Aladdin's Awakening by Joel

This was the Friday of the first week in June a couple of days after Nicolai had heard the results of his audition. We'd had a little family celebration on the Thursday evening and young James had insisted he stayed to keep Nicolai company in his happiness and his loneliness, of course Jimbo had volunteered to stay as well. Nicolai was happy with the result but he was missing Andrew who still had some time to go before he finally finished school and would be home. Whether young James and Jimbo were satisfactory substitutes I didn't know, but Nicolai and they were such good friends I expect there was a little mutual support before Jimbo started to snore.

“Gramps,” it was Nicolai at the door a little later. I beckoned him in. He'd been at the dance studio all afternoon and had showered when he arrived back and was now just in a tee shirt and a pair of running shorts which the twins had given him. He smiled as he sat down. “I am so happy,” he said for the millionth time since Wednesday. “I think of it all the time.” He laughed. “I like my new name, I will be good, so I am 'Good'! Thank you for saying that.”

The manager who had taken all the details didn't bat an eyelid when I said that Nicolai would take the new name. I would arrange for the proper work permit. Or, I knew Lachs would! In fact, I had the feeling it wouldn't be too long before Nicolai would be a naturalised British subject with a proper passport. Oh, I mean, a British passport!

We went through the list and he knew almost all the meanings. I asked him about 'retrieve'. Would that be suitable for the song? I found him to be so attentive to detail and so willing to learn and so intelligent. If he had not shown so much talent for dancing I wondered how he would have got on as a lad from a small Russian village. 'Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast the little tyrant of the fields withstood, some mute inglorious Milton here may rest.....' I thought I must take him to Christ's College and show him the mulberry tree under which Milton was supposed to have sat.

Christophe! He wasn't expected until next week and certainly not here. I was under the impression that Safar and young James were going to collect him from Heathrow or Gatwick. I went downstairs. On the doorstep was a lad of about eighteen. Five feet ten, black hair, dark eyes, needing a shave and dressed in khaki shorts, tee-shirt and sandals. The tee-shirt showed off his muscular chest and arms. He had a rucksack and a plastic bag.

Over the next ten minutes we got his story. He was fed up hanging around at home so had left a note for his parents saying he would hitch-hike. He had hitched a lift from Grasse down to the coast to Cannes. He thought he would stand a better chance there of a lift from returning English. He was thumbing for about ten minutes when an Englishman in a Jaguar convertible drew up, asked him where he wanted to go and when he said Cambridge in England the man had burst out laughing and said 'Hop in'. They'd spent three or so days doing a leisurely jaunt up the centre of France with Henry, as we learned the driver's name was, stopping off to look at historic monuments and arranging unspecified deliveries in three or four towns and staying overnight in motels.

'Henry Lascelles'! This was Bertie Lascelles' son. Three daughters, then Henry! He'd been an undergraduate at Clare some years previously. Luckily in History, so had crossed my path rarely and had spent most of his time being hauled out of trouble by a very tolerant Dean. From minor escapades such as climbing on college roofs, through painting zebra crossings on road ways during Rag Weeks, to firing water bombs in condom casings at an academic procession just about to enter the Senate House, he did manage to spend one night in police custody when he and another lad had tried to blow up the bogs on Parker's Piece in protest about police presence when young men were seeking sexual release. As the other miscreant was the son of a prominent High Court Judge the charges were dropped through 'lack of evidence'. Henry had said if he had been charged and appeared in court he would announce he had been in the stall for a quite legitimate purpose and had farted and somehow that had been ignited by the cigarette lighter the policeman in the next stall was holding against the glory-hole to peer at his genitalia and said policeman was lucky it was only his eyebrows that got singed as he had the hairiest pair of balls he'd ever seen when they were pressed against the hole for Henry's inspection.

So, Henry? I knew from news from Garthorpe Hall that Henry had settled down and was working for a very up-market store in London, Fortnum and Masons, I think, and was their representative in France arranging consignments of this, that and the other. Christophe said he'd brought him all the way to London and he'd dropped him off at Liverpool Street Station and had given him fifty pounds for being such a good companion. I wondered slightly at that knowing Henry's proclivities!

Safar, Charlotte and Anne were in London for the day, visiting an exhibition and going to a concert in the evening and staying over at the flat for the night with Ma, so that was why I was home. I was going to feed the boys, plus Khaled and Troy, on fish and chips and was going to the chippy myself as soon as the younger two arrived home from Scouts. Oh, I suppose Christophe had better stay the night. Nicolai and I took him upstairs. Luckily the bed in Francis's old room was made up. He could be in there and I expected young James would want to be in with him. Nicolai took him to the bathroom and Christophe got ready to have a shower and shave himself. I asked Nicolai if he minded sharing just with Jimbo and he smiled and said it was OK.

Nicolai took towels into the bathroom and as I made sure the bed was OK I heard them talking in a mixture of French and English. Nicolai was smiling as he came out of the bathroom. “Very strong,” he said, holding his fists up and flexing his biceps, “Very small,” he said, screwing his nose up. I got the message!

I went off leaving the pair to chat and was just getting into the car when Khaled and the youngsters arrived. The boys disappeared indoors like greased lightning with young James whooping like a Red Indian. Khaled said he'd come with me as Troy would be a bit late and he wanted to chose his own pickled gherkins and with the noise in the house it would be more peaceful. He laughed when I told him about Christophe's arrival on the doorstep and even more when he heard that it was Henry Lascelles who had given him a lift. “Oh, God, Jacko, you'd better check if young Christophe is virgo intacta! Henry maintained he'd ravished every presentable undergraduate in his three years and that was only the boys! It was him that said that Sidney Sussex was really a better fresh-meat counter than Sainsbury's opposite!”

“Cally!” I said, “That's not the sort of thing to tell your old Dad.” I laughed. He'd been instructed to call me Jacko as soon as he and Troy had paired off. “I'd heard the same. And he did give Christophe fifty pounds for being a good companion!” Khaled giggled. I paused. “By the way, he was one of your contemporaries, so?....” I let the question hang.

When we got back there was Bedlam. The two Scouts were talking nineteen to the dozen to Christophe, mainly in English, while Nicolai and Troy were laying the table and putting out those essential accompaniments to good fish and chips, ....salt, vinegar and tomato ketchup. The aroma was delicious and Troy had remembered to heat some plates so a starving horde devoured that staple diet with great gusto. None more than Christophe who was presented with the most misshapen green pickled gherkin as well and thought it was a great treat! As everyone had had a can or two of Heiniken, even the two youngsters, to wash everything down there was a general air of conviviality.

The boys departed to their beds by ten o'clock, 'to sleep, perchance to dream,' or whatever. I sat with Khaled and Troy and we reviewed the happenings of the past week. We often did this and had done so from soon after Khaled and Troy had hooked up together. They were very open about their relationship and from the hints dropped by Khaled I knew they were having sex with each other very regularly but only fucked each other on special occasions. I never fathomed out what constituted a special occasion but... they had other sex frequently, like nightly! So, our talks often gravitated, or levitated, to some aspect of sexual content of the week, real or imagined. Khaled always was the lead in this. He could be counted on to come out with some interesting comment or observation - like this evening's about Christophe and Henry. He liked to tease Troy with perhaps an observation about some hot undergraduate or two he'd seen when he walked along the path across from the boathouses, keeping an eye on the boaties or the runners, or some imagined infidelity, male or female, amongst his work-mates. Troy always rose to the bait with a 'Khaled, you shouldn't say that!' or he'd look at me and shake his head.

Khaled like the others had talked to me quite early on and said he'd come to the conclusion that he was like James, he liked both. Unlike James, he had chosen what he called 'the easier way', no hassle with kids, although he doted on his son, Iyad; no putting up with female emotions, why he thought this in our house where Anne and he never had a cross word; no pandering to every female whim, although he did admit he never stepped out of line with Troy. In fact, they were made for each other and I loved their company... Which we made even more pleasant by our habit of tasting a glass or two of some good whisky.

They were both so pleased about Nick's success as Andrew was a very favourite 'nephew' and they felt so happy for him as well. He'd be home for a fortnight at the beginning of July before rehearsals for going on tour in August, then again home for a couple of weeks in September before the pair would be off to live in the flat together when Nick joined the company with Andrew already there. The three months up to Christmas would be crucial for Nicolai. Make or break!

A fascinated Christophe sat and watched as Nicolai did class in the morning. Then the boys took him off to explore Cambridge and to take him punting on the river. Anne and the others arrived back after lunch but young James had decided that Christophe and he would stay with us. Safar and Charlotte looked on resignedly and Anne just shook her head knowing that she'd better search the freezer for supplies. We were going to have a houseful as Julio and Domenico were coming to stay at the beginning of July as well as they were touting some new body-building supplement they'd invented at a convention in Birmingham. Khaled and Troy said, with mock horror, they might make themselves scarce once the house started to fill up.

We had to decide what to do with Christophe. The boys were still at school and he said he wasn't really interested in seeing much of London. Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament, perhaps. He'd just completed his Baccalaureate and was going to a Horticultural Institute in September. The thought struck. The Cambridge Botanic Garden. Our pet botanist on the staff might be able to help. He was most helpful. Christophe could be accommodated as a general dogsbody - no pay, perhaps something out of petty cash - but he would learn a lot. So, I arranged to take him up to London with Nicolai on Monday. I wanted to see Ma anyway. Stay at the flat two nights and take Christophe on a whistle-stop tour of old London Town! Then he could start on Thursday tending plants, digging holes, watering seedlings, plucking fruit, or whatever. He was delighted. What experience before he went to college! What relief for us!!

He and Nicolai got on very well. They practised their English together and Terry Chatham, the assistant major-domo at the villa, had taught Christophe well. The Devonian burr was there as well. James and Jimbo were a bit miffed as they couldn't go to London with us as school hadn't finished for them. But, they were flying off to the villa when Christophe went back to France.

Jody and Peter were in residence at the flat with Ma, plus Stephen and Lisa, all busy as ever, but Andrew was on a short tour with the company. That meant Nicolai and Christophe shared and, from the giggles and laughter, thoroughly enjoyed each other's company. Ma and Nicolai got on so well. They did have a few conversations in Russian so all in all everyone was happy.

On the Thursday morning I cycled with Christophe to the Botanic Garden and left him to it. When I got back home Nicolai and Anne were in the kitchen, with him recounting his visit to London. He was now hesitating over fewer and fewer words and, later, I took him into lunch at college and there he chatted in Russian to Jake Abramovich who was off to Moscow the next weekend. I got Nicolai to write a note to his mother which Jake said he would post while there.

Christophe was full of his first day experiences. He had been set to pot off some seedlings and the gardener in charge had praised his dexterity. The gardener had said he would give him a tour of some of the greenhouses the next day. Bliss! He liked hard work so had volunteered to help dig as well. He winked at Nicolai. “Big strong boy?” Nicolai immediately said, “Strong boy!”

That was apparent on Saturday morning after Nicolai had finished his class. I was in my study and Christophe must have teased Nicolai in some way in the bathroom as there were thudding bare footsteps up the corridor with Christophe cornered at the end. Nicolai must have grabbed him and tickled, not slapped, as Christophe started to screech. I called out, “Shut up!” and the noise went on so I came out. There was Christophe on his knees in the nude with Nicolai kneeling behind him, also nude, looking rather wet, an arm round his neck and running the fingers of his other hand up and down his ribs. Yes, Christophe had quite a muscular torso not quite matched by the barely three inches of flopping dick over a fair-sized pair of balls. Nicolai looked up over Christophe's head. “He is a naughty boy. He turned on the cold water when I was in the shower. I punish him.” He stopped tickling him and released him. Christophe stopped screeching and both stood up. Christophe was a good inch or so taller than Nicolai but the big difference was in the heavy length Nicolai displayed against the much shorter, thinner shaft jutting out from Christophe's bush of wiry black curls. Nicolai smiled and winked. Strong boy, yes; big strong boy, no!

Young James and Jimbo turned up a bit later and the four disappeared off for the day. Khaled and Troy took pity on us and took all of us out to a Greek restaurant off King's Parade that evening. All four lads bundled together that night. Anne went off to bed too, leaving Khaled, Troy and me to have a nightcap or two before retiring as well.

“Any age,” laughed Khaled. He looked at me. “I often wonder how you put up with us.” He thought a moment. “Actually, I've only seen you really angry once and then it was more hurt than anger.” He looked across at Troy. “James told you about his contretemps with that woman.” Troy nodded. He looked back at me. “I wondered what you were going to do. I really expected you to wade in and belt James. I nearly did. I realised that wasn't the answer. If I had thumped him we would never have been friends again.” He laughed. “James said to me only the last time I saw him he didn't know how you coped but you frightened him to death that day just by your look and a few words.” He giggled. “I think I was too scared to misbehave. That night we all got drunk Uncle Ludo only had to look at me. I don't think he told you, but three of us turned up just before midnight. The other two were more worse for wear than I was and he let us all in but we had to sleep on the bathroom floor in case we were sick. He 'phoned the other lads' parents and said they were staying overnight and that was that.” He laughed. “One of the others, Bobby Parr, is a clergyman now and he said what decided him was the way Uncle Ludo treated us that night!”

Khaled took another sip. “Have you found out anything yet? You know, about his journey?” I shook my head. Khaled went over again a few of Henry's exploits which, no doubt, Troy had already heard, but I had heard the first time the first evening Christophe arrived. But they were worth repeating. Like the time he'd borrowed Khaled's Arab robes, which generally were kept hidden away in a wardrobe, and had appeared at the Garden House Hotel, brown-faced, with an entourage of three more robed figures and four very scantily clad, masked undergraduettes, dressed as belly dancers. Henry had said he was some sheikh or other and wanted a large bedroom where he could entertain his friends and waved a bundle of twenty pound notes at the startled manager. It wasn't until several hours later when they had decamped that the manager discovered the bundle of notes under the top two were fake and he was also not pleased when there were photos of the grand arrival in the next issue of one of the Cambridge newspapers. Henry said it served him right as he and a few of his friends had been refused entry some time before because the manager said they were drunk. As half the party, all male, were dressed as tarts and the other half as vicars, Khaled said he didn't blame the manager. He then giggled and said he had been one of the vicars and had borrowed a spare dog collar and black shirt off Uncle Ludo, of course, without him knowing. Also, he'd been one of the Arab entourage in the other exploit.

Time sped. The beginning of July approached and Nicolai anxiously looked forward to Andrew being home from tour and, of course, young Peter home from ballet school. Christophe was enjoying himself immensely and insisted on making our garden look more presentable as well. He certainly was a bundle of energy. Whatever went on in the bedroom at night kept a self-satisfied smile on Nicolai's face, too. Weekends we also had the two younger lads around so all one could guess was that plenty of young seed was shed to the satisfaction of all.

Maureen had written and 'phoned several times with ideas for the drawings. We had sorted out that we needed a basic cast of fourteen, not counting a few ugly and not-so-ugly retainers. I had gathered together photographs of all the older lads as teenagers. Luckily the holiday in Italy had provided a good number. We decided the cast list as far as facial features were concerned was quite easy to put together. It was then a case of Maureen doing plenty of sketches on her visit to get body details.

Of course we needed plenty of nice young bodies - and body parts! My other list included Nick, Andrew, Peter, young James and Jimbo from our lot. Of course, Christophe would be a muscular model and then Julio and Domenico would be around as well as real hunky bodies, if the hair was discounted. I wondered if Saf and Jak would be suitable body models for Milord and Monsieur. They both had well-developed torsos and what my lot referred to as 'six-packs'. Maureen would have plenty to sketch. I also made a note for the lads to borrow a discus from school and to enquire about a proper bow and arrows. I would leave the clothing, when worn, to Maureen's imagination. Anne would be a help here and could point out typical historical costumes in the textbooks. My duty, otherwise, was to prepare the translation which I had been revising since she mentioned doing the drawings. I would ask Tony to go over the English with me to get the nuances right.

Anyway, Andrew and Peter arrived back the same day. There was no way Andrew and Nicolai were sharing their room with anyone else, so, wham bam, thank you ma'am, Christophe moved into Francis's old room with Peter. He didn't mind. He and Peter had met at the villa so they were soon discussing all manner of things. Peter disappeared off with him to the Botanic Garden a couple of times and came back with glowing reports. It was Peter, also, in his usual forthright way, who let out in a conversation with Khaled, who'd told him a bit about Henry Lascelles, that Christophe had paid back Henry for all his generosity by giving him a couple of blow-jobs, Peter's terms, each day, night and morning on the journey and nothing else had happened. Khaled passed this on when we, i.e., Khaled, Troy and I, were having one of our usual late-night, one for the road, good malt whisky sessions. “Bet he's not a virgin now,” grunted Troy, “You should have seen the look on his face a couple of mornings before Andy came back. He was humming some pop love-song and stumbling into the bathroom with a stupid grin on his face. And Nicolai's hung like a Cossack's mount!”

Maureen and Tim were staying at one of the main hotels while Tim waved his arms about in front of the orchestra at the Guildhall, so I went and fetched her on the five mornings she sketched our motley crew. Boys are vain creatures and there was much jockeying for who would be first, so on the first morning she was confronted by six semi-nude youngsters all eager to be drawn. She'd also brought a camera so while young James and Jimbo were standing on the dining room table being sketched from all angles I had the other four in the garden being photographed fore and aft, stretching, bending, pairs wrestling and holding the discus and bow. What the neighbours thought was anybody's business. I saw Mr Cathcart, who'd moved in next door when the Gibsons retired and went to Cornwall, peering through the fence just as Nicolai was doing a good imitation of Rodin's 'Age of Brass'. At least his ears didn't stick out as much as the statue's! And I managed to stop him whipping off the skimpy pair of purple tanga briefs as Mr Cathcart would probably have had a heart attack seeing a prick at least three times the size of Rodin's young soldier's small offering.

It was Nicolai who was next on the podium, as it were. It was his toes, ankles, shins, knees, thighs which would adorn James the woodboy's body. Actually Maureen said his whole body with my James's head would be perfect. Christophe was a perfect poser. Peter also found out he'd posed for a couple of Germans who were collecting photos of boys. He'd been given a hundred marks for posing in the nude last summer. Peter, again, in conversation with Khaled, said they had liked Christophe's body but were a bit disappointed in you know what. I said, when this was relayed during one of our nightcap sessions, perhaps he could have been a model for all those Greek statues in a previous life? Khaled was Peter's confidante - not too confidential as the tales got told to me and Troy! I told them about the Stanhope collection and how quite a few of the Kerslake boys would have been good models for characters in the book. I also said, if possible, to find out if young James was also involved as he was at the villa for several weeks.

Saf and Jak turned up one afternoon from Ulvescott where they were busy setting up the computer system. Maureen said they would be perfect for Milord and Monsieur and Peter was sent off with young James and Jimbo to Boots for two more rolls of film. The twins said they were getting on well. In fact, the system was going to be tested at least a month earlier than anticipated and they were just waiting for British Telecom to hook up some more connections. And, everyone there was waiting for the usual invasion. As Christophe hadn't been to Ulvescott arrangements would have to be made soon as he and the two youngsters would be flying off in a week or so.

Then there were a few more delicate sketches to be made. Boys may be vain but their biggest fear is of getting an erection in public. The boys didn't mind being sketched in the nude but what if....? Of course, it was Peter who raised the problem. I said I would stand by with a bucket of cold water, two in his case. He sneered. Who got an erection while being sketched in the nude? That is, whose problem was raised? Peter. Who never flinched? Neither Maureen nor Peter. He was secretly proud. He would be fifteen in a few months time and would soon be sporting the fully grown, well-known, Cameron length. The more I saw of Peter, and that included that fast developing shaft, the more I saw his wonderful great-uncle, my irrepressible Flea. I think, too, as well as that rapport between him and Khaled, there was a very close bond of friendship between us. I was always the first to hear his worries, or his triumphs. I knew he and his father also enjoyed that closeness but he was willing to open his heart with all his feelings, joy, fears, insecurities, anger at perceived injustices; he might speak out, but we all knew he would never harm.

He teased Andrew, but he also idolised him and I noted his anger when we were in the town one day and we heard a couple of yobs call out 'pouf' at a rather colourful character well-known in the city for his flamboyant ways. He muttered to me that if anyone ever said that about his brother or Nicolai he'd kill them! I said that one should never take any notice of ignorance. He looked up at me and smiled. “There are some ignorant people around though.” He put on the Dalek voice, “Exterminate, exterminate!” I pointed out the Daleks would be no use as the first flight of stairs they came across would defeat them. “Oh, Gramps!” he breathed, “I heard that one years ago!”

There were a few sketches which had to be rather circumspect. Nine boys in a ring sucking each other off would have only to be hinted at. The various couplings, wanking, sucking and fucking, would have to be suggested but not fully portrayed. The boys made the most of arranging themselves in various poses in the garden. There were many giggling conferences about what they could do if allowed. I had to tell Peter at one time not to bite Nicolai's rather prominent bulge with such ferocity. He should show a tender side to his character. The toad said what he was biting was certainly not tender, it was just a bit of old gristle and then screamed, drawing Mr Cathcart to the fence again, when Nicolai pinched him under the ribs. Oh, another solution! Mr Cathcart, a retired dental surgeon, was really a decent old boy. He had a long-suffering wife who put up with interminable visits from their host of married daughters each of whom seemed to have a tribe of small, snotty-nosed children. The sight of so many lusty young men must have made his heart sink as the prospect of being surrounded by tribes of lusty, snotty-nosed teenagers of his own loomed. Still, his rather lugubrious countenance would do well for the elderly retainer, although the 'pene languido senis' would have to be drawn from elsewhere as we could hardly ask him to drop his trousers.

Sketches and photos accrued. Maureen stayed on for a couple more days as Julio and Domenico arrived and she said they would be perfect as models for younger retainers. In all, she had a wonderful time and amassed a huge portfolio of wonderful sketches. A few pencil strokes or a deftly applied charcoal stick was enough to convey a whole message.

The boys were hugely in favour of the Italian pair, especially when cartons of special body-building concentrate were handed over. Each package portrayed the most over-developed torso one could imagine and when the pair were stripped and posing in the garden for photos and sketches there was a row of open-mouthed lads standing in awe as they weren't far short of their advert. What was also amusing was that they had shaved off their pelts so that they could demonstrate the efficacy of their prized product without all the hair getting in the way. At least, that was their claim, but they had been training and giving themselves all sorts of potions from when they were teenagers. In fact, Anne had to tell young Jamie at breakfast one morning that he really shouldn't put four heaped tablespoons of the grey powder on his cereal as she dreaded what effects it might have. When she went out of the room Peter commented, “It'll probably shrink your nuts, 'cause Julio's aren't all that big.” He looked at me. “Sorry, Gramps, but it's true.” I think I probably agreed having read of the effects of added hormones on American athletes and the dire effects they had on their genitalia. Tins were confiscated and one teaspoon was allowed, only if exercise was going to be taken. Peter donated his consignment to Martin the young boatie. “I need my nuts,” was his comment to Jamie who had wondered at his generosity.

The boys demanded they be taken to Ulvescott for a long weekend. Khaled said he and Troy would take three of the urchins over in his car and I could take the others. Anne could have a rest at home! I said what about me? Anne just laughed and said it all kept me young! So Ulvescott would be invaded. It was arranged that Christophe and Peter should share in Piers' room with Andrew and Nicolai in the Horsebox. I would have my usual African room with the other four paired off in two further rooms. Oh, but Jak and Saf were also in residence! I just wondered if the three grandads would be able to cope, let alone the catering arrangements.

No worries. Hot July days and the boys were out exploring, visiting the craft centre and swimming in the enclosed pool Sayed had insisted he had installed. In between they plagued Jak and Saf who were testing out circuits and connections and re-programming because of glitches. They had set up games on a couple of spare computers so that was another attraction. “Gramps, why don't we have these at home?”

Christophe fell under the spell of the place. He and Peter were in Piers' room the first night but the other three nights young James and Jimbo moved in with them. It reminded me so much of those nights when Tony, Roo, Matt and I shared the bed. If their pleasures were as great as ours I envied them their youth. From the self-satisfied looks and nudges there was no doubt that fun and games took place to everyone's contentment.

Sayed, Lachs and I sat late with Khaled, Troy and Ibrahim each evening. I told our little group the second night that I was retiring from my Readership from the end of the next academic year. I would be sixty-five at the end of this September and it seemed right. The Master had insisted I retained my Fellowship and I was going to have the Easter term off in any case as a sabbatical. We were going to spend that in Rome as Mike had arranged for Anne to consult documents in one of the libraries and she was going to spend her retirement writing all the books and papers she hadn't had time to do so far.

They laughed and said they couldn't imagine me retiring. What would I do? More music, I said. Play the piano more and Safar had promised to give me some organ lessons. Then, I might also, still do a bit of French. Kanga was always asking me to do take on translations and I enjoyed doing them. And there was young Jamie. I said his ambition was to read French at University and I would help him as much as I could. And, anyway, I still had to cope with all the inmates and their camp followers. Troy pointed out he didn't think he was camp, but he couldn't vouch for Cally.

I found out Safar and Charlotte were coming to stay as soon as young James went to France. Stephen and Lisa with Jody and Peter were also expected then so the family would be almost complete. Lachs said the twins were hoping James and Diane might be coming but they had already gone out to the villa. Mainly so James could deal with the sale of the Florida house for Tony who was fed up with his present tenants and they had offered to buy it.

The computer system turned out to work perfectly. I had to listen to convoluted explanations in stereo about algorithms and private keys and public keys and was shown how three screens of data could be viewed simultaneously and how it was all updated almost minute by minute as each Stock Exchange, Bourse or whatever shoved out acres of data and reams of figures all with the intention of making certain people richer and richer. Pennies from Heaven seemed to be the theme tune. Anyway, it worked and two very satisfied lads went off, dissertations written ready for their final year.

While Maureen was with us doing the sketching she had said she had often wondered why Mike hadn't got any further than Monsignor but she had talked to a friend of Mike's when Tim was in Rome conducting some opera or other. This friend, also a Monsignor, said the reason was a report Mike had written after a visit to Brazil which concluded with some recommendations which did not go down well. He had suggested, because of the number of cases of AIDS amongst the priests, that dispensation might be given for married priests to serve. This had angered a couple of the very conservative cardinals who wouldn't even accept the fact that priests were dying other than from 'natural causes'. Perhaps, one day, his worth might be recognised. Maureen said he was still happy in his post and had a devoted following of younger priests who referred to him as 'Il Prete Rosso', the 'Red Priest', perhaps not so much for his views as for his red hair. She said Fr Domenico was a great friend of his as Mike still visited the parish every week and still refereed the football matches.

So summer passed. Christophe went off back to France with young James, Peter and Jimbo. He had a very fulsome letter of thanks from the head gardener and he was determined to return to learn more. Because with Andrew and Nicolai not wanting to be disturbed at night Peter would have been all on his own. So he went to the villa with strict instructions from big brother that if he missed class once everyone would know. We would probably hear a few more choice French phrases when the three returned.

In fact Nicolai and Andrew were split up. Andrew had an urgent 'phone call. One of the principal dancers had injured himself and there was a shuffle upwards. Andrew would be dancing quite a different role from the one he had been rehearsing so he was needed back immediately. So Nick was left high and dry again. Not to worry. I'd finished my revision of the book. Tony had a copy to look at and criticise. I'd passed half my lecture list on to a couple of others and would reuse last year's lectures for the rest of my stint. Lazy bugger! Nick and I spent many hours together just talking, going round Cambridge, shopping, me watching him at the dance studio, him sitting in on a couple of tutorials. Then, the week before he was due to go to London he asked if I would take him to Ulvescott. He wouldn't say why but I knew it was important for him. Anne was busy reading a thesis so she was quite happy for us to be off. Sayed and Lachs had taken to Nicolai from the start so the invite was there.

He was quiet on the journey, content to look at the passing countryside. He smiled happily as we got to the guarded gate. Surprise, surprise, there was a guard dog as well. A new, young version of Bran and Finbar. The guard signalled us through and as I drove slowly along the drive the dog followed. Waiting on the steps were Sayed and Lachs. The dog went up to them and sat.

It was just like years before. The dog put a paw up and we each shook it. I knelt down and hugged the dog. I wouldn't have known it wasn't one of those great friends of mine. Then explanations. Lachs had found out from Charley and Bruce that Lady Ethne's progeny were still being bred. He had bought Cathal, who was six months old and quite immense already, and he'd been at the Manor for a week and it was as if he had always been there.

I felt very strange. This was the first time I had been in bed with a young male since that time when Lachs and I, not very young males, had shared a bed while his 'piece of stuff' was being rather unprofessionally fucked by the private eye. And there was the time with Tony as well. But Nicolai was so much my junior. At least he was over eighteen. But no, the whole atmosphere was not sexual. Nicolai turned to me and held my hand. He wanted to say how much his life had changed, how he knew now what he wanted to do. How much he and Andrew were in love. They had pledged their commitment to each other and he had told Andrew what he intended to do in telling me everything. He wanted to talk and say it out loud because he knew the boy would hear and he would always be grateful for the love and affection all the family had shown him. He was sad that his parents were so far away but he had seen them rarely since he was eight. Perhaps, someday, if he couldn't go back I would go and see his mother. I promised, he talked on, and we hugged and we fell asleep.

Sometime in the night he was murmuring to himself and, as he clung to me, I felt his large prick rise and harden. A few moments later he sprayed his seed against me. It ran, warm and copious in amount, while he clasped me tightly and slept on. I undid his grip on me and turned onto my back and used my shorts to mop up some of his cum, then, for a brief moment, I was aware of a bright shooting star I could see through the window. In the morning he woke first and must have realised what had happened. As I woke he leaned over and I kissed his cheek.

When we arrived back in Cambridge we found a rather worried-looking Francis with Anne. He had been concerned about Tony for a little while. Tony just about chain-smoked and had been coughing for some time. Francis had at last persuaded him to have an X-ray at the local hospital and it showed a definite patch on the lung. They had flown back to England and Tony was now in the Royal Marsden Hospital in London having tests. Francis was not very optimistic. What should be done?

I knew Tony was a workaholic. He had written a good number of books which had been more than well-received. His work for films and for televison was well-known. He was a popular lecturer. I said that Francis should keep him working whatever the outcome. The first outcome came two days later. He was to be operated on to remove part of his left lung.

But before all this we had to get Nicolai ready for the start of his career. I took him up to the London flat on Saturday October the First ready for him to go on the Monday with Andrew to his introductory rehearsals. I stayed overnight and told Ma to slow down a bit. At least Lisa was home three days a week and at weekends but Ma was in charge. Sayed had opened a bank account for Nicolai under his protests. He vowed he would pay it all back. Sayed said nothing and I knew that Lachs had deposited a sum as well for his grandson's partner. As I left on Sunday Nicolai gave me one of his hugs and promised he would be the best.

Just before Tony went back to France Maureen came and stayed a couple of days and showed the drawings she had already completed. They were magnificent. I couldn't wait to hear Safar's comments about the hammer-wielding very brawny body below his head for John the blacksmith. When they saw it that evening Charlotte's comment was “Fancy going to bed with that hunk!” Khaled, who was peering over her shoulder, deliberately misheard the emphasis, “Anytime!” he said, with a thump from Troy.

Tony was very pleased with himself as Milord. He said the body did him proud, even if it was Jak's. He was rather worried, so he said, with a smile, about his reputation as one sketch showed him in side view, grinning lasciviously, while he, without anything showing, was shagging James the woodboy. The ecstatic look on James' face made us all laugh. His sons would be pulling his leg over that one. I guessed if any horny adolescents got hold of the book they would be pulling something else while ogling that picture of bliss.

Maureen said she'd shown Stephen his representation as the tall, willowy Allan the warrener and he said he just wondered what she'd tucked under his coney-skins to display later. She said Jody was equally pleased with the red-haired, cleaver-carrying Will the butcher. She had also included his partner Peter as one of the younger, more presentable, retainers.

She was worried about a couple of episodes. How much should she convey of the rather brutal beating. Tony suggested a bent back and a raised stick, then concentrating on the loving anointing later. Her piece de resistance was the 'ghirlande de lis'. Back views, but enough to indicate that heads were tucked into groins and it was set around a circular bed of stately lilies in the garden. Khaled, ever forthright, said that evening during our late night tete-a-tete that there were twenty-seven lilies, all erect, so did that imply 'trois turlutes le garcon'. Troy grunted and said from the discussions he'd heard at the villa three blow-jobs a night were a minimum. Put teenagers in the sun and they ripen faster than sweetpeas and they shoot their seeds everywhere. We thanked him for his horticultural metaphor. He also said he was sure that Christophe was a virgin no longer. Khaled said he wondered that as well and if he wasn't it was young James who deflowered him as he was sure Nicolai hadn't penetrated the sacred portal.

Troy nodded sagely, “Yep, that's my reading of the situation. I think I was mistaken about what might have taken place when that pair were together. Nicholai wouldn't because of his pact with Andy. So, I put my money on Jamie doing the deed on holiday this time. That pair were always together. The other two were quite content to laze about around the pool but Christophe and Jamie were always off supposedly working in the gardens but spent a good deal of time in that shed.”

Khaled was grinning now. “Better tell him all.” He looked at me. “We'll confess, Jacko. Actually we caught the pair at it. We'd heard a bit of conversation over lunch one day. Young James asked Pete and Jimbo rather pointedly what they were intending to do that afternoon. As the pair generally sunbathed in the nude, like we all did, they said they were sticking by the pool soaking up the rays. Jamie and Christophe went off together rather ostentatiously carrying a couple of trowels and a pair of secateurs.” He looked at Troy and grinned.

Troy held out his glass to be topped up. “Yup, 'twas so,” he continued the narration. “We watched them saunter off and a few minutes later told the other two we would have a stroll to shake our lunches down and then we would have a swimming contest when we got back. Me and Jimbo against Fatty Arbuckle here and Peter the Pest.”

“I will proceed,” said Troy, taking a sizeable swig. “ We set off round the garden the other way and, as one does, we finally came upon the shed. No sign of the pair snipping, clipping or grubbing, but...” He grinned and took another sip and licked his lips, “...There in the shed. Young James was giving Christophe the full benefit of his five inches and our muscly young gardener was on his back, legs in the air, eyes tight shut, pulling on his own five inches and chanting rude things to urge him on. As Troy said, a well-matched couple.”

“As they didn't appear for another hour we guessed Christophe had his turn as well,” said Troy. “We got back and me and Jimbo gave this old warhorse and his pretty partner a real trouncing.” He smiled at Khaled. “Actually, Pete's not a very good swimmer so it was a bit unfair. Still, Terry gave each of us a very nice tarte aux fraises and as the other two were still nefariously engaged we shared theirs as well!”

I looked from one to the other. They just grinned. “Boys are all the same. The other two knew why they weren't there. It was shared, unspoken knowledge.” said Khaled. “Anyway, Christophe and Jamie will always be friends now and young James was learning a lot of new vocabulary as well. Christophe was most insistent and kept saying things like 'tires ton coupe' and 'baises moi!'. [Shoot your wad: Fuck me!] He did rather look puzzled when I asked him that evening for a translation of 'une cheminee qui tire bien' which I said I'd read in a book. Anyway, I think his flue drew well from the satisfied look on Jamie's face!”

Oh, so young James had surrendered his virginity to his friend. I wondered about Peter and the other one, Jimbo. I knew Peter was adamant that when he was ready he wanted to be the recipient of his brother's love. Nicolai had laid down ground rules at Ulvescott. Young James had followed his own inclinations. Christophe was a special friend. A friendship begun on previous visits and now sealed. I also guessed when the time was ripe he and Peter would share their love in that way. First, though it would be between Andrew and Peter. I guessed it would be when he was sixteen in just over a year's time. He would wait. He was patient. Jimbo was sixteen already but he was more attached to Jamie.

“Of course, you realise it was Jimbo's turn a couple of day's later,” said Troy. “Peter said he wanted to go into Grasse to get presents to take home so we drove him down one morning. Christophe wasn't around that particular day and the other two said they didn't need to go. We got back just before lunch and there was no sign of Jimbo and Jamie.”

“Strange, we thought,” said Cally, “Food almost on the table and the vultures not hovering. No bare bums by the pool, either. They were so naive. We were sitting on the terrace chatting to Terry and up they come from quite opposite directions as if they hadn't realised it was lunchtime. As the pair usually lived in each other's pockets it was quite self-evident.”

“Yup,” said Troy, “I watched Peter's face as Jimbo came up first. He was about to say something but, for once, kept his mouth shut. Then Jamie pops up, bold as brass, butter wouldn't melt in mouth, 'Sorry folks, had to fait pi-pi', says he and Peter sniggered. That toad gave the game away good and proper. Cally and dear old me had been hoodwinked into making ourselves scarce with the all-knowing little Pete while the pair pleasured themselves....”

“Well, me and Christophe and then me and Jimbo. Nicolai's right we had to be ready. I think I was.” He smiled his father's soft smile. “They're my best friends now. I was going to tell you as soon as we got back from France but I wanted to see if Jimbo would still be my friend.” He nodded. “He is. He asked me yesterday if I regretted doing it and I told him it was one of the best things I'd ever known. He said it was for him as well. Should I tell Dad?”

Christmas came with the usual house full. None happier than Nicolai. He'd made a very good impression and had been signed up. He and Andrew together were the perfect pair reminding us so much of Jody and the other Peter who were there as well. Ma was coming up to her eighty-ninth birthday and was adamant she still wanted to live at the flat. Her old ladies needed her. As both were in their nineties that was that. Stephen and Lisa were so happy they had their son and his partner living at the flat and with Lisa teaching at the ballet school two days a week there was little young Peter could get away with.

Our time in Rome was glorious. While Anne was closeted in some archive with ancient manuscripts I visited and explored sites and saw sights of all sorts. Mr Forbes-Farquarson had done a good job on my knee which carried me well, allowing me to dodge all those daredevil drivers squealing around on the Roman streets. My excursions were more often than not accompanied by one or two of Mike's young assistants. They, being mainly French, German or Italian practised their English on me while I caught up with 'modern usage' and made good progress with Italian.

I was not unhappy to have relinquished my teaching in Cambridge. I still had three doctoral students almost ready to present but in the past few years there were so many changes in University life it was less and less to my liking. Endless committees, quality control, lack of funds, brains draining to America where salaries were higher and opportunities more immediate and a general feeling that scholarship was something rather elite. I supposed I joined the ranks of 'it was better in my day!'. No. I did miss the seminars, the meeting of quick and active minds, the quest for knowledge, even the poorer essays where one could guide. I had a number of appreciative letters from old students once the news got round I was retiring. Some from students barely remembered, but an impression had been made. Such is university teaching. You never know when the magic chord is struck and how it will reverberate over the years.

But there were other changes. Willy Roberts had already retired and made a clean break moving with Maggy and stay-at-home son Jonathan to a quiet Suffolk town. Even Jonathan fell on his feet, transferring from the Cambridge City Library to a senior post in the County Library there. Dreamy Jonathan, so quiet, but a perfect foil for his father's rather forthright ways. Jem and Sam would be retiring soon and would rest in their old age, as they put it, on their portfolio of properties with their confederate in all matters, Luscious Lucius. There was nothing young James and Jimbo liked better than a trip in a punt taking Lucius upriver with one of his celebrated hampers.

While in Rome we had left Khaled and Troy in charge. There were transformations when we returned laden with notebooks full of precious historical material - at least, I was laden with Anne's notebooks. The pair had had the whole place re-decorated. Anne had given her blessing before we went and what a difference! I suppose over the years with so many youngsters growing up in the place it had become decidedly grubby. Any visitors now were instructed to wipe their feet and not put fingers on walls!

Anne managed to complete another huge tome by Christmas. This was on the role of women in the church in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries from the hierarchy's point of view which put quite a different slant on particular opinions. Another tome that was in production was 'O Audaciam Immanem'. Kanga had at long last persuaded Tristan to join the firm and he was seeing this magnum opus through the press. The proof copies were astounding. My text was matched by the most wonderful drawings. Maureen had not been elected an ARA for nothing. Lithe young bodies flitted from page to page. Each character had a full-length pose as they were introduced. Even Nicholai's bent banana was displayed on the body of Robin the cellarer, 'that hooded serpent' in reality, with Francis's head and Christophe's muscly young body. Young Peter would be very proud that he was the body model for James the woodboy and his balls and a hint of a raised appendage were there above Nicolai's legs and feet in the scene with young Mars as well. The happy pair of young James and Jimbo, clothed and then naked were the final images in the book.

My own appearance was firstly in the frontispiece. A copy of that original drawing by Mike. My adventures as Neptune the fisherboy were coupled with variations drawn by Maureen using that initial inspiration. Even Mike stared out as one of the retainers. Maureen said, in deference to his position in the church, she hadn't portrayed him with such a lascivious look as Bernie Doyle who appeared as Jacob the errant servant. As Jacob was shown in one scene with his hand tucked firmly in his puffed up pantaloons there was no doubt what he was doing while watching Monsieur, in the shape of Jak with Roo's head, giving what appeared to be a massage to John the blacksmith. Safar's wide-eyed look of ecstasy as the head on that very muscular nude body could only mean one thing. Subterranean rumblings had started!

The book was ready for 'the Christmas market'. As a more than fifty pounds per copy coffee-table type production it sold very well. It was hailed by one reviewer as the very best in erotic art. However, in another newspaper, which sent sales soaring, it was denounced as blatant pornography designed to tempt our youth, ever ready to try the latest fad and fancy, into endless sin and depravity. As every boy as soon as he entered puberty was immediately addicted to wanking and a goodly proportion had experienced other joys, if the published studies were to be believed, we hardly thought teenagers would fork out fifty five quid for an up-market, superior quality wank-mag! I thought that a minority of youth who had recourse to the book through parental extravagance, or elder brother prurience, might suffer from a new bane of youth, other than acne, repetitive strain injury. When I made this comment to Khaled and Troy a couple of days after that review, Troy said he wondered if that was what was wrong with Khaled who had difficulty, he always found, in flexing his wrist to open his wallet. Khaled just said that if Troy was to be believed, he and his brother Jason should have figured prominently in the Guinness Book of Records between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. “Khaled, that was in confidence!” was the not too serious, rather proud-sounding retort.

What did emerge a couple of weeks later was that the second reviewer had written to Maureen offering to buy a sketch or two 'surplus to requirements'. As the reviewer had been on the same stair in college with Khaled he knew him well. “If that stuck-up twit ever needed an arsehole transplant I'd bet the arsehole would reject him!” said he, having had the usual alcoholic lubrication. “Khaled!” was the giggled response by Troy and me.

Nicolai was twenty and young Peter was sixteen that Christmas. I thought Nicolai was handsomer than ever and the way he treated his equally handsome partner, Andrew, was so loving and they were so very protective and caring towards Peter. It was on Boxing Day that Peter shyly, that is for the usually candid youngster, said to me that he and Andrew had shown their brotherly love for each other that previous night and had been held together throughout by the tender arms of Nicolai. He shed a few tears as I hugged him and he said he couldn't imagine a happier occasion, he was so glad he had waited as he had felt he was ready now to share himself fully with his beloved brother.

Peter at sixteen now moved into the senior ballet school and in the autumn of 1997 joined his brother and Nicolai, now both promoted to soloists, in the company. What a family grouping! On his appointment they all got together, Stephen and Lisa, Jody and Peter, Andrew and Nicolai and Peter, all in costume, for a group photograph. No one was prouder to see them assemble and stand in the foyer of the Albert Hall than Ma. She had nurtured and cosseted them all, in sickness and in health, as Stephen said, when the toasts were made afterwards. They all adored Ma. She did say to me she thought her life's work was now done.

In October, young James, with a full clutch of A levels, entered Clare to read Modern Languages, French and German. He lived in college but appeared, with permission, at least twice a week with news and demands for extra tuition. He was a voracious reader and at Christmas I handed him the ten volumes, plus the others from Dr Blake. I said he wasn't to read them all at once or his eyesight might suffer. He said if that was so he'd already read 'Audaciam' several times and already had a reputation in college of being the model for young Adonis. He said he felt a bit like that young brother of T E Lawrence must have been, seeing his nude statue outside the Scott Polar Institute. He grinned and said at least Auntie Maureen hadn't stinted on his equipment! Jimbo was along the road at St Caths reading Geology so the pair were rivals on the river.

Her obituaries in the newspapers were stupendous. No one had ever guessed that J T Fountain was a woman, let alone the wife, then widow, of a famous scientist and not even English, to boot. The papers had great fun in quoting all the wrong-headed reviews of her nearly twenty books where reviewers praised the masculinity, rawness and vividness of the writing. They noted her books had sold in airports and railway bookstalls to thousands of travellers as well as being read by the avid patrons of detective novels borrowing from their local libraries and were loved by the countless millions who had seen the film and television adaptations . I just wondered what the late, now long dead, Chief Constable Buchanan, thought of his alter ego, Inspector Buck? I know that Tom and Duncan relished each succeeding volume as they appeared and did pull his leg a bit and he always retorted, so Tom said, with that old Scots rejoinder, 'Pish!'. Her Will was quite succinct. Drawn up by her grandson James the solicitor, it stated that all future royalties were hereby to be divided equally between all the named lads, partners, wives, per stirpes. After considerable death duties I and Anne inherited a fair amount of cash. All I know was that new editions of the whole set were planned for issue over the next few years and there were many viewer requests for televison repeats. The lads, wives, partners, offspring, etc, per stirpes in legal terms, would have some income for some time.

Of course, I was mentioned as the son who had produced the translated text for 'the book'. I even appeared on television with Maureen, beside copies of Ma's books and the magnum opus open artfully at the frontispiece. At least my cock appeared on television after the nine o'clock watershed. I did get a few ribald letters and postcards from old students including one from Philip Parks who happened just to be home on leave from one of his Diplomatic postings. “Still un braquemart assez considerable. With the fondest of memories, Philip. p.s. You didn't know it but that essay you made me write convinced me there was more to life than pointless struggle. Thanks.”

At Christmas Francis broke the news that Tony's condition was deteriorating. He was not responding to treatment and secondaries were suspected. He said there was little hope. But then, at the same time, young Peter and Saf came up with more heartening news. Peter announced he was getting engaged to another young dancer in the company, Laura Marshall. Saf 'phoned on Christmas Day to wish everyone the best.... Interrupted by his brother who shouted that he was besotted with some young lady who had rashly consented to be his wife.... Saf grabbed the 'phone back and said the wedding would have to be on Saturday, January the thirty-first..... Bitten by the Thomson bug, sang out Jak, cackling in the background.

Chrissie Palliser was another computer expert and, according to Khaled, who was highly amused, had pressed the <Enter> button too soon. Still we all turned up in Chester to see the happy couple wed, not a moment too soon. I'm afraid names in the family got recycled rather a lot so Jeremy (after Chrissie's Dad) James Francis Thomson was born on February the twenty-first 1998. My first great-grandson! We all peered and although the week-old boy had signs of future Thomson endowment there was no birthmark. To a groan from the proud mother Jak said Saf had better try again as soon as possible.

There was an air of quiet efficiency when we arrived at the villa having been picked up from the airport by Terry Chatham. Francis was in charge, ably assisted in all the domestic arrangements by Johnny McIver and Terry. Poor Brad was distraught. He had made the villa his home. He had helped to run the social side with the myriad of visitors who came to visit Tony over the years. Tony, Francis and he were very close. But once he'd hugged us and assured us he was OK he rallied and was once more the epitome of helpful efficiency.

Kanga was much in evidence. Tony had only recently completed, with much effort, his final book. According to Kanga it was a really thrilling blockbuster guaranteed to wow the reading public who liked a good story, well told. He said he'd left Tris busy arranging a second edition of 'Audaciam'. The American market had awoken to its charms and they were planning a double size print run. Not only that, his advisers 'over there' had said readers might prefer a little more action in some of the drawings. His opinion was that a little bit of suggestion set the readers' minds working rather than a blatant display of full erections. Anyway, Maureen would be arriving with pictures for Tony and a set of reworked drawings for my approval.

What a gathering of old friends. So many wanting to see Tony to say their good-byes. Matt and Jamie Evans were expected soon. I hadn't seen Matt for nearly five years. He and Jamie had sold their yacht hire business and had spent the years travelling the world visiting old ship-mates and a few of their old haunts. They had a superb villa just outside Montpellier and still had one boat, ostensibly to be crewed by the four husky young sailors who ran the villa for them. I remembered Pa's description years ago of 'acres of golden flesh' and wondered if Matt and Jamie had a constant supply of young retainers and companions like Milord, Monsieur and Uncle Lester!

A flurry of activity outside meant that Mike had arrived. From the window Francis and I had seen Christophe greet him after opening the gate. I went into the bedroom with Francis where Kanga was chatting to Tony about the book. Tony gave me a smile which broadened when Francis said Mike had arrived.

The news that Mike had at long last been made a bishop was something the three of us discussed. Francis said it was scandalous, he had heard from Maureen the supposed reason for the delay. “Two of our local priests have died of AIDS,” he said, “Never been accepted though. And then they wonder why so many priests get enjoyment from young boys. They need love and affection like everyone else and they're stuck as they were in adolescence probably when they had their first fumblings and feelings through curiosity. And as we well know you can't suppress a male's sex urges for ever and ever and he'll return to what he probably knew and experienced first.” Once roused, Francis could get quite vehement.

We had a rather subdued supper that evening. Afterwards, I sat with Tony and recalled many of our earlier adventures. I wrote down lists of people I had to contact with Tony's best wishes. He said he had only heard the previous week that his old friend from Cambridge days, Cas March had died - would I write to his widow? Tony was now finding it harder to speak and Francis came in and turned up his oxygen supply. As I got up to leave to let him rest and sleep he whispered I should write up my own version of 'Paul's Odyssey'. It would give another boy's view of the same events. I said perhaps sometime but I was so busy with the Music Club, my own playing and keeping track of young Jamie soon to start his second year.

Maureen and Tim arrived the next day. She left me with the portfolio of altered drawings while she, with Johnny and Terry's help, set up the four paintings she had brought for Tony. Tim sat with me while we leafed through the revised versions. Nothing too much out of the ordinary to begin with. Young Peter's erection on James the woodboy had a bit more stem to it. Oh, but then there was a more explicit side view of a well-endowed Robin, Nicolai's prick in full bent, hooded glory, being fucked by a equally well-endowed according to the size of the balls now shown, Castor, while two others, Pollux and the fisherboy, stand by with plumper cocks than before, watching intently, waiting their turn. Tim pointed at the heavy pair of bollocks. “Nicolai should be pleased. Maureen said he insisted on stripping off completely in case she ever needed everything on show! She said all the little buggers were vain and in the end wanted to have everything drawn. No different. Remember tool-happy Cleggy in the showers after he'd been circumcised? Couldn't show it off enough! All the same!”

In a couple of others there was definite evidence of the pools of cum just expended on stomachs and chests but the best was the newly drawn set-piece of a wrestling match between Mars and Robin where flapping pricks were much in evidence and the surrounding boys gawping at, and cheering on the contest, were now all in the nude themselves. Two of the boys were so engrossed that they were gripping their own balls in the same way that Robin had Mars' goolies in his grasp. That statue of the wrestlers came to mind, except in that one rather meaty shafts were being grasped as they grappled. Here the look of anguish on poor Mars' face as his prime, prize possessions were squeezed was even more graphic than the look on that other, older wrestler's visage. Yow, the Yanks would have plenty to yank their tassels over!

Nicolai was again much in evidence, or at least the banana was, as there was a close-up of Robin in the act of bending to hoist a cask onto his back with the 'hooded serpent' peeping out from the leg of his drawn-up drawers. “Nicolai's managed to intrude into plenty of the pictures, eh?” Tim went on. “He's a good lad though. He's a real rising star with young Andrew. The new conductor at the House has asked me to arrange some obscure Russian music for the pair of them. Never seen two lads so together. It'll be terrific. I've discussed it with Peter DeLisle who's choreographing it. He thinks they're the tops. Wonderful!” He laughed. “Got that wedding to look forward too.” Yes, young Peter and Laura had arranged everything for October the thirty-first so I hoped all would go to plan.

We buried him, as he had wished, in the local graveyard. The Cure and Mike conducted the committal, attended by a vast number of villagers, relations and friends. My dear cousin Johann, with his son was there. He and Tony had shared their love so willingly and completely and he knew he was the image which Tony had treasured until my son became that destined partner. One other particular person was there. My 'cousin' Dodo, with his three sons, all grown, now in their thirties, and all very solemn. Daniel and Tony had been friends from that first visit to Paris over forty years previously. Now he, like I, had become grey, but still felt young at heart. Young Christophe insisted on carrying the crucifix and his tall, sturdy body, in full white vestments, led the long procession. The last words as Mike made the sign of the Cross was a signal for me of time passing.

Gradually we packed and departed. Tony had tidied his affairs some months before when James and Iyad had visited him. The villa was left in trust for Brad, Johnny and Terry with Christophe to be the residual owner in the end. Christophe was more than astounded but he had settled his good-natured self in a niche in Tony's own good-natured heart and had made the garden his own. There was always a welcome for Christophe to visit us, too.

Francis, as Tony's main heir, had already decided to return to England. His plans were to live at Ulvescott with Ibrahim. He was just on fifty now and had been very active as a doctor in the local community and with the growing number of ex-pats. He had made his plans known some months previously as soon it was known that Tony was nearing the end. I expect many of the crowd were at the funeral not only to pay their respects to Tony but also to express their gratitude to Francis.

While at the villa Anne had remarked to Francis that she had a nagging pain in her side which had come on over the past few weeks. Francis listened to her symptoms and the day before Tony died she had some blood tests at the local hospital. On the morning of our departure the results came back. Francis explained the diagnosis. It was stunning. It was quite clear, Anne had advanced cancer of the pancreas. Unfortunately untreatable and the prognosis was in weeks rather than in months.

I think we were both very stoical about any ending for either of us. We had discussed this, we felt, quite rationally as friends and family passed away and we realised that at some time our own time would come. We knew we would have no regrets. Our family was large, self supporting and very cohesive. That was our happy realisation. But the news, so sudden, so stark, was something neither had contemplated. Francis advised that we say nothing until after the wedding. He would be with us within a week and would manage everything. He told me that the end would be swift and he could guarantee no pain. We arrived home and Anne began to put her affairs in order. She did say she felt weaker over the next month but we said nothing. I think Khaled and Troy were aware of Anne's gradual decline but she went quietly about, shedding duties, disposing of books, articles, all the accumulated dross of the busy academic. As I was also thinning out my considerable library perhaps it did not seem too strange to the onlookers.

Peter and Laura's wedding at the end of October was a stupendous affair and reminded us so forcefully of the wedding of his father and mother, Stephen and Lisa. It was Kensington and Chelsea again. Anne, boosted by some concoction of Francis's, enjoyed it thoroughly as did the rest of us. A stylish ceremony and a huge reception, the highlight of which was the appearance of a small orchestra under the direction of Tim with danced excerpts from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Of course, only Jody could be Bottom with his partner Peter as a stately Oberon. Nicolai and Andrew were Lysander and Demetrius and young Peter's friend Daz was Puck.

Anne said it had been one of the happiest days of her life. She was content. We told the family once the celebrations were over. None too soon. The end came suddenly and swiftly. On November the thirtieth she died at home slipping away surrounded by many of our family and friends. We had only music at the cremation. Safar played the organ, Bach, of course, the Allabreve, and the Parker String Quartet played the last Beethoven quartet, the F major, opus 135. It was perfect. The upbeat harmonies symbolised a happy life, well spent, well loved, well remembered. Anne might have preferred to stay in the background but the influence she had over our sons and all connected to them was so, so immense. My companion in life for forty-five years.

After the funeral Sayed and Lachs took me back to Ulvescott. This would now be my home. Safar and Charlotte with Khaled and Troy bought the old house. Rory and Doug, his partner, took over Tony and Francis's old house. So began a new era in my life. I felt as if I had achieved full circle. I knew all along I was destined to live at Ulvescott. Now, through the fire of loss and the water of time passing, I was home with that alter ego, Piers. I settled down to music, to conversation, to translating, to writing my own Odyssey. That awakening of the young child into adolescence and the subsequent flowering and blossoming of a fulfilled, long and essentially happy life. A real Aladdin's Awakening.

THOMSON, Jacques Pierre Francis, MA LesL LittD LRAM, died Sunday Oct 14 at Ulvescott Manor. Fellow and Reader Emeritus in French Language and Literature. Sorely missed by sons, grandsons, great-grandsons and their partners, other family and friends. Funeral private. Love is the seed of every virtue. Dante.