Richard's Story
by: Will B
(© 2008 by the Author)
Advisor: E Walk

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

Aided, abetted, encouraged and edited by EW and GY,

Who are two of the nicest guys, editors, mentors, I have met

ever since I started posting in April 2007.

“Yes, Sir. Thanks to Mr. Richard and Mr. Troy, it will be. And may I say, Sir, that I think Mr. Philip will be a welcome addition to the family.  And may I also say that Lady Muriel is quite a nice lady. Quite nice.”

“Yes, Chumley, you certainly may say so, on both counts.  Oh, and, er . . .  Chumley, I must say that Alistair Sim was quite the best Scrooge.”

“With respect, Sir, I think Reginald Owen.”

“Sim!”

“Owen, Sir!”

“Sim!”

“Owen!”

Part 9

BOXING DAY AT WEATHERCOCK MANOR

It was 6:00 a.m. The wind whistled around the thick walls of Weathercock Manor. All the bedrooms were warm because even though the fires had gone out, the floors were covered with thick carpets, and each window had three layers of insulation: first, the window blinds were drawn, second white woolen drapes were pulled across the windows, and finally, dark red velvet drapes kept the freezing winter cold outside—where it belonged.

Somewhere an alarm clock was going off. It was getting louder and louder. Jimmy Venables gradually began to wake up, and said “Damn! Where is that clock. Someone better turn . . . Oh, it’s my clock!”

Now fully awake, Jimmy turned off the alarm, and turned to see Philip lying next to him, completely in the buff. He was lying on his back, and his penis was semi-tumescent.

“God, he’s beautiful. I like him so much! What if he is asleep! I’ve got to kiss him.”

Jimmy turned over and kissed Philip on the lips, then on his chin, then his neck. His mouth moved down to Philip’s chest, his pecs, his nipples, which received a thorough tongue bath, with some gentle nips.

Jimmy turned his attention to Philip’s flat taut abdomen, using his tongue to explore Philip’s six-pack of muscles and his navel, pushing against that delectable ‘innie’ as if it were an opening to a real love channel.

Jimmy was not going to stop now: lower and lower his lips moved, down to the treasure trail of reddish hair. He buried his nose in the silken hairs, inhaling the manly odor of Philip’s pubes.

By now Jimmy’s cock was standing straight out and was adorned with a pearly drop of milky white fluid. Jimmy was delirious with lust, with love, with longing. He wanted to take that beautiful shaft into his mouth. He wanted to run his tongue over the purple spongy helmet. He wanted to run his tongue up and down the veiny shaft, which stood tall and rock-hard from  the ministrations of Jimmy’s marauding mouth.

Jimmy was now more than ready to take the prize he had been aiming for into his watering mouth, but just as he was about to suck the glistening helmet of Philip’s engorged penis, he heard Philip say, “ Jimmy, that’s a wonderful way to wake a guy up; but now that I’m awake, I’ve got to piss. Stay here, and you can continue to ravish my horny hunky body—and believe me, my friend, I want to return the favor!”

 

“No,” said Jimmy, “I’ve got to piss also. We’ll go together, and then we can cum together! Heh heh!”

Returning from the bathroom, the two young men lay down again, assuming the sixty-nine position, so that each could feast his eyes, and then his lips and tongue on the other’s rigid organ—and feast they did.

* * * * *

In another equally warm room, Richard and Troy were also awake and lying in each other’s arms.

Richard lay on his back and raised his legs in the air. “See anything you like, lover?”

“Ohhhh, yeahhhh! I see a beautiful rosebud waiting to be savored. Let me look a little closer!” said Troy.

He began to kiss Richard’s inner thighs, each kiss bringing him closer to that ‘garden of earthly delights.’

Richard raised his butt into the air so that Troy could more easily reach his goal.

Troy’s tongue flicked in and out and gradually approached that winking and blinking pink treasure. He reached it, and then pushed his tongue in a little further.

“She breaches! She breaches!” said Richard, sounding like Captain Ahab. “Ahoy, Mr. Starbucks, sink your harpoon in as deep as ye can. Sink it! Sink it! Oh, sink thy weapon of ass destruction as deep as ye can.”

‘Mr. Starbucks’ had to follow his captain’s orders, so, in deed, in fact, and in great pleasure he rammed his harpoon into the quivering ‘body of the beast’ as far as he could.”

Then began that most exciting of morning exercises, a Nan-fuckit sleigh ride!

Richard was almost out of his mind with sensations of pleasure as Troy’s male member pushed against his sphincter, and then moved farther into Richard’s internal passages.

“Ooohhhh, Uhhhh, Aaaarghhhh,” was all Richard could manage to say. He wanted Troy’s tool to drive far and hard and deep into his quivering anus. He wanted Troy to impale him, to nail him, to take up permanent residence in his body.

Troy could not think of anything but how much he wanted to pleasure, to possess, to conquer the writhingbody beneath him, moaning, ‘Push! Push again!

Troy responded and began to grind his body against his love’s body until he felt his balls fall against Richard’s ass!  Richard was moaning, “Again! Harder! Deeper! Deeper!”

It wasn’t long before Troy explosively discharged his man-milk into Richard’s hungry, quivering, convulsive, gripping love tunnel. Shot after shot of his white nectar coated Richard’s innermost parts, while Richard coated his own chest and neck and chin with the creamy white delectable syrup of the sweet smelling liquor of sex that was shooting from  his engorged shaft.

Troy hated any sort of waste, so he quickly cleaned his lover’s body with his tongue and then kissed Richard with his mouth open so that Richard could taste his own cum.

The two lay in each other’s arms and drowsed until 8:00 when Richard said, “Listen, my dear fucker, we’d better take ourselves into the shower, clean up and get ready to go to breakfast. For some reason, I’m starved!”

* * * * *

It was 7:30 a.m. in the bedroom shared by M. André, the cook, and Chumley, the butler. The two elderly retainers were lying in bed, André was spooned against Chumley’s back, and the cook’s arm was wrapped around Chumley’s chest and torso, his hand idly playing with Chumley’s chest hair.

“Ummm, your hand feels so good,” said Chumley.

“Oh, Chum, holding you makes me feel so good,” replied the cook.

“Andy, I’ve spoken to Master Ponti and asked him if, when we retire, we could stay on at the Manor, perhaps paying for our room at a reduced rate, since we’re senior citizens!”

“What did he say, Chum, old chum?”

“He . . . he . . . told me not to be silly. He said we were not just ‘old retainers,’ we were old friends. He said that we had stood by him whilst he was struggling to make the Manor a paying proposition, that we had sometimes missed a paycheck and never complained. He would be pleased if we would live here as long as we liked at absolutely no charge at all.”  Chum’s eyes began to fill up.

“That was very kind of him,” said Andy, who suddenly got a wicked gleam in his eye. “But, Chum, my dear, I kind of thought we might buy a cottage on the South coast of France, you know one near a nude beach where we could observe the er . . . the wild life of sexy young men!”

Chumley turned over to face his lover, ready to tell him what he thought of that idea, when he saw that Andy was silently laughing.

“You got me again, Old Bean. I thought you were serious.”

“Chum, the only thing I’m serious about is being with you, and making you happy. I think Master Ponti has once again demonstrated what a fine person he is.”

There was no more talking as the two gray-haired men kissed, and let their hands explore each other’s, shall we say, portly bodies, finding those spots that brought soft sighs and moans of pleasure.

* * * * *

It was 7:45 and Ponti was in his library seated at his desk, working on estate business. On three walls of the room, the library had bookshelves that reached the ceiling. The top three rows contained books that Ponti had inherited from his father and grandfather. Frankly he had never even opened most of them.

The bottom two shelves were crammed with books that he had read and loved: the mysteries of Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, and Marjorie Allingham, the works of Charles Dickens, books about English and European history, and some about estate management.

A fire burned in the grate, and Ponti was thinking about the future of the Manor. His son, Jimmy would eventually inherit the Manor, and carry on the hotel aspect of it, and if Jimmy did not have any children, the Manor would pass to . . . to Reverend Thomas Venables, and after him to his granddaughter Agatha.

Ponti smiled as he thought about Agatha’s approaching marriage to the American serviceman. ‘I hope she and her husband will want to keep up the Manor,’ he thought to himself, ‘but I won’t be here to see it, and I’m not going to worry about it.’

There was a knock on the door. “Come,” said Ponti. In came Lady Muriel, dressed simply in a blue dress with white belt and white shoes, and her face carrying no make-up except for a little face powder. ‘Egad, but she’s really quite attractive,’ Ponti thought.

“There you are, Ponti. I just wanted to say ‘Good morning,’ and to thank you again for solving the mystery.”

“Oh, dear lady, it was nothing, but, won’t you sit down? Would you like some tea?”

“That would be ab-so-lute-ly lov-er-ly,” Lady Muriel said.

“Mmmm. Eliza Doolittle in ‘My Fair Lady,’ I think.”

Lady Muriel smiled, and Ponti moved to the bell pull, and pulled it. “I say, have you had breakfast yet? Would you do me the pleasure of having breakfast in here with me?” he asked, suddenly a little shy and nervous.

“No, I haven’t, and yes, I would,” Lady Muriel replied.

Jimmy (who had come downstairs half an hour earlier to help Philip in the kitchen) came to the library, and said “You rang, Papa? Oh, good morning, Lady Muriel.”

“Yes, Jimmy, would you bring breakfast for two in here, but first bring two cups of tea.”

“Yes, sir, and if I might mention it, later Philip and I would like to talk to you abut his getting a worker’s visa or permit.”

“Of course, Jimmy.”

“Oh, Jimmy, I have some friends in the Home Office, and Foreign Office. Perhaps I may be able to help,” Lady Muriel said with a smile.

“Thank you, your ladyship. Very well, Papa, tea first and then breakfast,” Jimmy said as he left the room. As he went back to the kitchen he thought about the scene he had witnessed in the library. ‘I’ll bet Papa is smitten with Lady Muriel, and I think that I approve, not that he needs my approval,’ he thought to himself.

In the library Ponti was thinking about his ancestors: the Adam Venables who had gone on the Crusades, the Francis Venables who had fought for King Charles against Oliver Cromwell, and the John Venables who had gone to fight in the Crimea and had come home to be knighted by Queen Victoria.

‘Damn, my ancestors were not afraid to do what their hearts told them what was the right thing to do, and I’m not going to be afraid either.” In an instant his mind was made up.

Turning to his guest, he said, “Lady Muriel, I . . .”

She interrupted him, by smiling and saying “Please, just Muriel.”

“Oh, all right, Muriel, I am not a wealthy man. I am struggling to make the Manor a success, and other than the Manor, I don’t have many worldly assets . . .”

Again, Lady Muriel interrupted. “Ponti, you are a wealthy man in the real sense. You are brave and you are loyal, and . . . I . . . I just don’t want to hear you selling yourself short.”

“Muriel, what I want to say is that whatever I have, I give you, with my hand and heart. I know this is sudden, but . . .”

“Ponti, your offer is sincere, and it doesn’t matter whether we’ve known each other for just five days, five months, or five years, you know what you want, and I . . . I know what I want, too.”

The two looked at each other and suddenly they were in each other’s arms, holding each other and they kissed! And kissed again, and then again.

Suddenly Muriel broke away, and said, “Ponti, there is something I must tell you. It’s not a big thing, but I want you to know.”

“What is that, Muriel? I don’t care what you may have done. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to make you my Lady of the Manor.”

“That’s just it, Ponti, that’s what I wanted to tell you. When I was seventeen, I . . . I didn’t go to Miss Cavendish’s Very Select Finishing for Young Ladies. I took courses in business management at the London School for Economics. I’ll be able to help you run Weathercock Manor.  Now that I’ve confessed my ‘guilty secret,’ could you, would you, kiss me again?”

* * * * *

At 8:15 Richard and Troy went to breakfast and found that Jimmy and Philip had prepared a hardy breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage, kippered herrings, fried tomatoes, fried potatoes, and of course lashings of hot tea.

Ponti came in with Lady Muriel on his arm, both of them looking mighty happy. They approached the table and Troy and Richard stood up.

Ponti was beaming. “Richard and Troy, you have done so much for the Manor, that I wanted you to know that Muriel has made me the happiest man in the world.”

Richard and Troy responded with “Congratulations, Sir, and I hope you’ll be very happy, ma’am.”

Muriel corrected them. “No, not ma’am. I’m not the Queen, I’m Muriel, and I just want to say that I look forward to seeing you visit the Manor many times in the future—as friends, not paying guests.”

She held out her hand as if to shake it, but as each man went to take her hand, she gave  a big hug to each of them.

* * * * *

Later that day, Ponti asked Richard and Troy what their plans were.

“We thought that tomorrow we would drive up to London and spend a day or two seeing the sights. Then we’d like to come back here for the remainder of our leave, if that’s convenient.”

“It’s quite convenient. There will always be a room for you here,” Ponti said, and then thought amoment before saying, "I have a friend who runs a hotel in London. It’s not the Ritz, but the atmosphere is cozy. The service is excellent, and the food is very good. It’s called Bertram’s Hotel. I’ll give you a letter of introduction later this afternoon.”

“That’ll be great!” Troy said.

Later that day, Ponti gave Richard a sealed envelope. “Just give this to Bertram. He’ll take care of you.”

The next morning, Richard and Troy drove to London and checked in at Bertram’s Hotel, and gave the letter to Bertram himself.

The owner/manager, a man in his late fifties, opened the envelope and began to chuckle. “Why that old elephant! He did remember! Do you gentlemen know what’s in this letter?”

“No, Sir, we don’t.”

“Well, first of all, Ponti reminded me of a scrape or two he got me out of when we were at Harrow together, and then he said that your bill was to be sent to him. You are to be his guests for as long as you wish to stay.”

“Well, gee whiz! That is simply great.”

Richard and Troy spent three days and two nights in London, They did all the usual tourist things: the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, St. James’ Palace, the British Museum, and so forth. They decided they wanted to buy a gift for Ponti and Muriel. Like many men, they did not want to send their time wandering from store to store, fighting crowds. They thought about it and they asked Bertram what he thought would be a good gift.

They decided on a famille rose bowl of a beautiful deep red. “That will look good wherever Ponti and Muriel decide to put it,” Troy said.

The two enjoyed the rest of their stay in London, but returned to Weathercock Manor, to celebrate the New Year.

In their room at 1:00 a.m. New Year’s Day, Troy said, “You know, Richard, all this travel is fun ,  but what I like the best is being at home with you—and home is wherever you are! I guess Dorothy was right when she said ‘There’s No Place Like Home!’”

“You got that right, Babe.”

BACK AT THE BASE

When Troy and Richard went back to the base, they returned to the routine of daily duties. For some reason, discipline cases were few and far between. The men at the base had made many friends in the village, and disputes between the town and the base seldom occurred.

Every six weeks, Richard and Troy flew back to spend the weekend with their sons. Mama and Papa Vidmark were always delighted to see them, of course, and if they heard Troy quietly leave his room and go to Richard’s room after the house was dark, they never said a word.

Richard did notice that on each visit, Mama seemed a little older, a little more tired. Whenever he said anything about it, Mama just said she was fine, and he was not to worry.

Happy in their work, and happy in their love, Richard and Troy hardly noticed the weeks and months flying by until it was their last week of duty before their discharge.

One morning, about 11:00, they were summoned to the office Major Clive, the commander in charge of the base. When they got there they were surprised and delighted to see Tom, Ponti, and Muriel Venables there as well.

“Gentlemen, this letter has arrived for you, and when I saw the envelope I thought I would ask some of your friends to be here. I hope you don’t mind the delay?” Major Clive said.

Richard took the envelope and saw the Royal Coat of Arms on the outside. He showed it to Troy, and they opened it. Inside was a single sheet of cream stationery, again, embossed with the Royal Arms. They read,

Windsor Castle, 17 May.

Messrs Richard Vidmark and Troy Hunter;

Gentlemen, I am commanded by Her Majesty, the Queen to extend her personal thanks for all you have done to improve Anglo-American relations, and to assist in solving a mystery that has threatened the British Tourist Business. I am further commanded to say that Her Majesty understands that your tour of duty in the United States Army is almost finished, and she extends her personal best wishes for a long and happy life in the years to come.

Sincerely,

Isabella Fawnshaw-Marjoriebanks, Lady in Waiting to Her Majesty.

“Oh, wow! A letter from the Queen.

“You know, gentlemen,” Reverend Tom said, “The monarch sends very few letters in her own handwriting.  Ever since Queen Victoria learned that one of her grandsons sold a letter she had written him to a friend the reigning monarchs have hesitated to write personal notes.  That’s why she ‘commands’ a lady in waiting to write in her name.” 

Ponti and Muriel just beamed their happiness for their friends.

“But, wait, there’s more,” Major Clive said, sounding like a television commercial for a kitchen appliance. “The two of you are being promoted to the rank of captain, retroactive to January 1. There will be an adjustment to your pay and this will also have an effect on any pension.”

Richard and Troy could barely manage to stammer, “Thank you, Sir.”

Major Clive saved the day, by saying, “Now I hope the two new captains, and our guests will honor me by joining me for lunch in the Officer’s Club.”

When the party arrived at the Officer’s Club, they saw the dining room had been decorated with a large banner that said “Welcome, Captain Vidmark and Captain Hunter,” and all the men and women stood and clapped as the group made their way to the head table.

Just when Richard and Troy thought they had had enough surprises, Jimmy Venables appeared and said to Richard, “Good morning, Captain, my name is Jimmy and it will be my pleasure to serve you. I can recommend the baked Spam, or the broiled Mystery Meat.”

Then Philip Morris was at Troy’s side, and introduced himself in the same way, recommending the Tuna Surprise.

Richard and Troy and the rest of the group were laughing so hard they couldn’t speak for a minute.

Finally, Richard said, “Just bring us whatever your personal favorite would be, Jimmy. Thank you.”

The meal was delicious and the time passed pleasantly.

A few days later and it was the last day of Richard and Troy’s service. Again they were summoned to Major Clive’s office. Again they were surprised to see Reverend Tom there.

Major Clive began. “Richard, I wish with all my heart I didn’t have to tell you this but I’ve had a phone call from your father. It’s bad news, I’m afraid.”

“Dear God, not my sons, please!”

“ No, Richard. Your sons are fine. It’s your mother. She . . . she died in her sleep last night. She felt no pain. She . . .”

Richard sat silently, for a minute and then his shoulders began to shake, then his whole body. Troy looked at Major Clive, and said, “Excuse me, Sir.”  Clive nodded, and Troy just took Richard and held him, just held him until Richard began to relax.

When Richard had quieted, he started to say, “If only I had known . . .

“No,” said Reverend Thomas, “ You were not to know. None of us know when death will come. Just know that your mother was proud of you, She loved you, and she loved your sons. She is at peace, and whatever illness she may have had, she is not in pain any more.”

The Major said, “You were to fly home tomorrow, but I have signed orders, ending your service today. As soon as you can, go get your things packed, a plane will be ready to take you back to Baltimore. After all you have done for this base, for the Army, and for the town, it is the least we can do.”

Richard and Troy hurried to their quarters, and packed their bags. When they went out the door to get in the awaiting jeep, they were shocked to see all the men at the base and many of the villagers as well, lined up, standing on both sides of the road, the service men and women at attention. As they drove to the airfield, the men in the army saluted, and the villagers waved. Someone had made a banner that said “God Bless You Both.”

And so, Richard and Troy, their hearts heavy with sadness, but grateful to their comrades-in-arms, and their friends in the village for this last gesture, boarded the plane, and soon were headed for Baltimore.

To be continued.

Feedback always welcome, because your messages feed my imagination.     

Posted: 07/25/08