.  We thought we would try to enter the Manor grounds another way and found a second path which led into the thick mass of trees which were a feature of that side of the Manor grounds.

     We hadn't gone far when Bran pricked up his ears, gave a low growl and bounded off.  We followed as fast as we could and came upon a most peculiar sight.  There was a young lad, one of the Scouts obviously, shorts and pants down around his ankles with his hands around the bole tied by his neckerchief and his legs apart tied around the base of the tree with string.  His Scout shirt was up round his neck somehow.  It was Bernie Foster, the naughty twin.  He was sobbing and wriggling against the bark of the tree.  It didn't take much to see why.  He had been tied to the tree in such a way that his cock and balls were against a hole in the trunk and there must have been insects or something living in the hole which were now aggravating his sensitive parts.

     Bran had scared the living daylights out of him too as he had bounded up, sniffed his arse and then licked him down his buttocks and legs.  Bernie had tried to scream but only a strangled 'Aaaah!' had emerged as he was also gagged with a handkerchief.

     Tom nudged me to keep silent and crept up behind the poor lad, put his hand round between Bernie and the tree and felt for his prick.

     “Christ!” he exclaimed, “The boy's got a hardon.  I bet he's losing his virginity to the tree!”

     For Tom to come out with such an announcement was a revelation.  I didn't even know he knew the word virginity and for making a statement with such pith and wit was also new.  Tom usually dealt with simple ideas and this was something new.

     I came up behind him and put my hand in the other side.  True.  Bernie's skinny dong was fully erect, with foreskin back as well.  I gave it a few experimental tugs and then moved down and felt his balls.  These were drawn up rather tightly in their sack.  I then remembered having noticed that both he and his brother did not have dangly balls, both had rosy red, wrinkled ball sacs just below the base of their dicks.

     Bran, not to be outdone, licked his buttocks again making Bernie squirm even more.  It was then I heard a scurrying in the undergrowth around trees a bit further along the path.

     “Find them, Bran!” I instructed the dog.  He looked around and lolloped off about ten yards, the scurrying increased and Bran sat and looked.

     As I was looking at this Tom had released Bernie's hands and feet and, finally, as the lad turned away from the tree, his erect dick a very angry red, Tom removed the gag.

     “What the hell's going on?” demanded Tom.  “Why are you fucking the tree?  Is it some sort of substitute for that girl I saw you with in the town?  Wouldn't she let you?”

     Oh, Tom!  You do have another side.  Also, he hadn't told me about seeing Bernie.  When?

     Bernie gaped open-mouthed and held onto his erection before he spoke.

     “Those buggers in the other tent got me.”  He pointed somewhere in the vague distance where Bran was sitting.  “My lot left me behind to clear up and keep the fire going.  Then Clegg and Barnes crept up and wrestled me down and the five of them carried me here and tied me to the tree.”  He rubbed at the side of his rampant dick again.  “And I think I've been bitten!”

     His cock was certainly very red and I noticed there were a few ants on the bark of the tree by the hole.  Ugh, imagine having ants crawling over your cock and eating you alive!

     “I think we were being watched but Bran's scared them off,” I said.  “Come on, show us where your tent is and we'll check around.”

     Bran turned and came back to us and sat, still vigilant.

     Bernie looked so grateful.  Again I was his saving grace, not quite a guardian angel.  He hoicked up his underpants and shorts and tucked in his shirt.  His woggle had been placed on the ground near the tree so he picked it up and put his neckerchief on and threaded it through the woggle.  He looked more presentable then and did have a wry smile on his face, especially as he saw Bran sitting watching him. I did feel sorry for him.  He was always being picked on and I wasn't certain why.  Even Tom, in the same class as him, never seemed to have a good word for him.  I knew his brother Alan was popular - he had run the line with me for the rugger game against the Catholics - but I wasn't aware of any reasons why Bernie was such a scapegoat.  Anyway, the poor lad was now so grateful to us he couldn't stop babbling on about the joys of camping and being in the Scouts.  I thought, some joy, ending up with your cock being nibbled by red-hot ants!

     We did sit and chat with him for some time by the fire which he was supposed to be tending.  At last, we said we had to get back and found the path back into the village.  I asked Tom why he and the others didn't like Bernie as I found him friendly and quite talkative when I'd met him on his own.  Tom said he didn't really know.  He said that he was always thought to be the one who got others into trouble.  I snorted and said I knew plenty in his class who got themselves into trouble so I expect he was just a scapegoat for their own inadequacies.  That was a phrase I liked - old Campion had used it recently when commenting on Cleggy and one of his misdemeanours.

     Tom grunted.  “True, we generally blame him if something happens.  I suppose sometimes it isn't him.”

     I retorted that it sounded as if it was rarely him and he, Tom, should know better.  He was bigger and more sensible than everyone else so he should set an example.  I was on my high horse, I even threw in a reference to being in the Boys' Brigade and didn't that mean something.

     Poor Tom.  I think I reduced him to a quivering wreck.  But, if he wanted me to take over from his brother then I would be his conscience!  He gave me a questioning look and was obviously thinking about what I'd said.

     “You're right,” he agreed, “I'll make an effort.  I like his brother, everyone does, so I'll try to like Bernie.”

     I shut up after that and we plodded on. As we passed Mrs Fry's house we were hailed by young Sam who wanted to know where we had been.  We didn't tell him about finding Bernie in his predicament, just that we had met up with him.  He said he was a bit put out because he hadn't been able to join in with the Scout camp.  He chattered on at we walked to the Manor and I wondered if he would look nice tied up to a tree with Bran licking his bum and me and Tom seeing if he had an erection!  Oh dear, what thoughts I was having!  I did wonder though what size erection he had now as Roo had said he was quite well-developed even at that last camp when he came for the first time.

     I realised after a minute or so that we were taking a different route back.  This led out by what seemed a huge field.  We skirted this until we came to a gate.

     “Short cut this way,” explained Sam as he climbed the gate.

     Tom peered into the field.  There were a lot of cattle, large ones, munching the grass.  A couple looked up and stared bovinely at us.  I was also atop the gate by then and didn't drop down into the field.

     “I'm not going in there,” announced Tom, “They look like bulls.”

     Sam sniggered.  “Don't be frightened, they're OK, they're bullocks.”

     Tom was still hesitant.  Sam enlightened him (and me as well but I wasn't letting on!).

     “Them's bullocks, no bollocks!  Had 'em cut off.  They won't harm you.  Good fatteners, they are.  My uncle's got quite a few on his farm....”  He paused.  “...They don't half squeal when old Joe cuts their knackers off - I know, I've seen him do it.”

     I think we both looked at him aghast.  I mentally winced and Tom's face was a picture.   Sam sensed our squeamishness.

     “It's OK, they're only a few days old when they're done.  Old Joe says you never miss what you don't have.  Wouldn't want mine cut off though....”  He looked at us both and grinned.  “...Much better with them, eh?”

     Cheeky young sod.  Tarring us with his own masturbatory brush!  True, though!

     Less reluctantly we climbed into the field and were quite ignored by the herd.  They were much more interested in their feed.  I did notice a couple of lengthy cocks protruding but, true, no sign of any pendulous underhangings.

     “See, I told you, they're harmless once they've lost them, but, you've got to watch it though if a bull's in with the heifers.  Keep your eye on the undercarriage is the rule!” was Sam's truly rural remark as we reached another gate which led directly into the Manor path.

     I don't know if Tom was convinced.  I knew I felt safer once out of the field and Sam's last bit of information might be useful in the future!   I think we were both ruminating on this as nothing more was discussed until we reached the kitchen entrance.

     As soon as we got in we three were sent upstairs to make ourselves tidy ready for lunch and Tom's first meeting with Lady Bing and her daughter.  Sam already looked tidy.  He said his Aunt had threatened him with fire and brimstone if he didn't behave and why couldn't he stay with us overnight?

     I wondered about that.  Tom was a bit hesitant.  I had told him something about that previous camp as it had been described to me.   Anyway I thought Sam was a bit young to be in with us.  But then, he'd been in the tent with much older lads.  I wasn't sure.  In any case, Sam was disappointed in his hopes as at lunch he was told quite firmly that he had plenty of things to do at Mrs Fry's and he was not forgiven for letting the bitch out.

     Anyway, I was down in the drawing room in good time and was playing through my repertoire - another nice word, Mrs Tring always used it and it sounded posher than saying 'my pieces' - when I heard people arriving.  I then played the Brahms piece as best I could and at the end there was a handclap and an elderly voice said 'Bravo'.  It was Lady Bing.

     Tom had already been introduced to her and the Duchess, and Lady Bing - very spry and 90 or so in a few weeks - came over and stood by the piano.  I stood up.

     “You've improved considerably even since last time,” she said, “Come over tomorrow in the morning and you can play to me if you would like.  Half eleven, say?”

     I said I would like to and I got a grateful smile from her daughter, the Duchess.

     The food at lunch was better than OK.   It was roast goose - I'd never had that before and I tucked in mightily.  So did Sam and Tom.  Young Sam sat between me and Tom and he was a bloody fidget.  Twice, whether deliberately or not, he put his hand on my leg just where my shorts rode up a bit.  As I had one of the Land Army girls on the other side who also seemed to knock my other leg rather more than necessary I had the makings of a hardon and I couldn't move to adjust it.

     Luckily it did go down before lunch finished.  Tom, Sam and I were able to get away quite quickly as Lady Bing needed a slight rest, as she'd had two helpings as well, before going back home.  Sam followed us up the stairs and I asked him if he didn't have to go back to Mrs Fry's.

     “She'll be talking to Mrs Crossley and Miss Pike for ages so can I come and talk to you?”

     As neither of us said anything he followed us into the bedroom.

     “Are you sharing?” he asked as he had spotted our pyjamas, unused, neatly folded on the two pillows.

     Tom looked down on him from his greater height.

     “Of course.  Why are you asking?”

     “Humph, 'cause when Tony and that other boy were here they did as well.”

     “Well,” said Tom, “And why shouldn't they?”

     He looked up at Tom, all innocence and grinned.

     “I bet you like sharing, it's much nicer and it's handy, isn't it?”

     “Handy?  What for?”

     Oh, Tom, you are getting into deep water here.  The little tyke smiled up at Tom again.

     “Well, you don't have to creep into the next room do you, like I had to when I stayed at my cousin's!”

     Little bastard.  He'd got our number.  And...., his cousin was Big Jim Chater!  Eighteen and possessor of.....!

     Before Tom could say anything else I chipped in.

     “Would your cousin be Jim Chater?” I asked.

     “No, not that cousin, his younger brother, Josh!”

     “I didn't know he's got a brother, he doesn't go to our school.”

     “No, he goes to a Public School.  His father said he needed a bit of discipline.”

     “How old is he?” I asked, curious.

     “Older than me, I think he's fifteen and a bit.  He's fun..., well, so's Jim, but my Aunt won't have Josh staying with her at the same time as me 'cos she say's he's a bad influence on me.”

     “Why's that?” I asked, even more curious, knowing that Big Jim had demonstrated something pretty large and....

     “Humph,” he sniggered, “She caught us with no clothes on when I was ten and we were having a look at each other....”  He stopped and looked at Tom.  “He had lots of hair round his thing then and it's ever so big now.  Not as big as Jim's though!”  Then, still looking straight at Tom, who was looking at him intently with all these revelations.  “What about you?  Have you got a big one like Jim 'cos he was at school with your brother last year 'cos he's got a picture of the rugby team and there's a Buchanan in that.  He's got that on his bedroom wall.”

     Tom was actually going red.  Tom was blushing.   Tom was going to get his leg pulled!  If not his prick!!  I laughed.

     “Course he's got a big one!  Haven't you Tom!  Hangs down the leg of his shorts so I bet he's got Duncan's old jockstrap on, eh, Tom?”

     Tom went ever redder.  The little tyke wasn't finished.

     “Can I have a look?  I've seen Jim's and Josh's plenty of times.”

     The direct approach.  The lad had a way with him.

     “Go on, Tom,” I urged, giggling inside and outside, “Show him.  Give the lad a treat!”

     Tom shot me a venomous stare.

     “Keep your mouth shut, Thomson!” he said, quite harshly.  Tom had never called me by my surname before.  Tom was annoyed, but, I knew he was also intrigued.

     I smiled at him.  “Come on, Tom, we'll both show him and we can compare his as well.”

     With that the little tyke dropped his shorts and pulled down his underpants and showed a sturdy four or so inches sticking straight up with a pair of small balls in a loose sack hanging below.  Tom stared as Sam then reached down and swiftly pulled his foreskin down so his rosy pink knob was fully exposed.

     “Come on, Tom, there's mine.  What about yours?” he said brightly  in his young adolescent alto.

     Tom gave me another fiendish look but all I did was the same as Sam.  The belt on my shorts snapped undone, I opened the fly, wriggled and they hit the floor.  I had on my precious jockstrap so that was quickly lowered and my five and a half plus inches of stiff boymeat was on view.  Sam took a good look and then turned to Tom.

     “Last one!”

     Tom cast his eyes heavenwards then very slowly undid his belt, lowered his shorts and exposed his equipment all snug in Dunc's jockstrap.  He hooked his fingers in the waistband and as he lowered the band and pouch his own hardy young prick rose into its fully erect state.

     “Gosh!” exclaimed young Sam as he cast his eyes from one erection to the other.  He pointed at mine.  “You're bigger than Josh but not so big as Jim.”  He eyed Tom's shorter but fleshier offering.  “And yours is much fatter, ain't it?”

     Honour was served.  In fact Tom evened all up.

     “Yours isn't bad, for a kid,” he said dismissively, “Now I know why you wanted to stay with us.  Cock inspection, eh?  And to make sure we weren't bullocks!”

     Both Sam and I giggled and Sam took a step or two closer to Tom who was a good eight or more inches taller.

     “No, you ain't!” he said decisively, “But what about this?”  He  bent down a little and clamped his lips round Tom's erection, catching hold of the base of it and pulling down, which must have wrenched Tom's rather tight foreskin back off his fleshy knob.  His head bobbed up and down a few times and Tom was instantly making strange noises.   Then suddenly he caught hold of Sam's head, leaned back, went 'AAAAAAAAH!!', and held Sam's head tight stopping him moving.  Tom's buttocks were jerking violently

     He let go and Sam withdrew and caught two final squirts of Tom's spunk between the eyes as Tom's prick, now free, waved wildly in front of him.  Sam had a small rivulet of spunk running down the side of his nose and there was a coating of cum on his lips when he opened his mouth, smiling broadly.  He looked up at Tom, who was standing there eyes tightly shut still twitching slightly and with a small string of pearly come hanging now from his piss-slit.  Sam swallowed noisily.

     “Fuck me!” he said with feeling, “You don't half fire a wad.  Lots more than Josh and about the same as Jim.”

     Praise indeed!  But he also had a command of vocabulary as well.  And I was still standing there - spare prick and all that.  But, Sam wasn't finished and Tom hadn't said a word.

     Sam turned from Tom.  “Your turn,” he said to me and still with cum round his chops and down the side of his nose his lips were soon firmly fixed on my ever eager member.  My foreskin was rapidly retracted and the suctioning began.  I was in as horny a state as Tom so it wasn't long before the familiar twitches began and I was holding on to Sam's head and filling his gills.  He took one full squirt and then, with what must have been a practised hand, caught hold of my shaft as his mouth came away and the rest of my load joined Tom's on his face.  What surprised the little bugger was how much.  The Thomson spunk factory was working overtime for the War Effort!  It was also the force behind it.  He blinked several times as five hefty squirts hit him four square and splattered all over his face.  I was taking very deep breaths as the final paroxysms between my legs died down.  I looked down at young Sam whose eyes were now wide open in wonderment.  Both of us had scored a signal victory.  I knew we'd beaten his cousins.

     “Fuck me!” he repeated as he swallowed again.  “I've never seen so much!”

     I wasn't finished.  “Come here!” I ordered him.  He stood up.  He came nearer me.  “Turn round.”  He did so.  I reached down for his own erect rod.  I nodded to Tom who took the hint, picked up my towel from the chair by the bed and chucked it onto the floor.  Young Sam then had the fastest wank I could muster.  He squirmed and tried to stop me.  I caught his flailing arms with my other arm and pinned him to me as my fist fairly flew as I gripped his shaft as tight as I dare.  Tom grinned as the youngster wriggled and twitched.

     “Oh, please, please!.., please!...,” he was almost shouting out.  Tom came over to him and clamped a hand over his mouth and with the other hand smeared the accumulated cum all over his face and forehead.  He then put a finger to his lips and took his hand away from Sam's mouth.  Sam took the hint and only made gurgling noises for the few seconds before, he too, let loose a substantial load.  I didn't stop wanking him and he was squirming even more as the fourth and concluding spurt jetted out.  I kept going for a few seconds more but I knew he was going to holler so stopped suddenly and he collapsed back on me.

     “Fuck me!” he exclaimed for the third time, “That was great, thanks!”  He squirmed out of my grasp.  “God, you two, you don't half make it!!”

     We did, too.  His coated face was evidence and the pair of us burst out laughing at the cream-faced loon.  Shakespeare does come (pun!) in useful sometimes!  Tom was staring at the evidence of our endeavours on Sam's face and, at last, the facade cracked.  Tom just laughed.

     “Christ, Sam!” he said, very jovially for usually straight-faced Tom, “Go and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror!”

     The lad pulled up his pants and shorts and scuttled into the bathroom and there was an almost immediate roar of laughter.  We heard the sound of running water and we both pulled up our pants and shorts before a clean-faced loon came back into the bedroom soon after.

     “Wish I could stay with you,” he said as soon as he came into the room, “Could tell you some of the things Josh has told me.”

     “Probably know them,” said Tom, again taking an unaccustomed role, “Don't forget we're not much younger than your cousin.”

     Sam sniggered.  “Bet you don't know half what goes on at that school he's at.  It's ever so strict too, he gets walloped a lot.  I'll tell you if you want to know.....”

     Tom held up a hand.  “...And we don't want to, do we Jacko?”

     I could only nod agreement.  I was curious, but there was something a bit too forward about Sam.

     There was a single ring on the bell.

     “Come on, Sam,” I said, “I bet that's your Aunt ready to go.  We'll come down and see you off and we'll probably see you before we go back on Wednesday.”

     Mrs Fry, Lady Bing and the Duchess were all ready to go when we got down the stairs.  We renewed our promise to be at Ashburn House in the morning.  Sam made a face as he obviously wanted to stay but Mrs Fry was saying about all the jobs she had for him to do in the morning.

     After a light supper we mooched around the books in the Library and by half-past eight I was ready for bed.  At least, ready to go to the bedroom.  Tom didn't need any urging either.

     We were soon washed, undressed and lying side by side in the double bed.  My hand went straight to his cock which was, surprise, surprise, half erect already.  But, we just lay for a while and chatted.  I said he must think Ulvescott to be a strange place, dogs fucking, Germans wanking, Scouts shagging trees, cattle with no bollocks and lads sucking cocks unbidden.  We both had a great fit of the giggles and, heaving with laughter, started to pull on each other's pricks.

     Luckily, as usual, I'd put my towel between us because we both came plenty and, after mopping up, both fell fast asleep.

                         *
                    Whit Monday

     I was awake bright and early.  Tom was still asleep as I levered myself out of bed and went and had a slash and washed.  I smelt of stale cum and also my sweat was beginning to smell different as well so made I certain I was clean as I didn't want to stink going to Ashburn House.

     Bran thumped on the door so I let him in and he woke Tom by standing, paws on the bed, looming over him and panting in his ear.  Tom woke with a start and I thought he might be scared with the huge dog's head looking down on him.  But no, Tom put his arms up and round Bran's neck.  Bran had another friend.

     While Tom was getting up I went down and practised a bit just to make sure I remembered the awkward fingering in a couple of pieces.  Tom came down and stood behind me.

     “You play very well,” he said, “I wish I could do something like that.”

     I said I didn't play as well as Tim Parker but Tom said it didn't matter 'cause I was OK.

     We gave ourselves plenty of time to get to Ashburn House and set off on our bikes, with Bran loping along beside or just in front.  He seemed to know our destination!  We didn't see any sign of the Scouts and thought it prudent to go on the road rather than try the path through the estate copse in case we were set upon.

     On arrival we were let in by the elderly maid.  Tom was impressed with the hugeness of the place and nearly forgot to hand over the box of eggs to the Duchess who looked very pleased at receiving them.   Lady Bing was already sitting in the music room and there was a huge grand piano there.

     “Come in, come in,” she called, “Agnes will bring in some tea and sandwiches in a moment.”

     I looked at the piano.  Lady Bing smiled.  “It's a Bosendorfer, my husband bought it for me in Berlin.  Play me that Brahm's lullaby you played last night.”

     The lid was already open and I didn't need my music for that piece.  I sat on the stool and played.  It was a new experience.  I had never heard such a rich tone, I was captivated.  I think it even made me play better.  As soon as I finished that piece I went on straight away and played about six pieces I knew off by heart.  I was entranced by the wonderful, sonorous sound, I wanted to play all day.

     When I finished I turned on the stool but I didn't have a chance to say anything.

     “You liked that, didn't you?”  Lady Bing said, “I could hear you liked the piano.  You must play some more as soon as you've had some tea.”

     While I had been playing, Agnes, the elderly maid, had wheeled in a trolley with a silver teapot, milk jug and sugar basin and good hefty tea-cups.  There was a plate of sandwiches as well.

     “Can't abide those namby-pamby tea-cups some people have,” Lady Bing announced, “I like a good amount!  I like a good sandwich as well, crusts and all!”

     The Duchess grinned - she had heard it before.

     Over tea and sandwiches Lady Bing told us more about her life and how she used to sing in opera and then gave more and more solo recitals until her voice gave out.  I told her about my friend Tim Parker and his cellist brother and she said they should come and visit her as well as she missed music-making because of the War now she just listened to the wireless.  While she was talking her daughter went out and came back with a pile of music.

     “You might as well have this,” she said, “There is plenty more you can have once you've learned all this.”

     There were about a dozen books, mainly of collections of various composers, some I'd never heard of.  Tom was getting on famously with Lady Bing.  For some reason he knew quite a bit about the geography of Germany and was fascinated by her tales of life there in the late 1800's.  Then he looked quite startled as she addressed me in her impeccable German.
     “Have you decided what you will study when you go to University?” she asked, “I remember you are very good at languages as well.  What will it be, Music or Languages?”

     I replied in German and said I had time to choose as I wasn't yet fifteen but I thought either Languages or Mathematics.  She nodded.  Tom hadn't a clue what we had been discussing so I told him and he seemed relieved - he probably thought we were a couple of German spies discussing the troop movements we had observed when we cycled over on Saturday - numerous trucks carrying lots of soldiers.

     I then played three more pieces and both Lady Bing and her daughter thanked me very much and we were both invited to come to Ashburn at any time.  I said how much I'd enjoyed the piano.  It was the best one I'd ever played.  The Duchess whispered that I mustn't tell Mrs Crossley that.

     On the way back Tom said he wished he could speak languages as well as I could.  I hoped he wasn't feeling a bit blue about things and I said he had plenty to be proud of.  Anyway, we saw no sign of the Scouts and arrived back where Dora plied us with a plate of cold chicken and hunks of bread.

     I suggested we went and looked for Hans and Herr Vogel in the afternoon.  Tom was a bit apprehensive.  He wondered if Hans realised he had been watched on Saturday afternoon.  I said we wouldn't mention it and, anyway, as all the boys we knew did it why shouldn't he.

     We sauntered round to the wood-cutting barn with Bran leading the way.  We could hear the sound of wood being chopped and a deep voice singing a sort of folk song.  I peeped round the door and there was only Hans, no Herr Vogel.  He saw me and stopped singing and called out a greeting in German.

     “Hello, Hans,” I replied, also in German, “I've brought my friend Tom to meet you.”

     Hans smiled.  Gosh, he had a nice smile and he looked very nice too.  He had taken off his shirt to be more comfortable while working and as he stood up he flexed the muscles of his chest and upper arms.  His blond hair had been cut even shorter than when I'd seen him on the previous visit.

     Tom came in behind me and I turned to see him looking intently at Hans.

     Hans surprised me.  He said, in good English, “Hello, Tom”, and held out a huge hand.  Tom shook his hand and said he was pleased to meet him.  Hans nodded and said “Yes”.

     I asked Hans, in German, who had been teaching him English.  He grinned and said Herr Vogel.  Apparently, Herr Vogel could speak English very well but had never let on to me or the others.  I wasn't to tell him I knew and, anyway, he was suffering from toothache and wouldn't be around for a few days.  I said we would miss him as we were going back on Wednesday.

     Hans then said the Scouts had been creeping around that morning and he had chased off a couple who had stared at him through the window.  I said they were probably looking for us.  I told him a bit about finding Bernie, I did mention they'd tied him naked to the tree but not that we found him with a hardon and ant-chewed dick.  He laughed and said when he was a young kid in their youth group in Germany he'd been made to run naked through the forest because he'd upset the leader about something and most of his group had been made to do the same thing by the time they'd finished the camp.  He grinned and said they thought the leader liked to see naked boys so they deliberately showed off their `Schwanze' at every opportunity to give him a thrill.  I got the meaning of that word straight away and as I nodded and smiled he grinned.

     I explained this to Tom saying the kids waved their cocks at the leader.  He laughed and said it was a bit like Fred Cross in their class who sat at the back of the form in the Third Year and would get his cock out and waggle it when Campion or old Jenkins wasn't looking.  I had to translate this for Hans who smiled and said all boys were the same.

     Of course, I had to tell Hans about Tom's discovery of ex-Sergeant Higgs's cache in the cellar.  He said he wasn't surprised as Higgs was always snooping around down there.  I learned a new phrase when he referred to Higgs as 'ein Arsch mit Ohren' - most descriptive!  

     After we left Hans Tom said he wondered what else the German boys did.

     “Same as us,” I said, “As he said, all boys are the same and he certainly does, you saw!”


     That night, after supper with Aunt Mary, Miss Pike and two of the Land Girls, while we were getting ready for bed he said he was glad we hadn't met up with that young Sam again.  He thought he was dangerous.  He agreed he'd liked what had happened but he said in some ways he was shocked. Then he seemed to go very quiet as he finished undressing and we got into bed.  I had already put my towel in the middle of the bed, just in case!

     No sooner was I in bed before Tom grabbed me, almost roughly, and entwined himself around me.  The immediate effect on me was to give me a raging hardon.  Then he started to mumble, gradually getting louder.

     “I want to be fucked, fuck me please..., fuck me please!”

     As he was saying this he was turning me up and over him and his legs were raised up round my waist.  He was getting more and more frenzied.

     “Fuck me, fuck me, come on I want to be fucked, please, oh please, Piers, I want to be fucked!  Now!”

     With that he reached down, grasped my cock and forced it against his hole.  I was doubly startled, by that action, but much more by his request.  I was Piers!  Tom was having another of those strange moments.  But this time he was the one on the receiving end.  My end!  My end was forcibly thrust into his hole.  I was helpless.  Tom was much stronger than me and his grip on my cock was strong.  I thought it must be hurting him dreadfully to do this with no preparation but I felt my rod go in quite easily.  It probably hurt me more as my foreskin was roughly jerked back

     Tom's hips were now working overtime too.  He jerked back and forth and I pushed and my shaft was buried completely.  I moved my hips back and forth trying to keep up with Tom and soon my pubes were battering against him with my length going in and out about four inches or so on each cycle.

     At the same time he was chewing my lips, my ears, licking my chin and down onto my chest and moaning in a low voice, “Oh fuck me, fuck me, please Piers, fuck me, I want it.., I want it!”

     Tom got it.  My randiness level couldn't have been higher.  We fucked vigorously for about five minutes, or even longer, with Tom keeping up the tempo with his hip movements and his moans, entreaties, lickings and suckings until I couldn't help it, I came.  I came so copiously I could hear the slurpings as my prick became bathed in my own spunk but Tom was relentless, he wanted more.  I was clasped tight around the shoulders as his hips went into overdrive.

     I was still rigid, the action of his tight canal around my engorged prick was sufficient to maintain my hardon.  I was the `prick of steel' of the song - `round and round went the fucking great wheel, in and out went the prick of steel' - I was gasping as my orgasm had been quite tremendous but I was being raised to another, even more stupendous.  Ten or fifteen minutes must have passed, we were both sweating so much it was dripping off my chest onto him and his face was flushed and his arms, though still tightly laced round me were wet and sticky.  What happened next was colossal!   I shot another load and in so doing rammed my cock so far in I banged my poor drawn-up balls against him.  The pain was immense, but the pain was also so, so enjoyable.  My balls emptied completely and Tom, with a great squeeze of his legs, stopped, forcing his hips against me.

     We rolled over, his arms and legs still round me and with my cock still fully inserted and we just fell asleep, completely and utterly exhausted.

     Sometime in the night I must have finally deflated and extricated myself from his grasp.  I went as silently as possible into the bathroom and washed myself.  Back in bed Tom snored on and I soon went off to sleep again.  I awoke a bit later in a tangle of bedclothes clinging to his back as he had turned away from me.  I reached down and his cock was fully erect.  I just held it and went to sleep again.

                              *
     I was hot and sweaty when I woke next morning still against Tom's back with him snoring peacefully.  My knee was against his crack and I felt down and, Oh Lord, there was masses of sticky come still oozing from his crack.  Luckily the towel was between the outflow and the bed sheets.

     Then came the memory of the fierceness of Tom's demands and also him calling me Piers.  Would he remember that?  I wasn't going to revive that memory for him if he didn't mention it.  It was something for my private diary and my private thoughts.

     I crept out of bed and ran the bath and got in and luxuriated in the warmth.  I washed very carefully, erasing all my sweatiness.  I was out, dried, dressed, hair combed, before Tom started to emerge from his cocoon of sleep. He was bleary eyed.  As he turned in the bed I saw, from the movement under the bedclothes, he was feeling his crack.  I was standing by the bed watching him as he drew out a rather sticky hand.

     He smile up at me.  “That was wonderful, Jacko, what did you do?”

     What a peculiar question!

     “I did what you asked me to do...  ...Twice!”  I added.

     “Would you help me now?” he asked, pushing down the bedclothes and exposing his thick erection.

     I got on the bed, straddling his legs and tossed him off as he lay there, eyes closed, mouth open, enjoying every moment.  He grunted and four thick streams of his boy cream spurted out over his belly and chest.  He was satisfied.  I let go and he lay there savouring the moment.

     “Thanks, Jacko, that was great!”  he murmured.  His eyes snapped open.  “And I'm bloody hungry, is it time for breakfast?”

     “I hope you'll wash yourself first you stinky hound,” I said pompously.

     He jumped out of bed, swatted my backside and ran into the bathroom.  I didn't follow as I wanted to check up on things.  I opened the cupboard and found the diaries.  I turned to the addresses at the back of each.  Ah, 'Miles Buchan'!  I thought that was near enough.  I flicked through the second diary.   There it was.  During the summer holiday M was here with Piers.  August the eighth the entry read, 'M very insistent'.  Next day, 'M v.  insistent'.  August the tenth.  'M satisfied xxx'.  I think that mystery was solved!  But how could Tom have known?  His name was Buchanan, Miles was Buchan.

     I put the diaries back in the cupboard and went over to the photos arrayed on the wall.  There was Miles, large as life and very handsome, hair slicked down, broad-chested, in the rowing team.  Who was he?  Was he still alive?  He looked the same age as Piers, about seventeen.  I deduced he had wanted Piers to fuck him and Piers had obliged.  Tom had wanted to be fucked and I had obliged, but he had called me Piers!  Oh, Tom, and you couldn't remember!  And I knew I couldn't confront you with this, plus the previous occurrence when you acted out being Gordon Thomas!  What was I to do?

     Tom came out of the bathroom looking all clean, his short fat prick swinging as he walked in.

     “Gosh, Jacko,”  he said, “I'm a bit sore. What did you do?”

     He was rubbing his backside when saying this.
     “Only what you asked me to do,” I replied, rather prissily.  “You wanted it badly and you had my full attention.  Twice!”

     “God!” he said, “I don't really remember.  I must have had too much of that wine at dinner last night!”

     I didn't say anything as both of us had only had one glass apiece so I didn't think that was the reason.  I wondered who I could ask?  I wanted to know more about Gordon Thomas and Miles Buchan as well.


     Breakfast came and so did Tony and Roo looking as if a good wash wouldn't do them any harm.  They were in rude, good health and scoffed two eggs and several slices of bread apiece.  We asked how the Scout camp had gone.  The answer was a monosyllabic, 'OK' - or is that two syllables?  When asked what the others were doing for breakfast the answer was they'd had it.  So this was extra!  Anyway, they were going back today as Mr Marcham was arranging for the tents to be fetched and they were going on the back of the lorry.  We didn't enlighten them we were staying one more day!  We didn't ask about Bernie as Dora was bustling in and out.  That would have to wait.  Also, I wanted to find out if Tony knew anything about Piers' friends.  But we did tell them about the contraband in the cellar and Tony said someone had seen a policeman cycling down the path to the village and wondered why.  Anyway, just after nine o'clock they went off and said they'd see us at school on Thursday.

     Aunt Mary asked us if we would go to the village Post Office with a batch of letters for her.  We set off, Bran in tow, and just as we got to Mrs Fry's there was Sam in the driveway swinging a dog lead.

     “Hi,” he said, “Just seen Tony and his mob going off in that old van.”  He peered at us and saw Bran.  “I'm supposed to take Sally for a walk but I was told not to let Bran see her.”  He spotted the letters.  “Can I come with you?”

     Tom took the initiative - he was carrying the letters - and said he could.

     I knew I was curious about Josh and Tom showed he was as well.  We hadn't gone far, with Sam walking beside Tom, when I heard Tom ask him a question.

     “Why did Dick Chater's brother not come to our school?”

     Sam sniggered.  “He got into trouble with his dad.  He wrecked something or other - he's always wrecking things - so his dad sent him to this school.  Josh says all the boys have done something.  Nothing illegal, just upset their family.”

     “Sounds odd,” said Tom, “What happens there?”

     I was all ears and moved up to walk on the other side of Sam.

     “Huh, Josh says they're ever so strict.  The masters wallop them for all sorts of reasons.  Worst of all is if a master puts you on 'RS' for the Head Master.”

     “Puts them on 'arse'?” queried Tom.

     Sam sniggered again.  “Not 'arse', 'R...S', means 'Rugger Shorts Only'.”

     “What's that mean?”

     By this time we had reached the village Post Office so further elucidation was postponed while Tom and I went in leaving Bran outside with Sam.  I bought the necessary stamps with the money that Mrs Crossley had given me and as Tom and I licked and stuck the stamps on I noted one was to 'Mrs Mildred Buchan'.

     Josh was bursting to continue his tale as soon as we emerged and had put the letters into the pillar box.

     “You want to know what 'Rugger Shorts Only' means, eh?” he asked as the last letter plopped into the box.

     “Of course,” I said and we set off back towards Mrs Fry's.

     “Well,” said Sam portentously, “When you've done something really horrendous you have to report to the Headmaster's room before school starts just wearing a rugger shirt and shorts.  No underpants.  Josh told me he's had to do it twice but their cubby-boss has had at least five lots.”

     “What d'you mean, 'cubby-boss'?” asked Tom before I had a chance to ask the same thing.

     “Well,” said Sam resignedly, “All the dormitories are partitioned off into cubicles, they're the 'cubbies'.  Each one has four boys in them, three younger ones and an older one.  The older boy is in charge of the cubicle and he's the 'cubby-boss'.”

     Sam looked up at Tom slyly.

     “Josh said one of the masters said for the War Effort they ought to call them 'cockpits'.  Josh said they call them 'fuck-pits'.  Anyway, Josh's cubby-boss is a boy called Osborne.” He looked at me.  “He lives just outside Kerslake, big house..., ...his father is Major Osborne.  Have you heard of him?”

     I hadn't but Tom had.  “Yeah, and his grandfather must be Colonel Osborne and he's the Chairman of Governors of our school.”

     Oh, so the old boy who wanted to see us out of those uniforms and liked boys with plenty of spunk was this lad's granddad!

     Sam nodded sagely.  “Well, this Ozzie, they call him, is a bit thick and is always in trouble.  Josh said they both got RS the same day.  It was Josh's second but this lad's fifth or sixth.  You see, what happens is, you get marched in by two Prefects who bend you over a chair, pull your shorts down and you get the cane on your bare bum.  Josh says the Head has a whole lot of canes from thin to thick and they don't half hurt.”

     I winced.  Our Head Beak administered the cane rarely.  In fact, I couldn't think of anyone in our Form who'd had it.  Sam was in full flow.

     “Josh said he and Ozzie were waiting outside and two of the biggest Prefects came along the corridor and told Ozzie to follow them.  They knocked on the door and went in and Josh said he nearly shat himself 'cause he realised Ozzie was getting six as he shouted 'Ow!' for the first four, then he shouted 'Oh, fuck!!' for the last two.  Josh said all went quiet then he heard two more whacks with Ozzie just shouting out, then the door opened and Ozzie came out clutching his bum and weeping and he's a big lad.

     Josh said he was just going up to him when the door opened again and a Prefect beckoned him in.  Then he said the two Prefects grabbed him and hauled him over the chair and one pulled his shorts down.  He said he was petrified as he could hear the Head swishing a cane through the air.  'Well Master Chater', he said, 'We meet for a second time.  Last time three, this time four.  I hope you won't copy your friend Master Osborne who only deserved six but got two extra for improper language.'  He said the next few seconds were the worst he's ever experienced and he said he wasn't going to get into trouble again.”

     “What happened then,” enquired Tom, who like me, was mightily impressed by the saga.

     “Oh, he said the Prefects bundled him out and one thumped him on the back and said he was a brave kid not to have yelled out.  Then he went to look for Ozzie.  He said he found him lying on his bed with his shorts off and eight red weals in line down his bum.  They compared their war wounds and he said he had four in line on his.  Ozzie told him the Head had said 'like father, like son'.  Apparently his dad had gone to the same school and the Head had given him a three, four and then a six years before.  He said Ozzie should try to remember that it was his fault if he got punished and even more he should remember to moderate his language.  Josh said Ozzie wanted to know what moderate meant.  He's thick!”

     By this time we had not only reached Mrs Fry's but were starting on the path back to the Manor and I wanted to ask Sam more questions about Josh and the school.  I turned to Tom and winked and changed direction onto the path that led round to the stables and barns.  There was a handy seat there so I plonked myself down as Josh was elaborating on Ozzie's thickness.

     “You said on Sunday Josh told you other things.”

     Sam looked around.  No one, of course, was in sight except us three chickens!

     He grinned.  “Yeah, lots.  They don't call them fuck-pits for nothing.”  He looked at Tom who regarded him silently.  “Yeah, Josh says Ozzie likes to be sucked.  That's what Josh taught me.  What I did to you.”  Tom returned the look with an aloof stare.  Sam turned to me.  “Josh says they try to wear them out.  They have rugger three afternoons and on Saturdays, then there's Cadets two other afternoons.  That's 'cause most of them go into the Army when they leave school.  Josh says he thinks all the exercise just makes them horny 'cause they all wank and suck each other every night.”

     “Just like Big Jim and you lot at last summer's camp,” I said.

     Sam's mouth opened, then shut.  He looked at me with half-closed eyes.  “How did you know that?” he asked.

     I smiled.  “I have friends who told me.”

     He laughed.  “Thought so.  I bet Tony told you.”

     I nodded.   “So when did Josh teach you other stuff and tell you all about the school?”

     “Oh, he'd told me about the school before but I went and stayed at the farm at Christmas and we had to share.”  He giggled.  “That's when I learned more!”

     Tom was still silent.  Sam stood up.

     “I'd better go 'cause Auntie'll be mad if I don't take Sally out.  Bran'll stay here with you?”

     I nodded.

     “See you sometime,” he said and ran off.

     Tom let out a deep breath.

     “I wouldn't like that school,” was his only comment as we both lumbered up and went in search of a mid-morning cup in the Manor kitchen.

     I had a plan and luckily Mrs Crossley was in the hallway when we went through.  I had read The Thirty-nine Steps last year and it gave me an idea.

     “Is that Mrs Buchan any relation of John Buchan who wrote Thirty-Nine Steps?” I asked her cannily.  “It's ever such a good book,” I added to make things sound more convincing.

     Mrs Crossley looked at me quizzically.  “I don't know, I'll ask her.  It would be a relation of her husband anyway wouldn't it?  She's a very old friend.  Her son was at school with Piers and was a great friend of his.  They were in the same regiment and Miles got killed about three weeks before Piers.  A dreadful waste.  I liked him very much.”

     I hoped I hadn't upset Mrs Crossley by reminding her of both Miles and Piers, but she smiled.

     “They died for a cause and I hope you boys won't have to join up this time.  Tom told me his brother has been called up and is going for basic training next month.  This War can't go on too long, I hope, at least we seem to be making some progress in Italy.”

     I murmured that we had been lucky with the Air-Raid sirens going very rarely now.  Mrs Crossley changed the subject and asked me to make sure I played this evening before dinner.

     Tom and I didn't do much the rest of the day.  We saw Hans and I had a chat with him.  We explored further over on the estate and found where the adjoining fields which didn't have the herd in were all under cultivation.  Before dinner  I played for nearly three-quarters of an hour and really enjoyed myself.  That evening we had more of the goose and an apple pie, plenty to eat.  So to bed and two quite lengthy suck and wank sessions, a la Ozzie, no doubt.  But, no strangeness tonight on Tom's part!  And, I'd found out something about Miles!