Noblesse Oblige
Book Two
Indian Summer

By: Pete Bruno & Henry Hilliard
(© 2013 by the authors)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 26
Così fan tutte 

“Do you need any help your lordship?” asked Stephen.  Uncle Alfred looked up from the roll of plans.

“No thank you Stephen, there is not much more to do until the central heating people come.   Have you seen the new table?”

Stephen hadn’t and followed him across to the dining room.  Stephen was at somewhat of a loose end.  Martin had gone back to school but Stephen wasn’t to start at the University of London for several weeks.  He had already spent a week with his stepfather at Croome, making sure he also spent time with Miss Tadrew, the lady who had helped raise him.  Stephen had played some cricket on Saturdays, however his teammates had played five matches without him and his position as the captain had been usurped by the curate.

He had also seen the Owens brothers, but they were much engaged in their work at the mill and Douglas, in particular, devoted his spare hours to his writing.  Even Elsie at The Feathers now had a steady beau—the man from the brewery—and while she had a smile and a kind word for Stephen, she was disinclined to do more than give him a hug and a pat to his groin.

Stephen had written to Christopher Tennant who was going to Leeds to look for accommodation, having gained a small scholarship and Chris had replied full of the news from home, but this brought little consolation to Stephen who gradually realised he was lonely.

Uncle Alfred opened the door to the new small dining room that was now separated from the larger one at Branksome house by a folding wall.  The new table was circular and could accommodate six people.  “See how Lutyens has copied the eighteenth century design of the big table, Stephen? The two halves can be added to the ends of it when required and otherwise they can make up a small table in here as you can see.”  It was a clever piece of work, like all the renovations to Branksome House, and which would soon be nearing completion.

Stephen looked at his watch.  It was still some hours until he could decently go to the Saville Club for a glass of beer and a chat to any members who might feel in the mood.  He went up to his room—or rather the bedroom he shared with Martin- and he picked up the speaking tube that hung on a hook by the big, canopied bed and blew into the brass mouthpiece.  In his room on the floor above Carlo was darning Stephen’s socks when he heard the piping of the tube’s whistle.  He picked up the instrument and put it to his ear. There was no sound.  He spoke into it: “Yes, Mr Stephen?”  There was still no sound.  “Mr Stephen, take it out of it; it’s not supposed to go there!”  There was the sound of laughter down the tube and Stephen said, “I wanted you to suck, Carlo, I think that would be very convenient.”

“I might have to tell Mr Chilvers of your behaviour, sir, said Carlo, amused.  “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’d like a bath Carlo.”

Carlo undressed Stephen, thinking that two years ago his master would never have let a servant do this.  He folded Stephen’s clothes and fetched the long-handled brush that he knew Stephen liked applied to his magnificent back and shoulders.

“I feel a bit at a loose end, Carlo,” confessed Stephen.

“We all miss his lordship, sir,” said Carlo.  “Is there nothing to be done at Croome, sir?”

“Well I suppose I could go back.  I might go down to Bournemouth to see Lord Branksome.  I don’t have a lot of friends in London, Carlo.”

“Yes sir, big cities can be lonely places, but you sir make friends easily, if I may say so, sir,” said Carlo applying the brush to Stephen’s shoulders.

“Do I, Carlo?  I never thought of that.  I think I was lonely before I met his lordship.  I never realised it then, but I do now.”

“Could you not go and visit Lord Martin at his school, sir?”

“Yes, I suppose I could. Could you wash my balls, Carlo?

“It would be a pleasure, sir.  Shall I use the brush?”

*****

Stephen went down to Bournemouth with Jackman driving him in the Daimler and he put up at the Royal Norfolk as usual.  He found William, Lord Branksome—his guardian—in a talkative mood, although his unnerving lapses in speech and slight twitches—almost seizures—were disturbing.  Stephen realised that he’d spent little time with William alone and was grateful for the chance.

William had little news to tell of his own life—although there were two new paintings to be inspected— but he was interested in all Stephen’s doings.  So Stephen talked of his prospective university degree and then of Uncle Alfred’s alterations to their London home.

William in reply recalled entertaining and slightly scandalous stories about the Pooles.  Stephen had no idea that Martin’s grandfather— the man whose portrait by Hayter hung so grandly in the Great Hall at Croome—was such a Regency rake.

Then William alluded to the men that he had been romantically involved with.  “I’m not shocking you, am I Stephen?” he said during a pause.  “Perhaps I should not be telling these things to an 18-year old, but I feel you are quite mature for your age—much more mature than I was back in 1902.  I guess I’ve always had a romantic nature,” he said wistfully and Stephen immediately thought of Mrs Leybourne.

“You know, I think I would have been happy with Tsindis—despite the smell of turpentine— but I would have had to abandon Croome and scandalise my whole family— my mother, father and brother.  And I could never be sure that Tsindis wouldn’t just move on to someone else—especially if I had no money.  He’s with your friend Craigth now isn’t he?”

“Archie is still at school with Martin, but he does stay in his studio when he comes up to London, I believe. He says he’s enrolling in the Slade next year.”

Then Stephen tried to put into words what he felt about Martin but found it difficult to express.

“I knew you were the right person for my brother the moment I saw you together in this room three years ago.  He worships the very ground…”

“No William, it is me who is the lucky one—I don’t mean just the money—I mean it’s for him that I now do things.  I want him to be proud of me.  I want Croome to be the place that he deserves—for you too of course.  More than that, I feel that I can be myself with Martin; we just like being together; we laugh at the same things—he can be quite naughty you know, although he looks such a golden-haired angel on the outside.”

“Tell me some of the naughty things he does,” said William eagerly.

“No, not without him here to defend himself, William—next time.  I will tell you about what happened in Germany, but please keep it confidential.”  William was intrigued, but was quite unprepared for the adventure story that Stephen unfolded.

“… so you see, Martin was cool and quick-thinking in a crisis, William; we worked together—actually, the three of us did really, because you can see what a fine chap Carlo Sifridi  has turned out to be—although he is a very cheeky valet.  Shall I tell you what he did with the brush while I was in my bath?”

And so the visit was concluded on a happy note.

*****

Stephen took a room at The White Hart and anxiously awaited Martin’s visit. Martin attended ‘absence’ after the Sunday service and left the school as if he were merely going for a stroll.  Under a hedge he had a change of clothes hidden and swiftly donned them and put his ‘half change’ uniform into the bag.  The inn was strictly out of bounds and so Martin had to approach it by stealth, keeping an eye out for any masters who might be also taking their ease on this Sabbath.

Martin knocked at the door and Stephen opened it, as he hoped, just wearing the lemon-silk pyjama bottoms that were enlivened by an attractive eruption of silky, soft, raven curls just above the waist; hair which matched the triangular patch in the middle of his naked chest.

They flew into an embrace, the workman’s cloth cap that was part of Martin’s disguise becoming dislodged in the process.  It was a few moments before they could speak.  “I’ve missed you Derby.  Have you bathed?”

“Not for two days, Mala, I was saving myself.”  He lifted up his armpits and Martin plunged in. “I know it’s you for certain when I can smell you.  I sometimes dream I’m with you, but there’s never your smell.”

“You dream about me?” asked Stephen.

“Yes of course, don’t you dream about me?”

“I can never remember my dreams.  Perhaps I don’t dream.”

“Everyone dreams,” said Martin a little disturbed.

“Let me look at you,” said Stephen as he roughly pulled Martin’s garments off.

“Your legs are thicker, Mala,” said Stephen, feeling them and then deciding to give the velvety skin a lick.

“Rowing machine,” Martin managed to gulp.

“And you have more hair here,” he added licking the blonde trail that led down to his hard, leaking cock.

“You’re becoming a man and I’m not there to see it.  And is your cock bigger?  I can’t remember what I did with my last measurements, Mala.”

“I’ve missed you too, Derbs,” said Martin replying to these unformulated expressions of Stephen’s longings.

“Do you think you could fuck me before I have to get back for absence?  Your pyjama bottoms look near ruined.”

“That was wonderful, Derby,” said Martin as he lay with his nose on Stephen’s chest in the silken ornamental half-diamond of coal-black locks.  “I didn’t think there’d be time for a second one.”

“I think the second was better, Mala; I was too urgent the first time.  I’m lonely at home, Mala.  I want you with me all the time.”

“Stephen, you are always telling other people that they’ll make friends.  You of all people will make lots of friends, I’m telling you.  Everyone loves you—and you can never be too urgent by the way.”

“You’re saying I should take the same advice I give to Chris and Donald?”  Martin nodded.  They lay in the hotel bed and talked, Martin enjoying the rising and falling of his chest and the bass rumble in his ear when his spoke. “Mala, come back here tonight.  Bring The Plunger.”

“How can I Stephen?”

“Find a way.  Look how we evaded Count Osmochescu.”

*****

The Plunger devised the most marvellous disguises: He put on a false beard and bushy eyebrows with spirit gum and wore an elaborate embroidered clerical vestment beneath a cloak lined with purple satin.  The Albanian Coptic bishop was to be accompanied by his young priest who wore a black curly wig and a clerical collar.

“If we manage to get out of the school, Plunger, no one will suspect a thing when they see two Albanian priests strolling in a dark country lane in England.”

“I think it’s best if you refer to me as Vladyka,” said His Beatitude as he donned a tall kalimafi.

The boys escaped from their house via a route prepared earlier and made their way in the dark to the gates which stood wide open in the moonlight.  The Plunger thought it might be too suspicious to walk through them and so the wall was scaled with the aid of a nearby tree. Archie’s tall, cylindrical kalimafi kept falling off and he commented that metropolitans in the Eastern Rite must not do a lot of wall climbing.  They had just reached the other side when The Plunger realised that he’d left his crook behind.  Time was fleeting so Martin took a chance and walked through the gate and returned with the silver-topped staff.

They proceeded down the road, so familiar in the daytime but quite different at night.  All of a sudden they heard the crunching of boots, the pace quickening as the wearer gained on them.

“Hello, Craigth. Hello Poole.  What are you doing here?”  It was Mr Daventry the sports master.

“Hello sir, out for a jog?” asked Martin.

“Yes I am.  I think the night air is bracing.  I like to go for a run before bed.  Mrs Daventry encourages it too. Should you boys be out walking at this time of night?”

This is awkward thought Martin, but he remembered his Baltic adventure and thought that the direct approach might just work. “We’re off to see a friend, sir.  He’s staying at The White Hart.”

“A friend of yours Poole?”

“Yes sir.  Actually he is my lover, sir.”

“Indeed Poole, and what’s the matter with him?”

“Well sir, he’s distraught without me, sir.  He has very strong needs you see, sir, and it’s affecting his cricket.”

“Affecting his cricket!”

“Yes, sir.  You’ve met him.  Stephen Knight-Poole.  All rounder.”

“The fine big fellow who bowls off breaks?” Martin nodded. “Well why didn’t you say so.  Let’s hasten if he’s in distress.  I have strong needs too—or so Mrs Daventry tells me—but it’s never affected my game, although I did drop a catch once when Zena Dare visited in 1908.”  They walked on.  “Yes, you’re a lucky fellow, Poole, to have a chap like that.”

“I think so sir.”

“Craigth, I thought you said you were half American…”

Mr Daventry was a sport and distracted the landlord so the two Albanians could climb the stairs to Stephen’s room. Martin knocked at the door and opened it a little. Stephen was in bed. He sat up with a look of alarm at Martin’s costume.

“Derbs, it’s me.  I’m here with The Plunger…and… we’ve brought Mr Daventry who was kind enough to help us.”

The gas was lit and Stephen was amazed at the sight before him. “How do you do Mr Daventry,” said Stephen. “Hello, Archie.”

“Its good to see you again Knight.  I’m so sorry to hear that your cricket has been affected,” said the sports master.

Stephen looked at Martin who made a shrug and said, “Oh Mr Daventry, he can barely talk about it.  He missed me so much his game was in tatters.  They were even going to drop him.”

“Oh yes, sir,” said Stephen catching on that Mr Daventry may have taken a few too many hard tackles in rugby.

“I only needed a two against Holes to avoid the follow-on and I was thinking of my Martin and swung wildly and was caught on the boundary.  I didn’t half cop it in the dressing room afterwards.  We were lucky to get the draw in the end.”

“Well, Poole.  This big fellow needs his desires fulfilled.  Get your robes off and jump in.  What’s your role here Craigth?”

“Well I was thinking of joining them sir,” said The Plunger, trying to hang his kalimafi on the hook behind the door.  “Stephen sometimes needs two or more people to do him justice.”

“I think you might like this, sir,” said Martin who was now naked and climbing under the covers.  He lifted them up to reveal Stephen’s splendid cock girded in the narrow black leather strap that also stretched his balls.

“It came from the same shop, sir.”

Mr Daventry looked delighted.  “With a cock like that, sir, you would have been made captain of our First XI even if you couldn’t bat or bowl at all.  What an inspiration he would be to the team in the shower baths, eh Craigth?”  The Plunger was moved to agree.  “And do your balls hang low from stretching them, sir?”

Stephen looked thoughtful. “Well, I think they were always like this, Mr Daventry—at least since I was 11—although I do like them stretched.”

“So do I, Mr Knight-Poole.  I bet they could take a fair bit of attention.  Do you see to that, Poole?” said the master as he felt Stephen’s privates.

“I do my best, sir, but it’s a lot of work.  He is insatiable.”

Stephen removed the handsome strap and let Daventry have a better feel.  Martin lifted his cock clear.  “I’d like you to have this as …err…a memento of the occasion,” said Stephen, handing it over to Daventry.  Daventry quickly removed his clothes and The Plunger helped him fit it.  It was admired in the looking glass. “Mrs Daventry will be pleased, boys.  She may even visit her mother’s less often.”

Martin and Stephen exchanged bemused glances. “Mr Daventry do you think you could help us satisfy Stephen. It might be a bit crowded, but his team would be most grateful if he was up to the mark for next Saturday’s match?”

I’ll make sure these two do a good job, Mr Knight-Poole.  They’re both sports champions in our school, you know.  And we’ll take our time; boys, I can get you back into school through the infirmary before morning prayers.”

In a few moments they were all squeezed onto the bed.  Martin sat on Stephen’s chest.  “Your not going to let him put that big thing up there, are you, Poole, he’ll kill you.”

“I certainly am sir.  I take it for the team.”

*****

“It’s your round, Knight,” said Fortune.

“Yes sir,” said Stephen and he went to the bar.  The pub was one in South Kensington much frequented by the Engineering students who were formidable drinkers.  Stephen had been persuaded by several of their number to join them for beer one Friday afternoon, about four weeks into the term.  With them was Charles Fortune who was their tutor in Engineering Design, a subject that he managed to make interesting for the students with the injection of a little humour and which was therefore in marked contrast to the subjects presided over by the older lecturers who dutifully wheeled out and dusted off one creaking jape per term and who, generally speaking, resented having to deal with the callow first year students at all.  Fortune was different: he was about 25 and had not long graduated himself.  He had an easy manner and, as Stephen was finding out, could be jolly company.  He was a slight young man with a rather untidy and anaemic moustache but he had an attractive face behind a pair of round spectacles and his rather shambling gait and slightly forgetful ways were endearing and quite appropriate for an academic.

Fortune was a little under the weather and was alternatively praising London life and cursing the expense of living in the metropolis.  He was on a part-time tutor’s lowly salary and thus grateful for his students buying him drinks, which they did not begrudge as they knew he had genuine affection for them unlike his older colleagues who struggled to remember their names.  Stephen found himself more and more drawn to Fortune as his fellow students departed and it was quite late when he realised that there was only the two of them left in the snug and that Fortune had his arm around his shoulder as he blaggarded the Faculty and the University.

“I think we’d better be going, Mr Fortune,” said Stephen.

“One more drink—if you’re buying,” said Fortune, lighting another cigarette when he already had one burning in the ashtray, “and call me Charles when we are in a tutorial in a public house.”

“Then you should call me Stephen, Charles,” said Stephen and he set down two more pints.

“Are you drunk, Stephen?”

“I don’t believe so, Charles.”

“It’s just you’ve gone a bit fuzzy.  Sure you’re not drunk?”

“I can’t be positive, Charles.  May I help you home?”

“Did I tell you you’re my favourite student?” said Fortune when they were out in the road.  Stephen said nothing. “You’re the only one who’s done all the damn reading and you’ve got half a brain.  Pity you drink too much or you would have made a good Engineer.”

“I don’t believe that has been an impediment before, Charles,” said Stephen referring to the other students. 

Fortune laughed then said “But you’re the damned hardest one to teach.”

“Why is that, Charles?” asked Stephen, briefly reflecting on his conduct in his tutorials.

“Because you’re too damned good-looking and always adjusting yourself in your trousers—makes me forget what I was saying.”

“I’m very sorry, Charles, I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“There you go again!” And sure enough Stephen had hefted his balls.

“It must be a nervous habit,” confessed Stephen, laughing.

“Have I told you what a swine the University is, Stephen?”

“No, Charles,” lied Stephen and Fortune launched again into his litany of complaints as they crossed the Fulham Road and navigated the narrow streets beyond it.  They stopped before a small and rather shahouse  “Well, thank you for seeing me home, Stephen. I hope you’re not too squiffy to get home to your digs.”

“I’ll get the train, Charles.”

“Then I’ll see you in our tute on Monday. No damn it; come inside for a few minutes. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Stephen had to retrieve Fortune’s latchkey from his pocket and they entered a dingy hall from which stairs rose to somewhere unknown.  Fortune opened the door to the front room and shepherded Stephen inside. The gas was already lit and the room was untidy with books and papers stacked high on every surface.  There was also a number of overfull ashtray and empty teacups ornamenting the scene.  It took Stephen a second or two to realise that there was a man sitting on a chesterfield reading.  He was old—thought Stephen—maybe 35, although at 18 he no longer thought of 30 as ancient as he had at 16.  The man had wavy dark hair and small, kind eyes.  He too wore spectacles.

“Stephen, this is Thayer,” said Fortune.

“Dr Thayer?” asked Stephen, “I’ve seen your name at the Faculty. I’m a first year student, sir.”

“Not doctor yet,” replied Thayer with a tight smile. “You must be the one that Charles tells me about.

How do you do?  I see Charles has been enjoying himself.  He doesn’t do this very often, sir.  I would not like you to get the wrong impression.  It has been a rather stressful week for us both.”

“Tell him, Jack, he’s a good listener,” said Fortune slumping into a chair on top of some papers and causing a teacup to fall to the floor where it smashed.

“Well I’m not sure the young fellow wants to hear my troubles. Let me make us some tea.  We don’t have staff.”  Thayer disappeared down the corridor and Fortune attempted to say something about having to do all the housework but then fell asleep.

Stephen was just thinking about taking his leave when Thayer returned with the tea.  He looked at Fortune and put his cup down where it remained untasted.

“The University would like to get rid of me Mister…?”

“Knight-Poole, but Stephen, please, sir.”

“Well they want to give me the boot, Stephen. If I can be frank: they don’t like my living here with Charles. Do you understand my meaning, young man?”

“I do sir, but how can they remove you?”

“Well, I don’t have tenure.  I obtained my position on the strength of my research and on the promise that I would publish.  This I have failed to do.  That is their excuse.  The University has a board that I’ll almost certainly have to appear before.  I was warned just a few days ago.”

“What is your field sir?”

“Structural systems using concrete.  I am writing a thesis on the systems of two Frenchmen, Hennebique and Cottancin.  I believe that concrete construction will be the foremost method this century, Mr Knight-Poole.”

“That is very interesting, sir.  I have heard those words before and I am interested in it too and have worked with someone—an Australian— familiar with the Monier system, which I know is also from France.  I look forward to reading your thesis.”

“That’s just the point.  I need two months leave to finish it and if I don’t, I face dismissal.  The University Disciplinary Board have the power to do that and the Academic Committee will probably refuse my request for more time.  And look at the mess here.  How can I work?  Charles has only his tutor’s salary and we take in lodgers but have no servants.  We can’t risk the gossip, Mr Knight-Poole, you see.  You wouldn’t understand and I have no right telling you these things.  I suppose you’re shocked.”

‘Not at all sir.  I have to be circumspect with my own living arrangements.”

“Oh, so you’re living with a girl or someone’s wife? I can imagine a lad like you would…”

“No sir, it’s not a woman.”

Thayer put down his cup with a clatter and looked up in surprise.  “Mr Knight-Poole I would never had…and Charles certainly…”

“Because I don’t look like a Nancy sir?”

“Well, yes I suppose that’s what I mean.  I hope I haven’t been offensive.”

“That’s all right, sir.  Inverts are compelled to lead their lives—or a part of their lives—in the shadows.  I will have to face that and so will my Martin.”

“Does he live with you, Stephen?”

“No sir, he is still at school in the country.”

“He is a farmer’s son?”

“In a way.  I lived nearby.  I was a scholarship boy but now my circumstances have eased.”

“You have somewhere to live in London?  We could find you a room in this house where you would be free to live with your Martin.

“That’s kind of your sir, but I’m very comfortable in my present digs and we are fortunate in that we can make sure there is no talk when we are together.”

“Wake up Fortune, you’re snoring and you’re neglecting our guest.”   Fortune roused himself and came and sat on the chesterfield with Thayer and put his arm around him.  They presented a very warm and affectionate picture.

“You can see how it is between us, Stephen?” said Thayer.

Stephen smiled and nodded.

“Isn’t he beautiful, Jack?” said Fortune. “I can’t help but look at him in class.  I will have to fail him just so he has to come back next term.”

Thayer kissed him and said, “I wish you’d look at me that way.”

“I have had a little money from home,” said Stephen, “would you be my guests to dinner say, next Tuesday or Wednesday?”

“That’s very kind of you Stephen,” said Fortune, “are you sure you want to spend your money on us?”

“Yes quite sure. It has been an education to see a happy couple.”

“Oh we fight sometimes, Stephen,” said Thayer. “I’m often made to sleep in the bath.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” said, Stephen, laughing, “I would never make my Martin do that, not unless I could sleep in the bath too.”

Stephen left them and hurried home.  He would have to get an early train for Croome as he had a match to play, but before he went to bed he was busy writing letters.

*****

The following Tuesday he arrived at the little house and the two friends greeted him warmly.  They took him to a hotel in Chelsea that had a good dining room and they repeatedly assured Stephen that it wasn’t too expensive.

They fell easily to chatting. Charles and Jack had been together for five years.  Fortune came from Ipswich where his father was a postmaster.  It had been a struggle to send him to school and then to the polytechnic.  He had worked at Smithfield Market to pay his way until he obtained the tutoring job.  He aimed to practice as a consulting engineer one day.

Thayer was much troubled by his failed marriage. He was now separated and his wife had custody of their eight year-old daughter.

“My wife is a lovely woman, Stephen,” he confessed in a low voice, “it was not her fault that I was an invert.

 I didn’t realise it when I married her—I should have of course—and I have ruined her life.  Her family, however, is another matter.  Her father would like to see me destroyed but he is restrained by the knowledge that if he has me dismissed from my post at the University, where he has influence through his brother-in-law, I will not be able to pay to support Emily and Ruby. How he must gnash his teeth at the thought of this dilemma! That is one of the reasons why we are so hard up; most of my income goes to them in Cheltenham. I haven’t seen them since we separated, but I am kept informed how they are through a friend. I have really made a mess of my life Stephen,” he said with a deep sign, “Meeting Charles is the only good thing I’ve ever done.”

“Do you think your wife would let you see your daughter, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She may, but her father wouldn’t allow it.”

The pudding came and they set to work eating. Presently Stephen said: “Lord Delvees is on the University Board, isn’t he?”

“Why yes, why do you ask?”

“I can’t exactly explain, but I think you will get your leave to write if you apply.”  The two men looked at him amazed.  “I have a friend…” he began and left the remark unfinished. “Jack, I also know a place in the country- in Dorset—where you could go to work.  You could live there and you would be fed and looked after; you could write all day if you wanted to.  Do you need to be close to the library at South Kensington to complete your thesis and could you bear to be separated from Charles?”

“No and certainly I could,” he said with a straight face and Fortune pretended to look hurt. “Is it your family’s place?”

“Yes, sort of.  You’d be quite comfortable and you could stay as long as you liked.  Charles and I could come at weekends, but I won’t disturb you unless you want to be.”

“Would there be room?  I would insist on paying for my keep.  I can’t have your mother keeping me for nothing.”

“My mother’s dead, Jack.  Wait until you’re there before you worry about money.  Will you go?”

Thayer and Fortune looked at each other and then Thayer nodded and said he would be very grateful for a place to write, “If I get my leave.”

“Oh you’ll get it; Lord Delvees is very sensitive to any sort of unfairness, especially to threats and blackmail, of that sort, I believe.”

They walked back to the house discussing how Charles would cope in London alone.  They had two boarders- single men who seemed disinclined to question their landlords’ sleeping arrangements and Fortune had to prepare their breakfasts before he went to his university job.  “We do have a charwoman and a laundress who come in, but no maid would stay in a house with two inverts,” said Fortune, gloomily.  Stephen went inside with them and some bottled beer was produced.  Stephen looked at the confusion in the room and wondered how Thayer could get anything done at all.  Thayer showed Stephen some of the standard texts on his special subject and tried to explain the finer intricacies of reinforced concrete.

“Yes, I will be very pleased to have a quiet little place to write up my thesis, thank you so much, Stephen.  I will see the academic committee tomorrow and should have an answer by the end of the week. How do you come to know Lord Delvees, if I may ask?”

“Oh he’s a friend of a friend.  I’ll tell you about it one day,” said Stephen, drinking his beer, and trying not to wonder about the cleanliness of the glass.”

“That only leaves one problem,” said Thayer. Stephen looked surprised. “How is Charles going to teach when you are such a distraction?”

“Well, I can’t very well hide in his study- there are only four of us. I could change subjects, I suppose,” said Stephen with a straight face. “Or he could swap with Mr Spencer.”

“Engineers look for simple structural solutions, Mr Knight-Poole,” said Fortune. “Do you think you could remove your clothes so I can see what I have only been able to imagine.”

“That is simple homework, sir,” said Stephen, “I usually sit like this in tutes, don’t I?”  Stephen removed some books from a hard chair and sat in it and pretended to take notes.

“That’s right,” said Fortune, “but your legs are usually spread wider.”

“Well it’s hot in your study, Charles,” said Stephen in his own defence, “and I get sweaty.”  He spread his legs and Fortune and Thayer exchanged looks and smiles.  “See what I mean Jack?”

Stephen then stood and removed his jacket and tie. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head.  He wore no vest.  He ran the palm of his right hand over himself.  He then sat down again and untied his boots and removed his hose.  Fortune and Thayer watched, entranced.  Stephen then stood again and undid one button on his trousers and they fell about his ankles.  As usual he was naked under them.  He then sat back in his tutorial chair and pretended to take notes, with a straight face, and mimed asking questions with his hand raised.

“Look at the size of him!” said Fortune, “How can I talk about the design of mining pumps when I know that thing is lurking just a few feet away in his trousers?”

“It would be a little bigger but it’s cold in here,” said Stephen.

“May we inspect you a little closer Stephen?” asked Thayer.

Stephen swaggered over and clasped his hands behind his head.  His cock was rising and stood out before him.

“What Engineering principle does this illustrate, Mr Knight-Poole?” asked Fortune.

“Hydraulic or structural, sir?”

“Structural.”

“Why, it’s a simple cantilever.”

“You’re correct, Mr Knight-Poole, although this one is hardly simple. Could you change your thesis topic, Jack?”

“Might we pleasure you Stephen, to show our gratitude?” asked Thayer.

Stephen thought: Why not? And moved closer.  He rubbed the head of his penis over the lips and noses on his seated friends while they reached up and felt his chest- in fact while they felt all the parts of Stephen that they could reach from the chesterfield.  Then they both put their heads into his groin and inhaled deeply and then, together, ran their lips and tongues from the root to the tip on either side of Stephen’s cock.

Fortune and Thayer took turns in sucking Stephen. He became so hard that they were starting to find it impossible to bend his cock down. They enjoyed snapping it against his stomach.

“You’re hard as a rock, Stephen,” said Fortune.

“Reinforced concrete,” said Stephen smiling. “I haven’t pleasured myself since this morning.  I often have to do it a couple of times a day when my Martin isn’t with me—actually even when his is with me,” added Stephen ruefully.

“Let me finish myself off, boys,” said Stephen. They laid him down on the chesterfield with his head in Fortune’s lap and his legs parted either side of Thayer.  Stephen set to work with his left hand, then his right and then with both hands.  He closed his eyes and his hair fell forward as he spilled an impressive load, the first two shots of which landed on his own face. He lay there panting and then lazily stretched his arms.

“Well that was very nice!” he said smiling and looking around.

Fortune and Thayer were speechless. “We don’t usually do this sort of thing, Stephen, said Thayer.

“Oh,” replied Stephen, disappointed. “Well, I wouldn’t like to interfere in your relationship, but I did need to spend quite badly.  I wouldn’t be able to read chapter 6 of ‘The Design Brief’ for tomorrow if I hadn’t been relieved.”

“No, I’m really glad we did,” said Thayer, “it was very intense.”

“I still don’t know how I’m going to conduct the tutorial,” laughed Fortune.

“I’ll have a little surprise for you tomorrow morning,” said Stephen as he went to dress himself.  The others jumped to their feet and dressed him- not allowing him to touch a thing.

When Stephen was out of sight of the house he found a taxi that took him speedily back to Piccadilly.  He really did have some reading to do and he his mind was already occupied with what he would tell Martin and how Thayer would cope with Croome.

The next morning Stephen called Carlo on the speaking tube. “Carlo have you see my strap?”

“You mean your…?”

“Yes, that one. Could you help me find it?”

Carlo removed his own trousers and reluctantly unfastened the shiny leather strap that was such an ornament to Stephen’s cock and such a stimulus to his testicles.  He went down to Stephen.

“Here it is,” said Carlo, producing it from a cupboard by a conjurer’s trick.

“Thank you Carlo.  Would you help me put it on?  I say, it’s warm.”

“Oh the cat was sleeping on it, sir,” said Carlo, quickly bobbing down lest Stephen see him blush.

Stephen was the first in Fortune’s tutorial.  He walked over and placed the tutor’s hand on his groin.  Fortune felt it thoroughly, his own cock hardening in his trousers.  Stephen quickly unbuttoned and revealed the handsome leather strap girding his privates.  He quickly buttoned-up again.  Stephen was merciless and sat grinning with his legs wide apart, giving his cock an occasional scratch while Fortune stammered and stuttered and got the names of inventors of the new German alloys hopelessly mixed up.  He glared at Stephen when the tutorial came, at last, to an end.

*****

Thayer sat in the second-class carriage with Stephen.  As predicted, the committee did not refuse his leave and even wished him well.  Thayer had six suitcases to manage, five of which contained papers and books and weighed heavily.  Stephen had his own small handbag that he brought down to Croome on the weekends.

They chatted about the University and about engineering.  Thayer was fretting that Fortune would not be able to manage the house or their lodgers. “Would you employ a housekeeper if you could find a discreet one?” asked Stephen.

“Well, she’d have to be a cook/housekeeper. It would be a lot to undertake.”

“But there are only four of you and the house is not large.  You do have a char and a washerwoman.”

“Yes, I suppose if you look at it that way.  But you may not have noticed; we are not all that tidy, Charles and I.”  Stephen nodded and changed the subject.

When they alighted at the station the stationmaster was surprised to see young Mr Knight-Poole emerge from a second-class carriage.  They all helped the porter retrieve the suitcases and they were taken to a trap waiting in the yard. “Your cottage is beyond the village, Stephen?”

“Yes, Jack.  It’s a nice walk or cycle, but too far with all your bags.”

As they passed through the village Stephen was greeted by Miss Tadrew, Reuben Owens and Mr Destrombe.

“I’m not surprised that you are a popular figure, Stephen,” said Thayer, good-naturedly.  He looked around from left to right when they were beyond the village to see if their prospective destination was in sight. “Is it far from the village Stephen?”

“Not far.”

They entered the elm avenue, now golden in its autumn garb.  “This looks like private property,” observed Thayer.

“It is.”

They reached the bend where the gap gave onto a vista of Croome at its most splendid.

“What’s that enormous place?” asked Thayer.

“That’s home,” said Stephen, savouring the surprise.

Thayer’s jaw dropped as Stephen hoped it would and he stammered and spluttered worse than Charles in his tutorials.

“I can’t stay here.  I don’t know the family or anything!  What will I wear?”

“Well, there’s only me.  Lord Branksome is an invalid and in a sanatorium.  I am his ward.  His younger brother, Martin, as I’ve said, is away at school.  His uncle is up in London where I live during the week.”

“Your Martin,” Thayer began in an urgent whisper so the driver didn’t hear, “is the brother of your guardian?”

“Yes.” said Stephen and reading his mind said:  “Yes, it is very convenient.  I have been enormously fortunate, Jack.  I hope that I can—that Martin and I can—help you.  I hope you’re not cross.  I feared you might not come.  I hope that we can be friends, Jack.  I’m quite new to all this too.  My stepfather is just a cottager—although I don’t mean ‘just’ in a bad way—he’s the most wonderful man I know.”

Thayer was speechless and was introduced to Chilvers in a trance.

“I have prepared the Waterloo Room for you, sir and the one next door to that would be very suitable for writing.”

“Doesn’t it have a name Mr Chilvers?” asked Stephen.

“It was called the Regent’s Room, I believe sir, but after 1848 his lordship’s grandmother came to disapprove of his late Majesty’s more amorous peccadilloes—especially in respect of Mrs Fitzherbert  and refused to use the name.”

“Mr Chilvers,” said Stephen suddenly, “I haven’t seen Mr Kells the librarian for some time; is he well?”

“I believe he left us about four months ago, Mr Stephen, Janet found a note in his room one morning and that’s all we know.  Very curious sir.”

Thayer was settled and Stephen wandered in just wearing his lemon silk pyjama bottoms whose waist was just above his arching cock. “Shall we have tea here?  I have to go off and see my stepfather, but I’ll come back here for dinner.  Would you like to have it in the gothic dining room—it might be fun.  I’ll ask Chilvers when he comes up.  I’ll also introduce you to our own engineer, Mr Herman Moss.”

The little dinner went off very well.  Although they just wore their ordinary clothes, the gothic room was impressive place to dine.  Moss and Thayer liked one another straight away.  Stephen was careful to make it clear that Moss was returning to Australia to his sweetheart and Moss was pleased at the prospect of a companion in the rather lonely big house.  Naturally concrete and universities were topics of conversation.  Moss described Stephen’s construction projects at Croome and then turned to the oddities of living in the big house.

That night Thayer found his way to Stephen’s room.  He knocked and Stephen told him to come in.  Thayer was in striped pyjamas under a checked dressing gown.  Stephen was naked in bed as usual and was sitting up bare-chested reading ‘Three Men in a Boat.’

Thayer sat on the bed. “Stephen, I just want to say how grateful I am.  This will make a big difference to me. You know…my life has been such a mess…and I don’t want to muck this up.”

Stephen once again read his mind. “I think we’d find it convenient to sleep in our own rooms, don’t you?”

“Yes, I think so too,” said Thayer, relieved, “not that I wouldn’t like to—your Lord Martin is a lucky fellow- but I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have Charles.  I don’t want to lose him to a younger chap either.”

“I’m no ‘home wrecker,’ Jack.  I could not live without my Mala—that’s what call him.  You know,” he said more brightly, “he will be home for a few days in a fortnight.  Do you think Charles would like to come down then too?”

“I’d better write to him and tell him what to expect. Our lodgers will have to look after themselves, but he will love it here.”

“And until our partners get here we’ll keep to ourselves.  However, I feel that I must pleasure myself right now, Jack,” said Stephen indicating the seismic shift in the bedclothes.  “I think it will be a big load.  Could it have been the oysters?  You can go or stay and help.  I can always use some constructive criticism.”

To be continued... 

Thanks for reading.  If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I would love to hear from you.

Posted: 12/20/13