Twelve Days
by Charles Lacey
Chapter 13
Thursday 25th December
Christmas Day in our house always followed the same pattern. We rose as early as we were allowed to - we had been sternly forbidden to emerge from our room until we were called - performed, I fear, a perfunctory toilet, then descended to the Morning Room to see what Father Christmas had left in our stockings.
To my relief, I saw that one had been provided for Tracy as well as those for myself and the girls. Had he had a stocking before, I wondered? Had Father Christmas ever left him anything? But this year's was well stocked; there was the usual orange and bag of nuts, a book each, and Mrs Huntly had provided some of her special shortbread biscuits.
We dressed in our Sunday best and walked to Church for the morning service. Luncheon was served later than our usual hour, perhaps in order to allow us to develop an appetite even keener than usual. There was clear soup – scarcely more than a mouthful, just as an appetizer – then roast goose, with little crisp roast potatoes, parsnips and Brussels sprouts. I think I am unique among all the boys I know, in actually liking Brussels sprouts!
And then in came the Pudding, large, brown and globular. Papa poured brandy over it and set it alight. Tracy was spellbound. He later told me that he had never seen that done before. But I had rather taken the idea that meals, even Christmas dinner, at his father's house were formal, rather chilly affairs.
We pulled our crackers, and fell about laughing at the mottoes. And then, as the brandy was almost all burned away, Mamma cut up the pudding and distributed it about the table, with brandy butter to moisten it further. I noticed that Tracy got a specially large piece. I munched away merrily at my helping, until I felt my teeth meeting on something hard. I'd got the lucky threepence!
"Quick!" said Emily, "Make a wish!"
I closed my eyes and wished as hard as I could. But I'm not going to tell you what I wished for, except that it involved someone who was sitting next to me.
Following Mince Pies with more brandy butter, and coffee for the adults, hot chocolate for the younger people, we opened our presents and then we played all manner of silly games together. Dumb Crambo was always a great favourite. Tracy had never played it before, but I explained the rules to him and he was enthralled. This was followed by 'Animal, Vegetable or Mineral' and Tracy startled me not only by the breadth of his general knowledge but also his perspicacity in putting searching questions.
My family were always generous with presents. That year was no exception. I received a knitted woollen Guernsey pullover that Mamma had made, and from Papa the latest edition of Pears' Cyclopaedia and a new fountain pen. Emily gave me handkerchiefs on which she had embroidered my initials; Charlotte, knowing my fondness for writing, gave me a lovely leather letter case with my name on it in gilt letters.
Nor was Tracy forgotten. He, too, received embroidered handkerchiefs and a fountain pen, as well as a beautiful Harris tweed jacket and a silk necktie.
At six o'clock Mamma and the girls descended to the kitchen to make our tea. She felt – and we all agreed – that the servants, especially Mrs Huntly, had worked so hard to make our Christmas dinner that it was only fair to let them have the rest of the day off. Mrs Huntly had left out some things for them in the Butler's Pantry, but I am sure that they appreciated the thought, and some time for them to put their feet up and have their own celebration in their little sitting room upstairs.
The evening was quieter. We all had new books to read: mine was a book of stories by M. R. James (Papa knew my liking for ghost stories!) a n d Tracy's was Lord Arthur Savile's Crime .
We were tired that night. We put on our nightshirts in our bedroom after a cursory wash in the bathroom; as Tracy stripped I could see that again he was gaining a little of the weight he so greatly needed. His feet looked much better now; the red and purple patches were fading into normal skin. I couldn't help again noticing his pego; it looked slightly smaller than before, nestled in its little ring of soft hair. Perhaps, I thought, it's because there is more of him than there was and it looks smaller in proportion. At that moment Tracy noticed me observing him and I looked away hurriedly, but not before I had seen it becoming more prominent. But in no more than a moment he was covered with his nightshirt, as was I with mine, and we climbed into bed and snuggled down together.
As before, I lay on my right side, Tracy doing the same with his back to me, so that we lay together for all the world like two spoons in a drawer. But by now my own pego was as stiff as a stave and pressing into Tracy's posterior. I hoped he was not aware of the pressure… or did I hope he was?
As I generally did, I passed my left arm under Tracy's neck and my right arm over his chest, drawing him close to me. He gave a curious little sigh; I could not make out what it was about. But I felt his arm move, adjusting himself through his nightshirt.
Oh dear, I thought, it's now or never.
"Tracy," I began, hesitantly, "Are you… that is to say… could you?..."
My voice died away in mumblings. But then I felt his arse pressing ever so gently into my front.
"Tracy… may I… could I touch you… down there?"
"Oh, Chris," he replied, half-turning his head so that he could see me, and smiling broadly at my shyness, "I thought you were never going to ask."
THE END
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
