Mystery and Mayhem
At St Mark's 

by

Joel

15.  [Part Two]
My First Few Days
October 2001

Mark Henry Foster          

Tristan (Tris) Price‑Williams   

Gordon Foster                 

Maria (Angelica Matteoli) Foster    

Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster

Ivo Richie Carr               

Adam Benjamin Carr   

Albert Tomkins            

Jason Knott                  

Dr Safar Al‑Hamed      

Charles Fane‑Stuart     

Rev Dr Basil Henson   

Dr Eric Mays 

Aubrey Fullerton QC   

Francesco Matteoli      

Aldo Leopardi             

Mirabelle Fane‑Stuart 

Oliver Jensen

Matthew  Thyssen  
Drew Penry‑Jones
Mr Simon Finch‑Hampton
Professor James Tanner

Fiona McKenzie 

Dina Patel  

Dudley Woolpit 

Carl Bachmann 

David Davies 

A formidable Mathematics don

A Mathematical undergraduate with presence

A Mathematical undergraduate with prescience

A Detective Sergeant, a leatherman off duty [Whippet; Dude]

A Detective Constable, a leatherman off duty [Carlo; Batman]

A good‑looking student nurse, nursing a desire

    "OK, Ollie, what's the news?" asked Ivo, "Is that oaf Grunty Gott still shagging the

arse off all the soccer team?  And, what about Wanker Wilson?  I never, ever, got the hang of

simultaneous equations after he tickled my backside with that half metre ruler."

     It was explained that Gunther Gottfried was a German exchange student who had

come across and had stayed on.  He was two years older than the form he was put in and had

been caught in flagrante delicto on two occasions by Prefects in the back of the gym

indulging in sexual acts of an unspecified nature.  It was rumoured that on both occasions

nothing was done as he offered his services to the finders.  At least that was what Ivo said.

And, no, he wasn't one of the Prefects!  Oliver said he'd left the school but rumours

abounded.  They laughed about Wanker Wilson who had a stutter and taught Maths and

wielded a very useful deterrent to classroom disobedience.  Ivo said he'd tasted it's effect

when he was inadvertently overheard imitating Mr Wilson's speech impediment.

     "Of course," said Oliver, tucking into a piece of fried bread surmounted by two slices

of bacon, "Adam's still remembered fondly for that night he had a drink or two too many at

that away match and he watered the flower‑beds from the roof of the House.  There's a rather

blurred photo still passed round....."

     "Oh, my God!" said Adam, "That creep Barty Meldrum used his flash and said I

could have the negative for five quid.  He had sore balls for a week and I never got the neg!

Bastard!  You can't see it's me, though.  The one he showed me before he doubled over, just

had my lower half."  He gave his brother a two‑fingered salute.  "And whatever you say, it

does show a well‑hung young man!"

     "Got you gated for a fortnight, though!  And I got the same as some sneak said I was

up there with you.  I wasn't.  I was watering the same bed at ground level and nearly got

pissed on by you, you great oik!"

     "Were they always as noisy as this at school?" asked Tris.  "I was in your set last year

and was often disturbed by unholy clatter from above."

     Oliver smiled.  "Oh, yes, notorious!"  He shook his head and grinned.  "But I'm very

fond of the pair of them.  Actually, Ivo wouldn't let me play rugger in case I did get bashed

in the mouth.  Marty Carpenter in my year did and lost two front teeth.  And Adam, bless his

little heart, used to take me and the other oddballs running, just to keep us fit.  Kind hearts

and no coronets!"

     Well!  Ivo and Adam had the wind taken completely out of their sails.  I knew, of old,

they were all wind and piss and hadn't an evil bone in their bodies.  Oliver knew that, too.

And from the look that Adam gave him I knew Adam was more than fond of that very

handsome lad.

     Tris sat and smirked at the pair.  He solicitously asked if they wanted more coffee, a

chocolate digestive perhaps, a slice of his mother's cake?  Tris was storing up trouble for

himself I was sure.

     As it was the day for Freshers to join Clubs, Societies, Christian Unions, Mothers'

Unions, what have you, with other students beginning to appear to run things, we all split up

again.  I also had to juggle my invites for sherry, etc., so I sat at the dining‑table and sifted

through the pile.  Master at 12 noon, Chaplain at 12 tomorrow and Dean at 6 pm, Moral

Tutor, I saw this was Mr Fullerton, at six this evening, University Music Society lunch on

Saturday bring instrument if portable, they just went on.  I must pace myself!  The little man

hammering!

     Oliver had gone off wearing my dressing‑gown and came down about ten minutes

later very smartly dressed with, I noted, almost a copy of a Matteoli sweatshirt on.

     "Thanks for lending me this," he said as I called him in.  I had left my doors open.  I

pointed towards the bedroom door and said just stick it on the bed.  As he passed me

engrossed in my task he said, "Oh and thanks for breakfast.  I'll reciprocate if I can find

anything around to cook with."

     He came back out and stood by me as I sorted the rest of the cards into three mental

piles, 1. Must,  2. After Money, 3. Query After Arse.  He seemed a bit diffident then he

spoke.  "Please don't mind me asking," he said slowly, "You and Tristan?"

     Of course, not only the pair of us together, half‑dressed, but going into the bedroom

where an unmade, rumpled double‑bed with cast off clothing scattered around.....

     I stood up, looked him straight in the eye and smiled.  "Yes, Tris and I are lovers.

We've committed ourselves to each other and we sleep together and live together, where and

when."

     His smile returned.  "I understand.  Thanks for telling me.  Not a chance for me, then!

Don't tell the twins.  But I think they've guessed.  They were very good to me at school and

once I got to the Sixth Form I wasn't pursued by every sex hound ‑" He shook his head. " ‑

and there's plenty in every Public School.  Everyone tells me I'm good‑looking and that's the

reason, but I've never found anyone yet."  He grinned.  "When I met Tristan yesterday I did

feel something and the same when I met you."  He shook his head again but smiled.  "You

are both very, very lucky.  We can be friends, though?"

     I stepped forward and hugged him.  "Oliver, I have to tell you I was smitten.  I think

Tris was as well."  I laughed.  "I shall have to keep him on a very short lead but I think

you've already made two other good friends as well as the terrible twins.  Actually, we'd

better stick together for the next few days as Tris tells me life gets a bit hectic."

     "Thanks, Mark," he said, returning the hug.  "I don't want to make any mistakes.

Dad knows and he said I had to be careful.  You'd better keep an eye on me..." He laughed

"...but I'm not so innocent as I may look."

     We went off together.  We both made ourselves known to the Secretary of the

College Music Society who seemed quite impressed that I was the new Pennefather Scholar.

We were also grabbed by his companion representing the Cambridge University Music

Society who was looking a bit tired of confronting overlarge young men who might be

proficient tuba or bass trombone players and so was able to sign up an oboist and a

clarinettist, first rehearsal next week, don't forget lunch on Saturday!  We avoided the

Rugger stand where Adam was touting for custom, mainly by handing out cans of Heineken

or Newcastle Brown.  Yes, I could see why Tris had the hangover last year.  Every stall,

except the outright religious ones, had an array of cans or boxes of wine and there was a

growing level of noise, especially from those who were joining every club available. While

Oliver was chatting to Tris on the Basketball stand I wandered over to Charles who was

dispensing wisdom to anyone still lost.

     "Dearest one," he groaned, "One would have thought mothers would have told their

young about such things as laundries or washing‑machines.  The number who think the pixies

will come and collect their unclean unmentionables is overwhelming.  And to think I have to

point them in the direction of the basement where naughty young Knott is demonstrating how

to put fifty pence in a slot!"  He shook his mane.  "But I have something for you."  He

reached into the pocket of what looked like an eighteenth century frock coat he was wearing

under his gown of office.  It was an envelope with a hand‑written inscription, Mark Foster

ARCO ARCM.  Inside was a hand‑written card inviting me to the dinner at seven thirty for

eight at the Garden House Hotel for Saturday week.  "You will come, won't you, I will need

all the support I can get on this momentous occasion."  He sighed.  "Mother is undecided

what to wear and I have said we are not wearing black tie.  Neat not gaudy."

     Right, I had been told!   I wondered what I should wear?  I knew!

     He looked past me.  "Don't look now but I spy 'you know who' making advances to

two of the young ladies.  I would have thought his experience last term would have warned

him off trying his luck without further investigation.  I saw one of the pair signing up for the

Ladies' Rugger Club and she is of a somewhat Rubenesque aspect...."

     "So you know what happened?  Tristan told me."

     "Dear Annabelle apprised me of his unwanted advances to Alexandra and the severity

of the consequence.  I hoped he was damaged permanently but apparently the Priapic

impulse has asserted itself again.  Oh dear, he approaches."

     My second encounter with Mr Finch‑Hampton.

     "My dear sir," Charles addressed him as he came up to the table, "Let me introduce

our new Pennefather Organ Scholar, Mr Mark Foster.  I think you have met before but he is

now the worthy successor to that honourable office."

     I could only be polite.  I stuck my hand out.  "Very glad to meet you," I said, enjoying

the moment, "I understand you are my cousin's tutor.  He's Adam Carr. We did meet when I

came for my interview and you had a mis‑typed schedule."  I felt a real bloody creep. 

     The look he gave me would have curdled milk, blood, or any other substance, but he,

too, was polite.  He shook my hand and stared me in the eye.  "Your cousin, though a trifle

rambunctious, is a fine student, I hope you will be, too!"  The look he gave Charles as he

turned on his heel would have merited the sign Guido showed us to ward off the evil eye.

Charles' face was passive.  Two hands were raised and I went off smiling.  I didn't think I

would be unduly boisterous but hoped the second.

      Matt Thyssen had turned up so our stair was now complete.  We went to the Chapel

and he showed me where all the music was kept.  He said the choir was going to be twenty

strong this year as we had several incoming young ladies joining who would boost the

soprano and alto line.  The duty rota, kept by Ivo, showed I was responsible for the early

eight o'clock service on Mondays and Thursdays and the other two had the other weekdays.

Sundays we took it in turn, all three were supposed to be present at the eleven o'clock

Mattins and Communion and for the fortnightly special Evensong, but we could make our

own arrangements as to who played.  He said usually only the Chaplain and the designated

reader plus any ordinands and  two or three of the more dedicated Divinity students turned up

for the early mornings, but he used the time after for practice.  He was aiming for his FRCO

after Christmas, would I try as well?

     I said I would give it a year, I needed tuition.  He said talk to Safar whose pal Lewis

Richards was the Music Fellow at another College and he was tutoring him.  Safar was

helping him with the paper work.  I asked at what stage did one call tutors by their first

names.  He laughed and said it depended on the tutor or their job.  I would find out soon

enough!  I then asked about Drew, who was now in his Second Year.  Matt wrinkled his nose.

"What he does is good.  His group last year played well and they drew in a lot of born‑agains

but I prefer the ritual and the proper music, as I call it.  We'll have to see.  Trouble is there is

a faction who thrive on any dissension and with Finch‑Hampton behind them it could get

awkward.  Drew's actually said the Chapel is immaterial as far as worship is concerned and

that's been latched onto."

     That confirmed what I'd heard from Tris and the hints from Charles.  I looked round

the Chapel and thought of over six hundred years of worship on the site.  I might have doubts

but I was beginning to get a sense of history here.  Our St Barnabas was built sometime in the

late 1800s to serve a growing population, but this place had resounded to the prayers and

devotions of so many over all those years.

     Matt hadn't heard me play so he asked me to.  There was a very old copy of Bach's

'Eight Short Preludes and Fugues' on the top of the music cabinet.  I opened it at number 5 in

G major.  Just right.  I could show off finger‑work and a pedal passage in the Prelude and a

good build up for the Fugue.  He nodded approvingly when I finished.

     "Your turn," I said and slid off the bench.

     He turned the page, number 6 in g minor.  The first Bach I had been introduced to on

the organ.  It was perfect.

     "My first," he said, "And my favourite."

     "Me, too, and mine," I said.  I looked at the book. "That's an old copy."

     "Yes, I think it's Drew's.  He's giving Jeremy Foskett lessons.  I said no as he wants

to run before he can walk.  I don't have the patience and I think Drew's after his soul as well.

Mustn't be catty but..."

     I said my brother and his friend had experienced Drew and his tracts.  I didn't expand

on Laurent's interpretation of the content.

     "Watch it, he can cause a lot of trouble if we're not careful." He looked at me

carefully.  "You're not born‑again?"

     I shook my head and repeated what I had told the Chaplain.  "I have my doubts,

but..."

     "Same here," he said and smiled.

     I had to be at the Master's before lunch and joined a queue of Freshers being regaled

with a good selection of wine and tidbits.  The Master recognised me and held up the

receiving line while he congratulated me on my appointment and hoped I would be happy at

the College.  I felt quite happy after two glasses of red wine and an assortment of bits and

pieces.  Sean, the lad from the servery now as purveyor of the goodies was arrayed in striped

waistcoat, bow tie and black trousers.  I chatted to two or three others and was drawn into a

group with some of the new girls.  My experience of girls was limited and I expected giggles

and flirtiness.  No, these were serious and seemed very mature.  I knew I was being eyed

speculatively and rather enjoyed it.  When I said I was reading Maths I was immediately

commandeered by two of the girls who seemed streets ahead of me in confidence and self‑

possession.

     "Who is your tutor?" asked the first, who introduced herself as Fiona.

     "Professor Tanner," I said rather too off‑handedly.

     "You are lucky," said the other, a very elegant Asian girl, Dina, "You must be good,

he only takes the best."

     Only the best!  I felt about two inches high.  I must have sounded a right nana.  "I

didn't know that.  I just applied and was accepted."  Mustn't boast now.  "But, I'm really the

new organ scholar."

     "Pennefather?" asked Fiona.  I nodded.  "My father was that about twenty‑five years

ago.  That's why I'm here," she said.  "I wanted to go to Warwick, Maths is good there but

Dad insisted I tried here.  Didn't get a look in at Warwick.  Still mustn't grumble.  What a

place!  Murders and all!  But we'll meet up, no doubt, I've been dragooned into the choir as

well!"

     I didn't comment on that.  But why say 'murders'?  The only one in the papers was

Bryce's and that was only on the inside pages as far as I knew.

     "Oh," said Dina, "I'm in the choir as well.  I thought I'd better be as I'm reading

Maths and Mum said I'd better get involved in something.  Better tell you she's a lady vicar.

Dad's a doctor and was rather annoyed because I didn't want to read Medicine."

     "Oh God, parents!" said Fiona, laughing, "Dad's a Commander in the Met.  Funny

career after doing Music as well as History here but he says he likes it.  Mum just stays at home and looks after my stupid little brothers."

     Oh, so Dad's a copper.  But why should she know? ‑ and more importantly ‑ why has

the Metropolitan Police got involved?  Brothers!  My Toad definitely wasn't stupid.

Exasperating, yes!  Stupid, no!

     Girls!  These seemed OK.  I was contemplating this when a familiar figure came up

brandishing a clipboard in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.  It was Ivo.

     "Right, ladies, leave my little cousin alone as I need to know if you've signed up for

all on offer.  Ladies' Rugger, Boat Club, Hockey, Lacrosse, plus Cricket in the summer if it

ever arrives.  Don't forget we'll be visiting all the fleshpots of the city on Saturday evening

and you may need a companionable escort.  Males available on demand.  Look around."

     "It's OK," I said, as Fiona and Dina stared and the giggles did start.  "He really is my

cousin and harmless, just never grown up, like all stupid little boys."

     I got a conspiratorial grin from Fiona.  "Are you on offer?" she asked him, "How

much an hour?  Or does the first hour come free!"

     "Free as a bird," said Ivo, flinging his arms wide, "But I may be spoken for.  There's

always my brother, but he's submerged in more feminine pulchritude over there at the

moment."

     Fiona looked at me.  I shook my head.  "Sorry, I'm spoken for as well."

     The Master was drawing the little ceremony to a close.  We started to drift off.  Tris

was waiting outside so I joined him.  I saw Fiona give us a quizzical look.  I nodded.  She

smiled.

     Tris and I spent the afternoon exploring my set.  We found all sorts of old clobber in

the cupboards in the kitchen passage ‑ not only old organ pipes but various bits of old kitchen

equipment and several boxes of old books and magazines and sundry items of ancient sports

clothing including a very old, yellowed jockstrap which I said I would give to Frankie as it

was a forty inch waist with a huge pouch.  We tidied things up and felt like an old married

couple in their new home.  I said I would sleep in his set tonight with him and he'd better not

think he had a proprietorial right to my bed as I might want some peaceful times by myself.

He laughed.

     "Bet you won't be celibate more than one night before you're pleading for my body.

I might look elsewhere!"

     I shut him up with a hug and then I told him about Oliver's confession to me this

morning.  He said he had wondered, perhaps his gaydar was working.  We discussed this

rather interesting concept and decided it might be rather dangerous to assume.  We ticked off

friends and acquaintances and decided we both wondered about Adam and was Guido just

getting his rocks off or was he really gay, or perhaps bi?  I then said about Fiona and her

smile as we met outside.  She knew.  I also said about her statement about murders?

     "Mustn't dwell on those two," said Tris, "Best forgotten."

     We just had time for just a quick hug before getting spruced up again.  As Mr

Fullerton was his tutor Tris had been invited as well to the Moral Tutor meet.

     At six we were ushered into a very elegant set of rooms on the other side of the quad.

The main room was lined with bookshelves with volumes and volumes of Law Reports.

"Luckily," whispered Tris as I stared in amazement, "Most are on‑line now!"

     I liked Mr Fullerton and was well into my second glass of wine with two other lads

discussing our first days in College when Mrs Fullerton came in with Fiona and Dina.  They

grinned when they saw me.  I introduced them to Tris while Mrs Fullerton took the two lads

over to her husband who was dispensing the wine.

     "This is Tristan Price‑Williams," I said, "My best friend!  He's reading Law and he's

starting his Second Year.  He's in the choir, too."

     They introduced themselves and we had the usual sort of conversation, much like the

one we'd started this afternoon.  Both girls were left with no illusions about our relationship I

was sure.  Both girls seemed quite accepting of it.  We would have to see what might happen

once the word got round.

     That night I went up with Tristan to his set.  It was strange sitting in the room my

Grandad had inhabited fifty odd years ago.  When we went to bed it was a tight squeeze but

we found that two tall, slim boys fitted well side by side as we kissed and loved each other

slowly and tenderly.  Later I lay awake spooned up against Tris's back as he fell asleep and

pondered how Grandad had slept in this room as a young man back from the War.  What had

been his thoughts?  He had been a clever man.  I hoped I wouldn't let him down.  I thought of

the smiling young boy in the photo Grandma had sent me.  It was as if his presence was with

me as I too fell asleep.

     It was odd.  We were both woken by a strange humming and seeming rushing and

movement behind the wall behind the bed.  As far as we knew it was a solid wall, the other

side was a bit of garden.  We lay and listened and the noise subsided.  It was six o'clock. A

pale light was coming through the window on the opposite wall. Tris had turned and was

holding me with one arm round my back.

     "Thought it was Bryce," he whispered.  "I'm daft.  I'm glad you're here though."

     I hadn't been frightened.  Just puzzled.  I reached down and felt his erect cock.  "You

couldn't have been too frightened.  This isn't limp and drooping."

     No more was said and two streams of the night's manufacture were liberally

expended between us.  "Better give Jason fifty pence for the washer," I whispered, "Or your

sheets will be heavily starched as well."

     We clutched each other and giggled.

     "Half an hour to rest then you're coming for a run," said Tris, "Today's a one‑off as

you're not lying around masturbating every morning.  If you need you can paint the walls of

your shower afterwards."  He tickled me in the region of my lowest rib.  I squirmed.  "You'll

only get fat and unhealthy sitting around all day.  We'll get Oliver as well.  Piss off now and

find something to run in and we'll go to that shop along by Sainsbury's this morning and get

some proper kit for you."

     I went and found my old rugger togs which I'd stowed at the bottom of a bag.  I was

just tying a bow in my second lace when Tris came in looking so handsomely athletic in cute

dark red running shorts, a dark red St Mark's sweat shirt and proper running shoes.

     "OK, I gave Ollie a knock and he was up and he's coming, too.  I didn't try the Thugs

as they were fairly well‑hammered last night."

     Another vision of loveliness appeared.  His old school outfit.  Running shorts he

looked as if he'd been poured into and the most deliciously hairy legs which almost matched

my own rather over hirsute appendages.  Adam had remarked if they got any hairier I'd have

to change my name to Marcus Tarantula.  Tris's great joy in Italy was stroking the thick

growth just above my knees after I'd anointed myself with sun oil and then twisting together

a dozen hairs or so at a time so my thighs looked like miniature dark porcupines as I lay

sunning myself.  I felt I would love to do the same to Oliver.  Thoughts of inviting him to

Italy in the future.....

     "Come on, you two," Tris commanded, "We'll go slow as no doubt Marky will puff

and pant."  Luckily he didn't add that I, and that meant we really, had already expended a

certain amount of energy since waking.  "Not too far this morning but I expect to increase the

distance daily!"

     Daily?  Anyway, it wasn't too bad.  We ran across the Backs and then down by the

river towards Grantchester.  About a mile, then a mile back.  I wasn't too puffed.

     "We might as well use his shower," said Tris as we arrived back at our staircase case.

"It's bigger than mine and the water will be hotter."

     I found towels for them and we all went into the bathroom and stripped off.  We let

Oliver shower first and openly admired his body and his equipment as he stepped out and

began to dry his head and hair.  The warmth of the water had plumped out his length.  It was

impressive and I felt a slight twinge around the rear as I contemplated what that might feel

like if inserted.  No!  I had Tris and his seven and a quarter inches was mighty enough for

me!  While he finished drying off I went to the kitchen and found there was still some bacon

and about half a loaf of white bread left.  Oliver came through in the nude and I suggested he

might like to cook but to tie a towel round his waist in case of hot fat splashing.  I went back

to the bathroom just as Tris was emerging.  I whispered "Nude" and he nodded.

     The pair of them were laughing about something as I also went into the warm kitchen

where an inviting plate of rashers was being added to.  "Telling Ollie about the divine

Clarissa and the last performance.  I said we should suggest Dick Turpin next with the

emphasis on dick!" They turned and Oliver whipped off the towel round his waist.  Side by

side they matched.  Oliver was no longer than Tris as he drooped, just slightly fatter.

     "You're just a pair of exhibitionists!" I said.  "It's a wonder I didn't find the pair of

you on the kitchen table demonstrating a position in the Art of Gay Sex!"  Not that I'd seen a

copy, just a few illustrations when browsing on the Toad's computer before he got home

from school one day.  Yes, and I did know about deleting the history file!

     "I wouldn't mind but no chance," said Oliver, grinning, "He's booked and he's made

that quite clear." He slapped Tris's backside as he looked down at him and across at me.

"You're both well‑made as a departed PE master said about three of us kids when we got out

of the showers after one of Adam's runs."  He laughed.  "He had to go when he suggested a

nude calendar of the First Fifteen without any of the discreetly placed rugger balls which he

said could be added later.  He'd already photographed three or four of the dumber ones in

various positions when someone hacked into his computer and discovered they were just

about to go world‑wide on the net.  It wasn't so much the photographs as the fact he'd got

those for free, but you had to pay to go on his site!  I think Adam and Ivo were pissed off

because he hadn't got round to them yet!"

     I looked at Tris.  A nice story to tease the Thugs with.  "Can we use that one on the

Thugs?" I asked.  Oliver laughed and agreed and then I had to explain about the nickname.

     After finishing off all the bacon that was left, plus the bread, we had to get ready for

another round of jollity.  Oliver went off in just his shorts  ‑ I noted he arranged his cock so it

didn't flop down his leg but was anchored by the waistband.  "Should be OK to go up one

flight of stairs," he said when he saw me eyeing his manoeuvre.  A bit later I was dragged off

to the sports shop where Tris supervised the buying of three pairs of running shorts, two lots

of St Mark's sweats, two jockstraps and two pairs of best trainers. We also visited

Sainsbury's and joined the queues of students stocking up with much‑needed extra

foodstuffs.  We kept clear of the hucksters still importuning reluctant students to join clubs

or societies and the stoical purveyors of The Big Issue.   And then I had my first real face‑to‑

face experience of Drew.

     He was already in full flow, haranguing passers‑by on the corner by the Round

Church.  He recognised Tris and gave him a baleful scowl.  Tris was all sweetness and light,

and enjoying it.

     "Hello, Drew, you are up early this morning doing your good works."  He peered

down at the handful of leaflets.  "Anything new?"  Drew ignored that and stared at me.  Was

I a possible convert to be rescued from the sin of self‑abuse?  "You haven't met yet,"

continued Tris unabashed by the unaccustomed silence, "But this is Mark Foster the new

Pennefather Scholar.  We're old friends!"  The bastard gave Drew the most outrageous wink.

My ships were sunk.  I knew Drew was now an implacable enemy.

     He almost snarled.  "You're playing on Sunday, I see."

     That was that.  He turned on his heel and started to bawl out disjointed phrases like

'Repent, your sins!" and "Love the Lord" while thrusting his leaflets at all and sundry.

     As we walked off I swung the bag of sports goods at Tris's leg.  He jumped smartly

away and was smirking as we passed Moss Bros where he pointed at the kilted dummy.

"Don't try to distract me!" I said, " That bastard has all the ammunition now to make it hot

for me!"

     He turned and looked at me a grin on his face.  "That little fucker has something to

think about now when he isn't flogging his dolly.  You can bet your life he does that

whatever his leaflets say.  Anyway, you won't have him knocking on your door now wanting

to count the come stains on your sheets..."

     This time the bag did connect.  "Tristan Price‑Williams," I said quietly but firmly,

"Sometimes you are too crude to be believed.  Anyway, how would he distinguish between

yours and mine?"

     Pedestrians must have wondered about the two laughing idiots who bumped and

collided with other until we quietened down about at Green Street and then walked sedately

until we reached the passage but were still chuckling as we went into the Porter's Lodge to

see if there was any post.

     More envelopes and lists plus a card from the Toad bearing a picture of the Houses of

Parliament and the inscription on the back in a very neat, schoolboyish hand, 'Remember,

Remember, the Fifth of November'.  A reminder of his impending visit!  I showed it to Tris.

     "It's a wonder it hasn't got you arrested for possible terrorism!" he said, "I suppose

we'd better plan a week of unremitting activity to tire him out.  All day Tuesday on the river

with the boaties, Wednesday in the scrum for three games of rugger, Thursday on the river

again and Friday he can run to Grantchester and back with the cross‑country team four times.

Saturday we'll auction him on the market to the lowest bidder!  Sorted!!"

     If only!

     Tris had definite plans for the rest of the day.  I was told to go and practise for the

Sunday service.  He was playing in Adam's team against Ivo's mob, as he called them, then

at six he would treat me and Oliver, if he wished, to a good meal to line our stomachs ready

for the pub‑crawl.

     "I made the mistake last year of not eating much beforehand.  And you're being

rationed as far as drink's concerned.  Three lagers and that's your lot!  You can be potboy

and don't spill any of the boaties' pints or they might get a mite rorty!"

     OK, OK.  All settled.  In fact, Oliver came to the Chapel with me and brought his

oboe.  I played the two pieces for the service and set the pistons and left a note for Matt

saying what I'd done, then we spent a very nice hour with me on the piano accompanying a

couple of oboe sonatas he was learning ready for his LRAM.   Matt came in just after four

and sat and listened and said he liked what he heard.  We left as he went up to go through the

hymns.  Outside we bumped into Drew who was lurking almost furtively.  Here goes, I

thought.

     "Sorry we didn't have time to talk this morning," I said as pleasantly as I could, "I've

just been playing over the pieces for tomorrow.  By the way, let me introduce Oliver Jensen.

He's reading Music and he's in the choir.  We've just been practising a couple of pieces he's

learning."

     Oliver didn't know yet about Drew and his proselytising and flashed him his

trademark smile and thrust out a hand.  Drew almost reluctantly took it and shook hands.

"I'm Drew Penry‑Jones one of  the other Organ Scholars," he said, "I tend to favour more

modern forms of worship.  I'll talk to you about it sometime."  He turned to me.  "I'll be

there tomorrow.  I heard you play just now."  He nodded.  "You're good."

     Praise indeed.

     On the way to our stair I filled Oliver in on Drew and his idiosyncrasies.  He agreed

he sounded odd and wondered what had set off the righteous pattern.

     "Sounds more Welsh Chapel than Anglican," he said, "But he's sounds even more

Hellfire and Damnation than even that."

     Perhaps I'd better warn him of his rants and tell him of the happenings last year.  But,

Tris knew more than I did and I would consult him first.

     The three of us found a very nice Greek restaurant in School House Lane and had a

substantial meal and a large glass of wine, before joining up just before eight o'clock with

Adam, Ivo, their pals and a host of Freshers who all looked a bit pink after the over‑

indulgence of the past two days.  We three felt very virtuous.  Anyway it was a real hoot as

we wended our way dividing up, gathering more, and losing a few by the wayside, literally in

the case of two poor souls, one male and one female, who were last seen hunched over the

same roadside drain emptying stomachs over‑filled with alcoholic beverages.  A solicitous

Adam did arrange one of his mob to see they came to no real harm.

     I and Oliver were kept on short leashes by an ever attentive Tris.  Oliver and I

dutifully queued and remembered exactly who had ordered what.  I noted Fiona and Dina had

latched onto two rather good‑looking rugger‑types and both were downing strangely coloured

concoctions and were giggling together over something.  Watch it girls, I thought, alcohol

and virginity don't go together ‑ something I had read in a newspaper I'd seen prominently

displayed in Sammy Patel's father's shop.  As the two lads were downing pints in tandem I

guessed their ability to rise to the occasion might be impaired so the girls would probably be

safe.  On the other hand, perhaps the girls wanted?....

     "Your turn to get the next lot," said Ivo, nudging me and interfering with my reverie.

"God! I'm going to have a head in the morning.  I'll leave the door on the latch and you'd

better come and see we're OK first thing in the morning."  He laughed.  "Definitely not going

to score tonight!"

     Tris had a great smile on his face as at around half‑past ten the ragged remnants of the

evening were herded past a couple of stern‑faced gentlemen on the door and we reached our

final destination.  Like Tris last year ‑ MY FIRST GAY BAR!!  It was heaving.  Acres of

young and not so young bare flesh ‑ that is, torsos ‑ gyrating to a very hypnotic beat.  Tris led

the way through the throng and there was my first sighting of his friends.  Over the reduced

din in the corner where they were sitting, saving seats for us, we were introduced to Whippet,

Carl and Dave.  No Brad, he was busy Whippet explained.  "Left this, though."  He waved

two twenty pound notes and a round of scotches appeared borne by a young lad with the

tightest jeans on I'd ever seen.  And, if what bulged the front was real, Tris, Oliver, Adam,

Ivo and I would all be relegated to the third team!  "Eyes down, don't stare!" said Carl in my

ear, "All padding.  More like Tris's little finger.  Seen it, up and down,  true!"

     So the evening started, at least it did for me and I think Oliver.  Dave insisted they

danced and Oliver's top and shirt came off and to whistles of approval he and Dave were in a

clinch straight off.  I took the initiative next and my dark Italian tan was shown off against

Tris's golden hue and we held each other close as we writhed to the rhythm.  Writhe was the

only word to describe it.  We couldn't part easily as we both had hard‑ons up to our

eyebrows.  "If this goes on much longer," I managed to decipher what he said, "I'm going to

come in my undies!"  As we were both wearing pairs of Uncle Francesco's trousers for the

trendy and both were encased in the minutest of thongs to prevent unsightly seams showing

across our butts we were grateful when the music soon stopped and we were able to sit down

without being embarrassed by unsightly wet patches on our fronts.

     "Hell's bells!" said Whippet as we sunk gratefully, and no doubt gracefully, into our

seats.  "I think half the bastards in here shot their loads watching you two and the other half

with them." He pointed at Dave and Oliver still moving as one to the new beat which had

started up.

     "So was it us or them for you?" I asked.

     He laughed.  "Shan't tell, but you'll get all the monsters crowding in a moment.  I'll

shoo them off if they get too close.  They're harmless, just annoying."

     Two middle‑aged fellows pushed their way up to the table.  "Duckies, you're

fabulous!" one of them gushed.  "Where do they find all these pretty young things?" he asked

his companion who smirked and eyed Tris up and down speculatively.

     "Too late, Desmond," said Whippet, flicking the leather straps of the complicated

chest harness he was wearing.  "They're all spoken for.  You'd better go and see how the

girls are getting on in the back room.  May need your assistance.  We'll be around if there's

trouble, you know."

     Whippet explained that 'the girls' were two young lads who the pair employed in

their shop and were probably servicing a customer or two.  "But you're Police?" I said.

     "Nothing too illegal.  Private premises.  We keep the place clean.  No drugs here at

all," he smiled, "Not that you'd want any.  My advice is keep well clear of any of that and if

you want help just contact us.  In fact, I've just seen someone I need to have a word with. 

Excuse me for a moment."

     For someone, at least six foot two and built with it, he moved fast and was soon

talking to a lad in his twenties with a very pock‑marked face.  The pair came back.

     "This is Rodney," he said, "Friend of a friend.  You sit and Carl will get you a drink

and then home to bed or Uncle Brad might be knocking on your door in the morning."

     Rodney had rather a furtive air and a distinct twitch of the side of his upper lip.  "Ta,"

he said as Carl appeared with a bottle of lager.  He went and sat with him.

     The beat of the music was getting to me.  "Do you want to try a waltz," I said to

Whippet with a grin, nudging Tris who was watching Oliver and Dave doing a rather erotic

pas de deux.

     "Can't dance," he said.

     "Nor can I, but we can try," I said, "Come, or can you after such a short interval?"  I

surprised myself at my forwardness.

     "Cheeky monkey!" he said and got to his feet.

     Neither of us had any idea of how to dance but we managed.  He was a couple of

inches taller than me and I noticed we were the tallest on the floor.  Wow, he certainly didn't

have any padding as I felt a veritable python uncoil as we held each other tight.  The smart

blue shirt he was wearing under his harness got decidedly damp as we circled the floor as

other dancers made way for us.  Our initial rather clumsy movements improved as we swayed

and moved in perfect time with the beat.  As the music hotted up we were away and finished

in a most satisfying clinch.  I'd never danced with a policeman before.  In fact, I hadn't

danced before.

     "Fuck me!" he said as we sat down again with Tris giving us a clap of well‑earned

applause, "Got to wriggle to adjust myself."  He leaned across me and whispered to Tris.  "If

he does to you in bed what he did to me on the floor I envy you!  I see why you turned young

Batman down!"

     We all laughed and Tris said he'd show him next week how it should be done.

     We chatted on still with Oliver and Dave entwined to a slow beat now.  The twitchy

lad got up and left and Carl came over and sat talking with Tris.  They got up and were soon

giving their all to the music on the dance floor.  I plucked up a bit of courage and asked

Whippet if he had a boyfriend.  He screwed the side of his face up.

     "I did.  That's why I left the Army and joined the Police.  I started off in the Met but

he went off because he couldn't stand the hours I was working and I transferred here and

there's been no one for the last couple of years.  I'm fond of Carl, but he's seven years

younger than me and we don't really want to mix pleasure with work.  Best to keep them

separate and it really is better that way.  I don't really look but things crop up.  I'm content,

but...."

     At that moment there was a stir as two young ladies came round the corner.  They

were Fiona and Dina.  Fiona waved and I beckoned them over.

     "Thought you wouldn't have stayed here," I said.

     She laughed.  "There's a ladies' section as well but we were told you'd be round here.

And you should see some of the big lads, they're delirious!  Bet they've never seen girls who

could match them for pints."

     Was she or wasn't she?  Didn't dare ask.  Anyway,  the lumpy‑humpy lad came and

drinks were ordered while I found a couple of spare chairs and went to introduce them.  I

didn't need to.  She took one look at Whippet.

     "Dad said I'd probably find you here, Dude.  Said he sends his love and Mum does,

too.  Zack's always asking about you, ‑" She looked at me. "‑ that's my seventeen‑year‑old

brother, all spots and monosyllables except where girls, the Police and Dude are concerned."

     "Tell your Mum and Dad I'm OK and tell Zack I've got some old badges for him.

And what about Brandon?"

     "Never can tell.  Computer mad like them all at his age.  Hardly ever see him except

when there's food on the table."

     Two more figures appeared.  Ivo and Adam.  Surprisingly undrunk!  Not quite sober

but...

     "Come to collect the infants," said Adam.  "Hi Sarge, how's it hanging?  Where's

Carlo the Cute?"  He waved and Carl gave him the thumb's up while still holding on to Tris.

"What's happened to Oliver?"

     We all nodded towards the still rather crowded dance‑floor.  Two glistening figures

were now tangoing or whatever.  Bloody hell!  Near enough two hours and they were still

dancing.  The record ended and the DJ was announcing something as they came over, sweaty

but thoroughly enjoying each others company.  But, I though Carl and Dave?.... Tris and Carl

came over, too.

     "Carl, don't just stand there.  Just because Barney isn't here tonight.  Come on, last

dance with me."  Dave held out a hand and Carl joined him but gave Tris a sweet smile.

     The music started up.  It was slow and we were mesmerised as the pair held each

other and produced such languorous sensual movements.   I could feel the sap rising.  God!  I

thought, if Barney could get Carl away from Dave he must have something.  Oliver and Dave

had looked superb and Tris and Carl had been good, but Dave and Carl now looked

matchless in their absolute togetherness.

     Fiona and Dina were whispering together as they watched and Whippet leaned over to

me and murmured in my ear.  "Fucking Hell, what Carl sees in that wanker Barney I do not

know.  It nearly broke Dave's heart.  He thought they had a real thing going.  Brad says let

them alone they'll sort it out...." He nudged me.  "....I think your lad there has shown Batman

what he's missing, too.  Let's see if they go off together.  If they do it's good riddance to

Barney Mayhew!  Big cock, bollocks and all!"

     At just on one we decided to call it a day.  I rescued my shirt and top and told a

couple of the youngsters as we went out, who asked me where we got the stuff,  that it was

Matteoli gear ‑ all the young Italians were wearing it, just ask and get an order in.  Carl and

Dave went off together and we said goodnight to Whippet who had a motorbike which Ivo

and Adam quizzed him about.  We five walked the two girls back to the  College Hall of

Residence for Ladies' ‑ the 'Bitch Niche' as Fiona called it ‑ and Oliver and the twins joined

Tris and me in my set for a goodnight brandy.  We said little just sipped and savoured the

delights of the all‑revealing evening.  Tris slept with me that night in the four‑poster.  We

were too relaxed now to do anything but help each other to a wonderful close to a perfect

day.  I whispered to Tris, as his boycream joined mine all over my stomach and chest, that

Whippet had us appraised and approved.  We held each other and slept.