The Persistence of Memory

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 11

We, being myself, Duncan and Robbie, don't get back to Morwenna House in our village, Poverty S. Erth, until gone five thirty after another day's work at the school 'up the hill' in Truro. Robbie's work has improved dramatically in the past term, and Duncan continues to make good progress too. My job toddles on, no one really knowing the extent I have infiltrated into all the IT systems in the place the powers that be think are secure, and most importantly, very private. How little do they know. The Head Man, Dr Angus Simpson, and my old adversary, Mr Quintus Beer, have no idea what I know and what I've seen concerning their common interests. Anyone who has access to IT systems in any organization has power, not that I'm particularly interested. It just amuses me to know that they don't know I hold such a store of information about them. But thinking about it, the fact that I've stored away in what I assume is my own very secure system, duplicates, puts me in the same boat as them does it not? The information about boys in the school I find particularly interesting, and how a boy can cope with adversity and appear to be quite unaffected. He's not of course. Far from it.

There's a boy called David in Year 7, possibly seventh grade in the US, the first year of secondary education in this country, who goes home to an extraordinarily difficult situation every evening, and then comes back the next morning to get on with everything he has to do. I see him every morning in assembly looking perfect, knowing that he does all the family washing, irons shirts, cooks all the meals, and goes to bed exhausted. I pray that one day he'll find someone to love and who will give him back the love he deserves so richly. I'm not in love with him, but with the idea that this boy can suffer so much and be so beautiful despite all that. Blessed be the pure in heart for they shall see; what? Who? One can but hope he will.

I am needless to say, in love with Duncan, from a safe distance. How he's come on in every way in the past months just as Robbie has, especially since Robbie has come to live at Morwenna.

At a safe distance? Hmm. How I would love Duncan in bed with me, each and every night, cuddled up to me, wanting, and getting. I know that can't happen, but it doesn't stop me wanting him from the bottom of my stomach to the top of my head. All the time. There's never a moment when I don't want him. Yes, for sex, and a lot of it. Yes, to fuck him so hard he'll cry out with painful exhilaration, feeling me in him, up him, deeply, doing just what I want with him. Wetting him, soaking him with love, and sexual everything . Yes, I know those are bad thoughts, terrible thoughts, and not for a second could I harm him. Not ever.

Garth is home by the time we arrive back in the old Austin Mini, with Duncan and Robbie insisting they travel like a couple of sardines in the back so they can chat about the day's events. They usually mention teachers with some comic descriptions of what goes on in classrooms. Then everything goes quiet which means one of them has touched the other which then escalates into a cuddle. They are having sex together now, rather than separately. Neither Garth nor I, and certainly not my father, know exactly how much or what sort of sex. I've generously decamped to a single bed in the room Duncan slept in, which I hate. I find single beds cold. Thus, through my infinite generosity, the two boys can share a nice wide super king-sized bed……which has recently developed a squeak. Oh dear, I wonder how that happened? Perhaps I inadvertently loosened one of the bolts that held the bedhead tight together? It's not a bad squeaking which will wake up the person in the adjoining room, but if you listen hard, it can be heard every morning and most nights as the boys, either separately or together, reach, I like to think, their simultaneous sexual highs. Garth, who tidies up after us all, says they use the same pair of pants to mop up, as he raises his eyebrows. When the boys return home from school, they get changed out of their uniform and bring it all down to the kitchen for Garth to deal with, apart from one pair of pants. We all know what's going on and no secrets are hid, or bodies come to that. Our capacious shower is inconveniently situated downstairs so the boys having discarded uniform, parade naked for us in the kitchen as Garth finds a towel for them. They enjoy the thought that we like to see them nude. I think that's good and very natural, and of course we get to see how 'things' are progressing, and as it happens, they are progressing far too quickly. Robbie, long blond haired on his head, has nothing elsewhere, whereas Duncan is much further on. He would have pubic hair if he didn't insist on skilfully removing it with Garth's magic preparation that he uses, so he too looks on the surface, superlatively smooth. We can't see what goes on in the shower, but they're in there for longer than necessary and usually emerge in a different state than when they went in. Try having your back washed, and then your bottom sorted out with two loving hands and see if you don't get one. Garth told me about my performance when he bathed and dried me as a six-year-old, and younger than that, and older than that.

'When did I…….first?' I asked.

'Oh good grief. Two I think. 'An object of fascination obviously.'

Like all boys.

'Your father insisted you were circumcised like him. Your mother objected but he still had you done.'

'That's why my orgasms are weaker.'

'That's not proven Alex.'

'But I think it's true. Whatever they say.'

Who knows. There's no real way of telling is there? Maybe I'll invent a machine that measures the strength of neurological sexual reactions in humans one day. In the meantime, my favourite squeaky bed goes on squeaking. It certainly sounds like they have good ones. Speaking of which, I have a confession to make. I gave in to Quintus yesterday. I never thought I would, but I have. He didn't give into me all those years ago, and since then I've resisted his charms, if you could see him as charming. I suppose he is. Certainly persuasive.

I don't have a timetable for the week as I dodge about all over the shop. That means I might have to sort out a problem later in the day, or equally find myself at a loose end. Quintus has been working on the video production, amongst other projects, to shine a good light on the school for the benefit of future customers. He wanted to run a few more chunks of it, unedited, past me.

'Can you pop round after lunch Alex. I've a few things to show you.'

So I went round to his flat, a one bedroom apartment at the top of the old original building high up on the hill with a fabulous view southwards over the river towards the coast, about twenty miles as the crow does it. Quintus sits me down in his small sitting room arranged like an office with a large monitor on a table, his monster PC parked on the floor, the cooling fans whirring away. He presses the play button. Leaning forward I watched the action. I knew what to expect. Boys doing something. It was the last drama production, a liberal adaptation of Les Miserables, written and produced by no less a personality than Dr Angus Simpson, the Head, featuring a group of boys, half of them dressed up as girls, who he thought 'suitable'. Indeed they were all very suitable. Robbie wasn't one of the chosen, but sweet little Brian was, given the part of a small girl in a very short hessian like costume, giving us glimpses, when he sat back down on the wooden bench, of those ghastly pattered underpants he wears. I need to have a word with his mother. Everybody went to the pre-Christmas production and we all thought it excellent. Quintus made himself responsible for recording the whole thing, plus all the off-stage goings on, changing costumes, boys becoming girls, and vice versa. The recordings were over a period of three days prior to the production and included all the sound the gaggles of kids made, comments, laughter and the occasional question….

'Do we need to wear our pants Sir?'

'Err, not necessarily Peter. Do you sit down on the stage at any time?'

'Yessir. A couple of times.'

'Hmm. Up to you then.'

As you might imagine, as I would, there was considerable semi-nudity amongst the throng getting changed into their various costumes for dress rehearsals and for the actual shows over two nights. All the costumes had been designed for ease of making and were very simple short brown cotton tunic affairs, ripped accordingly, basically long rectangles of material doubled over and fastened with string down the sides. I thought they were admirably imaginative and typical of Hillary's thought processes. The parents loved the whole thing and begged for tickets for the following nights. Quintus had set up cameras just above head height in all four corners of the room which recorded everything as it happened. Quite brilliant……and delightfully revealing.

'How do you feel after that lot Alex?'

'That's a tricky question Quintus. I have to say that was great.'

'Thought you'd like it.'

'I did like it. A favourite?' I asked, eyebrows raised. I bet Quintus will have one.

'Brian. Brian Lockhart.'

'Oh gosh, yes. Isn't he beautiful?'

'Your sculpture figures. You couldn't do one of him could you? Failing that, have you modelled your friend Robbie Mole yet?'

'I have, with Duncan. But I'll try and get Brian. Hillary can organize him to model in her art class. A classic pose?'

'Exactly. Nude presumably?'

'Very nude.'

'With an erection?'

'That might be trickier Quintus. Will mine do in the interim?'

'Have you got one now?'

'Yes.'

'When did you last do it?'

'Ages ago.'

'Any witnesses?'

'No. Just me on my tod.'

'Wet knickers then?'

'Very wet knickers.'

'A girl's?'

'No. A boy's.'

'Which boy had to go without then.'

'Never mind whose. I couldn't resist a very minor substitution.'

'Exactly how long ago?'

'Hmm, maybe as much as ten days.'

'Time you got rid then. You shouldn't keep it stored up that long. Not healthy. The bathroom is just along there.' Quintus gestures towards the door.

'That sounds rather cold and unemotional.'

'Well I can think of a warmer alternative. How about a two in one?'

'You mean two bodies joined together to make one?'

'That would be nice.'

'After all this time.'

'Shall I find a Durex?'

'With a teat or without?'

'Up to you.'

'Ok. Would it be a thousand swimmers, or just the odd one or two.'

'Many millions matey. You never seen it have you?'

'No, but there was a time when I wanted to, as you well know.'

'Indeed I do know. You were twelve at the time I seem to recall. Not very legal.'

'No, but I wasn't bothered about such trivial details. Wasn't I your cup of tea then?'

'You know you were. How do you think I would have felt if I had given in to you?'

'Not very good hopefully.'

'Quite so. One can't have everything one wants in this life.'

The reality might have been disappointing anyway. A twelve-year-old boy? Just a mere receptacle, not a true lover in any sense. Young boys couldn't make good lovers. They wouldn't know how to be. Good bedfellows, oh yes. Warm and cuddly, and good watchers, even good helpers. But not good lovers. I would have been a hopeless fuck, just lying there whimpering wanting it all to be over a s a p. If things get bad and a lengthy jail sentence looks likely, go off to the bathroom and get it over with, quickly, and come back with a bit of reality in your head. That's the theory anyway.

'I loved you in a way that was possible to love a boy like you. Not in every way. I could express that love in my own way and I'm truly sorry I treated you badly. I am sorry Alex. Just as I was then. At the time what I did was the only thing I could think of.'

'To disappear just like that?'

'Umm. I said I'm sorry. I shall never expect you to forgive me.'

'But I did, ages ago as it happens.'

'Come to bed then? Don't tell me you're still a virgin?'

'No I'm not, but it was with a boy Quintus. I might find a mannswanz a little harder to cope with.'

'What? Mannsswanz?'

'Oh, sorry. My stepdad was born in Germany. We get odd bits of Deutsch chucked in. A kinderkock isn't the same size as a mannswanz Quintus. A bit easier to deal with.'

'Sorry, there's not much I can do about my hairy mannswanz Alex.'

'I realise that, which is why I'm not jumping into bed with you with my kinder bum in the air saying come and get me big boy.'

We laughed. That's the thing about Quintus. He does have a sense of humour. But Quintus, I know, won't give up at this point. Not while he thinks he might get somewhere with me.

'Something else then? While you tell me about all the boyfriends you've had and what you did with them? It's Duncan now isn't it? I hear you've got Robbie into the fold too, just to make a nice threesome. Lovely boys, those two.'

'Well you can keep your hands off them, metaphorically speaking of course. And by the by, and for your information, I have sired a child.'

'What? A real one?'

'Yes he's very real. His name is Eustace. Sis as we call him. He's three now. I achieved that feat with a very nice lady called Anna. My former boyfriend's mother. She seduced me on three consecutive Thursday afternoons when I got home from school. I was lodging with the family for a few weeks. I just lay back and thought of England and she did the rest. I quite liked it as I thought of England and all those boys. Or rather one in particular. My kindersamen is of excellent quality, clearly. How's yours Quintus?'

'Fully functional Alex. I've not had any complaints thus far.'

'That's a big ask, if you'll pardon the expression Quintus. I saw it once as you came out of the shower. A mannswanz to be proud of I'd say.'

'Thank you. I didn't realize you'd seen. Sorry. That was not intended. Was I………?'

'Yes you were. I was impressed…….at the time, being rather diminutive in that department at my tender age.'

'And now?'

'And now…….kindly keep away from our boys please.'

' Your boys I think?'

'Alright, my boys.'

'I think you ought to bear in mind Alex, that you are not even a member of staff here. You are just ancilliary.'

'And you are?'

'Yes. A quite senior one as it happens. The notice hasn't gone up yet informing the rest of the staff……and the likes of you. If I want to talk to the boys, I can and shall.'

'And take them on a camping trip to the middle of Dartmoor I hear?'

'How do you know about that?'

'How do you think? Five boys and three tents. How does that work out then? Four boys share two tents, which leaves you and the odd boy out in the third tent? I don't think that would look too good in the promotional video would it? If people knew. The outward bound bit. Five boys bound for what kind of experience one wonders? And the nude bathing in the upper reaches of the River Dart. Very nice. Sleeping in bags that zip up together? What could be more convenient than that for a cosy cuddle up……. and the rest of it.

I had intercepted a message, one of the new electronic mail system everybody was getting on to, from Quintus to Angus Simpson, the headman, suggesting the idea of taking boys on a camping trip to emphasize the school's broad education policy, backed up by extensive visual evidence. Oh yeah?

'Such very beautiful friendships shouldn't be hidden away. We are all about relationships here Alex. Getting things out in the open. Celebrating our love and compassion for one another. I'm expecting your support here Alex, and I can't accept any opposition, especially from you. So how did you know?'

'I have access to a lot of information Quintus.'

'How much?'

'A lot. More or less everything electronic that goes on in this place. My job? Remember?'

We looked at each other and I can see Quintus is rattled by my confident expression. I imagine he thinks I'm bluffing, but as we all know, I not. There's a long silence while Quintus works out his next move.

'Perhaps you might talk to Duncan and Robbie about this camping trip? If the idea came from you, it would carry more weight?'

'It would, certainly, and they won't agree unless I say so. I'll just tell them it's not a wise move and they won't go on your ill-advised moorland nudist party.'

'Anything make you change your mind?'

'Possibly. I'll have to think about it.'

'How long will that take?'

'Not long if you agree to my conditions.'

'Alright. What are they?'

'Firstly, to not bother my insides with your mannswanz, although I have to admit to being rather curious as to the extent of its capabilities.'

'Really? I'm flattered. Would you care to satisfy your curiosity now, perchance?'

'Why not? By the way I'm quite good at it. My step dad is as gay as a large pink tent. When I reached that certain age when I needed to know about things, he told me, so I'm well informed.'

'Oh dear. You weren't a victim I hope?'

'No of course not. He's a friend. A lovely man. Better to know the right way to go about it than get into some sort of trouble with it.'

'You said……firstly. What's the second thing?'

'It's just between you two isn't it. You and Angus.'

'What is?'

'You know perfectly well Quintus. Your private little arrangement. I've seen everything. More than enough in fact. And it is a fact, so don't go on and tell me it isn't. I've seen it all. Angus's computer is an open book to me. Had you not suspected?'

'Oh bother.' Says Quintus. He knows better than think I'm not totally serious.

'How much have you seen?'

'More than enough thank you Quintus.'

'Have you made copies?'

'Yes, but everything. No naked boys up front and personal if that's what you're thinking of. But enough that strongly suggests , shall we say. That's your good luck, so far. Would you like me to do some wiping? Some rubbing out, or just some rubbing?' I said with a smile, and my customary raised eyebrows.

'Is that necessary do you think?'

Quintus has suddenly taken a far more conciliatory view of this situation, so gone is that 'I'm way more senior than you so do as you're told' attitude.

'Probably not, no.'

'Can we discuss this in bed Alex?'

'I'll think about that Quintus. But not now. I've got a life class starting in half an hour.'

'Hillary. She doesn't know anything then?'

'No. And you're not having Duncan or Robbie to play parts for you in your nefarious little video dramas.'

'So they're yours are they? Your property?'

'No, they're each other's.'

'And Robbie is living with you now?'

'Effectively, yes, but Robbie sees his sister and his father every day. It's because he can't share a room with his sister any more. They live in a tiny cottage.'

'Were things happening then?'

'Yes, reading between the lines. It had to change. But the sister, Rosie, comes round and plays with the boys for an hour or so in the evenings, or they go to the park together, especially now there's a bit more light at the end of the day.'

'Do the boys share a room?'

'Yes. They have taken over my room with a double in it.'

'Oh that's nice for them. Is that working well?'

'Fine as far as I can see.'

'See?'

'More like, hear Quintus. No one shuts a bedroom door in our house. They are best friends, and they love each other in that best friends kind of way boys do love each other. They don't want to call it love . That's far to sissy and soppy. But that's what it is. Absolutely pure and simple loving. That's what they are all about when they are together. We've taught them not to hide their feelings in front of us.'

'Or their bodies? So they can hold hands then?' Quintus asks, smiling broadly.

'Of course! And kiss if they feel like it, and sit in each other's laps to watch the telly.'

'And later? In bed?'

'What do you think Quintus? One is twelve and the other almost fourteen.'

'Oh goodness, that could be messy.'

'It is. Just one of my very necessary but rather pleasant domestic tasks every day, or most days. I don't nag them about tidiness. Just leave it where it lands.'

'How utterly charming. I'm insanely jealous. How do I get to be a part of this?'

'You don't Quintus. Unless…………'

'Unless what Alex?'

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