There was quite a crowd down in the drawing-room and, as we arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the front door had to be opened again by an attentive Sergeant Wilton and the two McFarlane brothers came in looking almost like twins in their matching Highland garb though I knew Graham was about seven years older than Martin. Rude Jonathan often referred to them as Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Or, just Dum and Dee, but he did admit neither was dumb! My, it was a real Scots crowd as all the males, other than Grandfather Sinclair in his trews and the Sergeant in a suit were in the kilt, and the ladies, Mum and my sisters, had long dresses with a Sinclair or Drummond plaid over their shoulders. I saw David smiling at Caroline and he put a finger to his lips as if to blow her a kiss. Though they were my sisters and I was a boy I could judge my sisters and pronounce them stunning. If girls had an effect on boys then I would guess that David’s and Martin’s briefs were a bit distended at the front. Good job there wasn’t anyone there for Jonathan or he might have two causes for stiffening.
Dad didn’t have his military dress uniform on but was just like Jonathan and me in a Drummond kilt and silver-buttoned jacket. Sergeant Wilton had a camera and made us all stand as an extended family. The two MacFarlane lads stood one on each side and when we had the photos later Jonathan said they looked like guardian bulldogs!
Grandfather had his Highland thumb-stick with him as he was getting slightly unsteady at times. I knew Mum hoped it wasn’t Parkinsons and I’d looked that up and even asked Fergus about it. He called out that there would be two taxis to take us and there would be two to return and we would all be returning once the Ceilidh had finished. Wow! That was good as usually I’d had to come back early, especially if Great-Aunt Cassie was with us, but this coming year she was retiring from her Fellowship at Cambridge and was spending two semesters, as the Americans called their terms, in a College in the States. I slipped away for a moment as I had to say to Pinocchio I would be back later to take him upstairs to bed. Stupid boy, talking to a cat! But then so did Sergeant Wilton to all of them. Also, I had to collect something from the downstairs airing cupboard as I had forgotten it upstairs.
We all lined up ready when the Sergeant announced the taxis had arrived. Grandfather led the way with Mum and Dad with my sisters and Marty for the first one. David had missed out going with Caroline as there was only room for five passengers in the back and Grandfather would ride in the front with Mr Briggs the driver.
As usual I was last out with Jonathan before Sergeant Wilton closed the front door. “Come on Sweetcheeks, get your arse in gear,” Jonathan whispered as he did let me go out of the house before him.
I managed to whisper back “Not like your brain!”. He gave me a nudge for that but I knew it was friendly. And that ‘Sweetcheeks’. He had all sorts of names for me which I didn’t mind and I think that one came from an American book he and David had giggled over.
“And don’t you go missing, young sir,” he said as we reached the kerb and the other three were already scrambling into the cab and arguing who should sit where. “The signal at coffee time is I’ll want to go for a pee. And you’ll want one, too, OK?” He stood up straight and winced. “It’s going to be difficult,” he murmured.
“Difficult? Like having to do a hard exam?” I thought that was good on the spur of the moment. And I’d emphasised the word ‘hard’.
“Don’t mention that word!” he grunted, but then gave a little laugh. “You’re learning fast. Never stop.”
I got into the back of the taxi with the other three and Jonathan sat in front with the driver.
Danny patted me on the knee as I sat down next to him. “All OK, Jamie? All systems go with big brother?”
Graham must have twigged there was something going on as both he and Marty had been on the receiving end of ‘merry japes’ and had managed to get their own back on my dear brother most times. “What’s up?” he asked. Danny then told him what had happened and Graham said it wouldn’t be the first time that Jonno would have been rubbed up the wrong way. That set us all off laughing which continued even after we got out of the taxi at the Conservative Hall. Jonathan couldn’t ask any questions because we had to all go in together and be shown to our tables but I did see Graham deliberately slap the top of Jonathan’s sporran telling him to hurry up.
It was going to be very crowded and the Ceilidh band was playing already. They sounded good. I found my place and this time I was between Geoffrey’s sister Isobel and a girl I didn’t know. She must have thought me too young to notice as all she did was talk to Graham MacFarlane who was on her other side. No-pants Jonathan was between Isobel and Alison Henderson who was Luke and Logan’s cousin. Isobel was, as usual, very lively and while we were waiting for the Master of Ceremonies to start the proceedings she told us that Geoffrey had spoken to her on the telephone just before they came out tonight. I just wondered if it was deliberate but Isobel seemed to give Jonathan a nudge every time she mentioned her brother as she told us about Geoffrey who was really enjoying his job.
I did miss Geoffrey as after Grandfather had allowed the piano to be opened he had spent a lot of time practising on it. When I was home I liked to sit and read and listen to him. In his final year at Heriots Geoffrey had decided that although he had a good technique he would never be a concert pianist. He wanted to do something in music for a career and Great-Aunt Cassie suggested again that he could do a music degree at her College in Cambridge first of all. Plenty of opportunity for playing there and he would have a good all-round music education which he wanted and that degree would be useful in finding a job. He had acted on her suggestion and applied and was accepted. After his three years to his BA he had applied for and got a post as a trainee studio manager at the BBC in London. In fact he was based mainly at the studios in Maida Vale near where the famous photo of the Beatles was taken with them crossing the road. He’d sent me a copy of that the week after he was first there. Even in the short time he had been there we had heard he was often used as a pianist for rehearsals and had even played one evening in a broadcast concert when the proper pianist had been held up by a traffic jam on the motorway. As he was a new boy he had been scheduled to work both over Christmas and the New Year with the promise of a fortnight off in February. The other thing was that Julian had just finished his first year of a Maths degree at the same Cambridge college. Jonathan had said Julian and Geoffrey were great friends and linked his forefingers together when he said it. “Good job Cambridge isn’t far from London,” he added.
Other things were beginning to happen. The wine waiters came round and poured wine into the first glasses. The Master of Ceremonies then announced the evening was now open and we would begin with the Loyal and other toasts. I felt very grown-up as I picked up my wine glass. We all had to stand for the Loyal toast to the Queen and I kept an eye on Jonathan. Yep, he took his time standing and then sitting again. Rub-a-dub-dub, I thought. This was followed by a toast to ‘Absent friends’ and a mercifully short speech from the Chairman. It was then time for the first course - a very nice cock-a-leekie soup with fresh, hot baps. I wondered if reading ‘cock’ on the menu might make Jonathan twitch again? Was I getting rude and naughty as well? It was only a three-course dinner because of the dancing after and I noticed as soon as Luke had finished his soup he had excused himself from the table and disappeared. I looked at the menu card. Aberdeen Angus beef. Goody, a great favourite as Mrs Grantly always said there was no better beef than that and she always managed to roast it so Dad had it red and Mum had it well-done as did the girls. Jonathan and I liked it almost red and he said it was a sign of maleness and femaleness. Boys were more bloodthirsty than girls and he’d read of some African tribe where the men drank their cow’s blood after slitting a blood vessel and collecting it. Ugh. That would be a bit too much for me, but almost red beef was OK.
Whatever was happening in Jonathan’s nether regions made him frown and wince a couple of times while eating his soup. The punishment must be working. Although Danny was on the other side of the table he was directly opposite us. He must have noticed Jonathan’s twitch as well. He was grinning and winked at me. Isobel must have been aware of some discomfiture as well. I managed to get in first. “I think Jonathan’s a bit stiff after all the running he’s done.” Bit stiff! I bet he’d got a raging hardon I thought! I had to laugh to myself as Isobel said Sloane’s Liniment was good for stiffness and when she played hockey in the College team it always worked wonders. I’d had the laugh to myself as Fergus had given Freddy Arnold a bottle when he’d complained of having a sore muscle in his leg after a rather strenuous rugger match. Stupid boy had poured plenty over the soreness and rubbed it in with both hands and then had grabbed his flapping cock to move it away and got the liniment on that and his balls as well. We knew Freddy had quite a repertoire of swear words and we heard them all until Fergus told him to fill a sink with cold water and that might take the sting away if he dipped all in it. Freddy said he didn’t know which was worse, the sting of the liniment or the coldness of the water. We all watched and noted that coldness does really shrink cocks but nobody dared tell him!
All our empty soup plates had been taken by now and the MC stood and announced the entry of the beef. Luke was ready, his bagpipes started and he marched in followed, as usual by another kilted figure carrying a big silver platter with this year’s large joint of beef on it. Everybody clapped when Luke stopped playing and the head chef, with a tall white hat, went to the serving table and hot plates with slices of beef appeared. All we had to say to the waiter was ‘red’, ‘pink’ or ‘well-done’. There were bowls of veggies, roast tatties, Brussels, parsnips and so on and I noticed that although I had ‘pink’ both Jonathan and Isobel had ‘red’ beef. A bloodthirsty girl. Ah, but I did know something about girls and blood but I put that at the back of my mind. Also, without asking, my wine glass was filled again. I’d better be careful as I didn’t want wobbly legs for the dances. I noticed Jonathan only had a second glass though I saw Graham MacFarlane hold his glass out for a third.
Jonathan did seem a little more relaxed through the main course and then we had to wait a while until the pudding course was served. Very fattening as Isobel said quietly. She had a pile of profiteroles and a big dollop of chocolate sauce. I had an individual charlotte russe and that was very creamy inside the sponge surround. Wow. Time for coffee next. I had to think. Could Jonathan have his briefs back before the coffee was served or was it after? Not to worry. Danny on the other side of the table gave me a thumb’s up. I didn’t speak to the snooty girl but said ‘Excuse me’ to Isobel and stood up. Jonathan heard me and said ‘Excuse me’ to both Isobel and Alison, too. We were lucky as I knew there would be a rush for the loo as soon as the coffee had been drunk but we were the first out except for some doddery old soul with a walking stick. As we got out of the door into the corridor I unsnapped the flap of my sporran. Jonathan must have heard that and put his hand into the sporran and rushed off down the corridor. Of course, he hadn’t seen what he’d extracted. He reached the door marked ‘Gentlemen’, must have looked down and realised what he was holding. A neatly folded white handkerchief. That was what I had to get out of the airing cupboard in case I had a runny nose. Or, even better, something for a stupid brother who didn’t notice things. I saw him clench his fists as I strolled towards him making sure the doddery old man was well behind me.
His chest was heaving and he laughed out loud as I reached him and handed him his briefs carefully so the old man wouldn’t see. “Jamie, I award you first prize in the get even with big brother stakes. You’re going to get the biggest hug when we get home.” I smiled at him. My big brother had a great heart.
He opened the door and while I had a pee at the one of the urinals he went into a stall and got his briefs on. He must have had a pee in there as well as I was outside and holding the main door open for the old gent to stagger in when Jonathan came out of the stall. We walked back together to the big room and there was now a stream of gentlemen and ladies wanting the loo. We stood back and waited at the door to let them pass. “Never let me get the wrong side of David again. It was his idea of no pants. Kilts and bare cocks do not go together. How the squaddies get on when on guard at the Castle I do not know.” Yes, I’d had the mirror which they had to walk over pointed out to me by Jonathan soon after that other visit to see the changing of the guard and the Honours of Scotland.
“You’ll have to ask one,” I said. “Does that mean you won’t be applying for a Scottish regiment? Remember Dad was in the Black Watch before he transferred to the Marines. He might tell you.”
“Cheeky sod!” he whispered but he was laughing as well. “No, and I won’t dare you to ask him.”
‘Truth or Dare’ was a favourite game between David and Jonathan. I knew because of the laughter and I’d asked one time what it was all for. They’d let me play a couple of times. Just one round each time and we had to finish as we couldn’t stop laughing. It was on the second occasion when it was time for a confession from me about how I found out why the boy didn’t put a bottle of water under his pillow.
I was exactly thirteen years, five months and sixteen days and a night I’d calculated when I discovered the reason. It was in Cambridge, too. Though we had met David’s father, the Pop Star Lanky Cocker, a few times over the time David had been a more-or-less permanent member of our family he rarely stayed long in the UK. He said it was too wet and cold and he preferred the house he and David’s mother had in sunnier Barbados. Of course, he was often on tours as well so was out of David’s life for much of the time. David wasn’t fazed about all this. It also helped to explain his awful start at Kinloch in the Prep School.
Without going into too much detail David’s Mum, Mary, was a distant relation of Lanky. They both came from the same town in Cornwall. Lanky had two sisters who, when he started to make money had been between them his secretary, accountant and general arranger of everything as he’d had a big row with his first agent who’d been sacked, but couldn’t sue, as they knew he’d stolen quite a bit of Lanky’s money. Mary at the time had got a good job in London as Secretary and Personal Assistant to some finance wizard. The sisters had sent Mary a ticket for the last night of one of Lanky’s gigs somewhere in Hammersmith. He was very popular and there was a sell-out crowd but what Mary found when she went backstage was chaos. Two of the band were actively snorting cocaine while the drummer was in a side room fucking a groupie. Of course, Mary hadn’t used that word when the tale was told to us but it was quite plain what was going on. There were also loads of hangers-on all wanting money with one of the sisters sitting on the box holding the takings. Lanky was in a bad way. He had coughed up some blood that afternoon but had been adamant he would appear that evening.
Mary took immediate charge. She told the hangers-on to get out or she would have the police in as there was plenty of evidence of drugs - hash as well as cocaine. She got her boss on the phone and told him what was happening. He obviously had contacts and three rather fiercesome blokes soon turned up and took the sisters and the money off to where Mary’s boss lived in Surrey. She bundled Lanky up and took him by taxi to a hospital in Hammersmith where the doc who examined him said it was a good job she’d brought him in as he wouldn’t have lasted much longer. He was in hospital for a good two months or so which helped him come off the drugs he’d been taking. Mary’s boss found a good agent for him and the sisters were glad to be able to go back to Cornwall. Within six months Lanky, real name, David Prothero and Mary Staines were married and soon after that their son David Junior was on the way. Lanky and Mary were both about thirty at the time.
There had been bits of trouble in the marriage. Lanky was said to refer to something David Prothero Senior was supposed to possess and Cocker might be a reference as well. At least there was always a very noticeable swelling in the very tight trousers he always wore especially when on stage. David Junior said he’d seen the real thing and the bulge was mainly padding but this didn’t put off the groupies who swarmed around at every concert. Mary had her work cut out getting rid of them but Lanky did succumb more than once - or twice. In fact, there were rumours there was at least one little Lanky around somewhere.
With all the parental travelling David Junior had been farmed out to a Grandma. This was alright until he started school but there was constant bullying because of who he was. He said he’d been to eight different Junior schools and five different Secondary Schools before he landed at Kinloch Prep. He hadn’t been sent to a boarding school before as Grandma was against them but in the end she said she was too old to keep rushing around finding new schools for him. What was quite apparent was that David Junior was a bright kid under all this and this became most evident once the Fishers, the McCraes, Jonathan and his squad and the rest of our family and friends had worked their magic on him. That was why he was studying Philosophy at Edinburgh University and was now another big brother to me.
Lanky was back in the UK for a summer tour in 1997 and was appearing for two gigs in some hall in Cambridge towards the end of July. David II made sure my sisters, Jonathan and I were invited as we had never seen his father perform before. This meant we had to be accommodated somewhere. No problem, though Great-Aunt Cassie said her College let out rooms during the vacation. No, we had the best rooms in some Royal hotel in Cambridge. Mum had a personal suite as she was chaperoning us. The girls did share but David, Jonathan and I were very posh and had separate rooms. We arrived from Scotland on the overnight train to London on the Wednesday and the gig we would be going to would be on the Saturday.
We explored Cambridge once we had recovered from the journey. Great-Aunt Cassie arranged for a couple of her post-grads to punt us on the Cam and we made the usual tour of the major Colleges. Actually, Geoffrey had stayed on and was our guide for most visits. He also gave us an organ recital in the College chapel and he was very good. The lunch and dinner we had in the College Refectory weren’t so good but it was explained that the main chef and his assistant were sunning themselves in Greece. Jonathan said perhaps they needn’t have gone there as there was plenty of grease on his plate from the fatty lamb chop he’d chosen.
Saturday came and Mum excused herself from coming to the gig, much to Great-Aunt’s amusement which allowed her to book for the pair to go to some recommended eating-hole for their evening meal. She gave us our tickets and passes, which include one for Geoffrey which was really Mum’s, and we braved the mob of mainly female teenagers, who were yelling ‘Lanky! Lanky!’ at the tops of their voices. We’d been told to go to a side door so skirted the crowd and saw there was an ugly pair of bouncers who were guarding the door. Not to worry, we were expected and our tickets and passes let us in and the bouncers were actually very friendly. An usher was inside and led us upstairs. Luckily for us we were in a box above the mob which were still baying when they were let in and filled up the ground floor space. There weren’t many seats for them down there as most seats must have been taken out. It didn’t matter as it seemed they all joined hands most of the time and swayed together as the music played. Gosh, the noise was tremendous once the gig started. We were almost deafened as there was a huge loudspeaker on the stage just below us. But, given that, the whole evening was quite something.
Lanky had a quartet of players accompanying him. A saxophonist, a trumpeter, a string bass and a percussionist who did wonders with the array of things around him. Lanky, of course, played his electric guitar and sang most of the time but there was rapt attention when he did a couple of numbers with an acoustic guitar. There were four youngish women who sang as a backing group but what held my attention were the four young male dancers. Bare-chested, quite muscly, and all in matching cream, almost white, tight dance pants. And they had bulges. I couldn’t keep my eyes off them as they did a medley of dance routines to the pounding beat from the instrumentalists at various times through the evening. Under the lights with the sheen of sweat on their muscly torsos and arms they looked absolutely beautiful to me. I must admit I had a stiffy and a tingly feeling down below all the time. I also noticed Jonathan was staring at them as well, though he did bounce around quite a bit to the rhythms as the girls sang or Lanky played.
Time went fast and the three hours the gig lasted were soon over. Mum was waiting outside with a taxi when we emerged, deafened but quite elated. We did agree once was enough with such a noise and David said it was no wonder his father had to wear a hearing aid in one ear when off stage. When we got back to the hotel there was a cold snack ready for us but I think we were all tired and needed our beds. I know I did. In my room I stripped off, washed my hands and face and slipped on the pair of old boxers Jonathan had handed down to me. They were slightly big but as I tended to wriggle around in the night they were just the job.
I must have fallen asleep very quickly but I knew I had dreams. The main one was of those dancers, but I also kept seeing my friend Pete with them as if he was one of the dancers as well. One dream was particularly vivid with them really strutting their stuff as Jonathan had said in the taxi. It was then I woke up. It was 3.30 a.m. by the electric clock on the night-stand. Also my boxers were feeling rather strange. I felt down to get them more comfortable and I found they were damp. I put my hand inside and not only was my boy-cock stiff and hard but there was sticky stuff on my belly and there was stuff on the inside of the boxers as well. Stuff! Boy stuff! I remembered that time when Jonathan had made the outside of my jamas sticky with his stuff. Now I had made the inside of my boxers sticky with my own stuff. I had had my first wet dream! Yowks! In fact it was the first time I had shot any stuff. Ha ha, that boy didn’t put a bottle of water under his pillow because he didn’t want... ...wet dreams! I’d just had my very first wet dream and so my very first cum!
I had tried wanking once it was described when I was at Kinloch in that first year. Nothing happened and it wasn’t until Pete had told me, when he was twelve years and five months, that he’d had a wet dream and was now wanking and making stuff that I tried again. Nothing. Pete was far in advance of any of us over that we found. I’d tried it again at other times, both by myself and with him three times at school, but all I got was a stiff prick and a tingle while he shot a few drops of almost creamy cum on each occasion. The two times at home were last Christmas and Easter, but again, no proper results. By now the hair at the base of my cock was sprouting quite fast, but being dark blond it wasn’t like the black bush Pete now had. I’d tried it at Easter because Pete had said he had to do it regularly twice a day or he was likely to have a wet dream. Now today in the Summer vacation, at three thirty in the morning, at the age of thirteen years, five months and seventeen days, I had produced my first boy stuff without even touching my prick! I used tissues from the box on the night-stand to mop myself and dropped my damp boxers and them on the floor. However, between then and seven o’clock I produced two more lots, with that second one taking quite a bit of time and effort with a very firm grip. Certainly not lots but enough to prove I was a real growing boy. A growing boy with a very sore cock!
We’d been told the night before we could sleep in as breakfasts were served until 10.30 on Sunday mornings. Mum had said we’d more to see so try to be ready for breakfast at about nine o’clock. I set the alarm on the bedside clock after my second wank for 8.30 a.m. and, just in case, took one of the towels from the bathroom and put it in the bed to lie on. I was canny enough to remember the stains I’d seen on Jonathan’s sheets more than once! Eight thirty would give me time for a quick shower to wash me free of any cum which might have eluded my mopping. I must have fallen asleep very quickly and I don’t think I had any more dreams, wet or otherwise, but was startled awake when the blasted alarm went off. I was a bit confused as I realised I was in a bed, in a strange place, in the nude.... BUT. The night’s events then hit me.
I tumbled out of bed and showered and washed all parts carefully and dried myself on the towel I’d lain on in the bed. I had inspected it beforehand and it was quite dry. As I dried myself I winced a bit as my growing boy-cock was rather red all down one side and it was more than a bit sore. I put on my clothes and picked up my just about dry boxers and popped them in my suitcase. Oh? Those tissues. Should I keep them as a souvenir when they dried out? Better not so I flushed them down the loo. I wondered if the boxers would be OK to wear tonight? I only had that one pair with me. We were going to be here two more nights before going to London on Tuesday afternoon to catch the overnight train back to Edinburgh. I was used to sleeping in the buff at Kinloch now and at home but if I had another wet dream with no boxers on would I stain the sheets? Problems for a growing boy. I would have to ask you-know-who! Anyway, I had to tell him what had happened in the night as I knew he’d had his first wet dream when he was two months older than me at the moment! Hooray! I had beaten Jonathan on something very important!
That posed another problem. I had to get him away from our group to tell him. I mustn’t look too happy and grin too much, though my sore dick might keep me from smiling overmuch. As it happened all was well. I got down to the breakfast room at nine o’clock exactly. Jonathan was already there by himself and the rest of room was empty except for a foreign-looking couple a good way from us. Jonathan was looking at one of the Sunday newspapers from the table near the door. I did smile at him and sat by him. I had to tell him my marvellous tale, but looked around first and luckily there were no waiters near.
“Jonathan, I had my first wet dream last night.” A straight statement. That was all I said. He put the paper down, turned and hugged me.
“Is that true?” he asked
I nodded. “And I did it properly two more times after it happened but I’m a bit sore now.”
“Oh God, a site inspection is necessary. Tuddy and Charlie Carter got carried away and rubbed themselves raw. Hope you haven’t. Yowks, here comes Mum! No more, we’ll go to your bedroom after brekkers, OK?”
I smiled at him. “Not deaf after last night?”
Mum reached our table and must have heard me say that. “Your sisters said never again unless with earplugs. Do you agree? But you enjoyed it anyway?”
Just at that moment the waiter came along and asked if we wanted tea or coffee. I was very partial to good coffee, and so was Jonathan, so that was our order though Mum asked for a pot of Darjeeling tea. We got up and went to the buffet and I had a good bowlful of muesli, cornflakes, two other kinds of cereals plus milk and a big spoon of yogurt on top. I also found a banana just like at home.
“Growing boy needs to keep his strength up,” Jonathan said as we both went back to our table with laden bowls. “Same here, but only once last night.” He whispered the last bit but Mum was talking to a lady who had just joined her at the buffet bar. David came in then and also piled a bowl up with cereals.
We scoffed that lot and then the three of us went up for the hot breakfast. Three lots of cum had to be replenished even if they were only small! I meant for me! I didn’t quite match Jonathan’s or David’s laden plates but if Jonathan needed all that for once then David probably did, too.
My sisters straggled in while we were eating the hot food. No, they didn’t straggle but looked wide awake and all made up for the day. While eating we did discuss last night’s performance. I had to lie a bit when I was asked what I liked best. I said I liked watching the percussionist as I just wondered how he knew which of the many things around him he had to hit next. Jacky did mention the male dancers. She’d found out they’d trained at ballet schools and then met up at another dance school for modern dances. I had seen from the flimsy programme we had been given they were called the ‘Four Spins’, Jo, Joe, Barty and Chas. Of course, as we came out and waited to get into the taxi with Mum Jonathan had whispered to David he thought they should have been called the ‘Four Skins’. I thought at first he meant it was because they were showing off their bodies but while we were in the taxi I twigged what Jonathan had most certainly meant. ‘Foreskins’. I would have to ask him. “They’re very good,” Jacky said, “What did you think, Jonathan?” I noticed Jonathan did blush a tiny bit, being fair-haired it always showed. I wondered about that as he had stared at them almost as much as I had, but he went on to say he thought they were well-disciplined. “A military mind always shows,” Caroline said and touched the side of her nose.
Mum said we should meet up again at eleven-thirty as she had booked us all in for lunch at mid-day where she and Great-Aunt Cassie had eaten the night before. “It’s good,” was all she would say when Jacky asked what the place was like.
David and the girls were still chatting together when Jonathan said he’d better go up and see if he needed a shave. Jacky grinned at him and mouthed something like ‘When you’re twenty-one’. They were always teasing him as with his fair hair he didn’t have a five o’clock shadow like Danny, or even David who had dark-brown hair.
As I’d finished eating as well I followed Jonathan and we went up in the lift to our floor. He came along to my room. As we reached the door he said “This is what in the army is called an FFI though I hope there’s no infection.” He explained when we got inside that FF stood for ‘Free From’ and it was something squaddies had to undergo at random intervals. I also learned that if they went for a ‘fuck’ with certain girls they could pick up nasty diseases. Anyway, we were all ready for my rather tender prick to be examined. I didn’t mind Jonathan doing this as he’d seen me with nothing on many times.
I had long trousers now so I unzipped the fly and lowered them. I had a clean pair of white briefs on and lowered them, too. My young cock hung down over my new bigger balls. “You don’t mind if I take a closer look?” Jonathan asked kneeling down. I shook my head. He lifted my prick and pulled my foreskin forward. “No rips as far as I can see but the skin is rather red all down this side.” He pulled my skin right back and my knob popped out and even I could see there was a redness on my prick back from my knob. And him pulling on it made it hurt more. “I guess you’ve overdone it a bit probably that second time. You’re lucky you haven’t torn the skin. I told you poor old Tuddy did that and luckily Pritchard had some Germolene which stung a bit but helped it to heal. He’s still got a white patch where the tear was and he says he’s got that on his documents as a ‘distinguishing mark’. Bet he hasn’t but that’s Tuddy.” He didn’t say what happened to Carter and I didn’t ask.
He manoeuvred my foreskin back over my knob and let go. He wagged a finger at me. “Big brother’s practical advice. Leave it alone if you can for a couple of days ‘cause I saw you wince when I pulled the skin back. I think your second wank was a bit too hectic. Took a time, eh?” I nodded. “And you speeded up and pulled hard?” I nodded again and sniffed. He put an arm round me. “Ever heard of a two-stroke engine?” What did he mean? I had. There was an old motor-bike in the garage at home which Dad had said was so old it had a two-stroke engine. I had never asked what that meant. “Well, Jamie, it’s something you should try to remember. Best way to get satisfaction from this...” he tapped my prick ...“is not to rev it up too much, keep the pressure on it down. Just like an engine it stops it being ruined by over-working it with too much force. So, about two or three strokes a second and do it gently. Keep to that and it’ll repay you a thousandfold and here speaks the voice of experience.” He grinned up at me. “I’ve been told boys of your age do it more often than older boys though I never noticed it with me. I’ve been stuck on about twice a day since I was a little older than you are now when I started. Are you OK now?” I had to hug my big brother before he stood up. ‘Thanks big brother’ I whispered in his ear as I hugged him even though my trousers were down round my ankles and my sore cock rubbed against his top and I was sniffing a bit. “It’s what big brothers are for,” he said. “Never worry. Whatever it is ask big brother. If he knows, you’ll get a straight answer.” He stood up and we smiled at each other. I knew he meant what he had said. I could ask anything. We were truly brothers and real friends and my sniffs stopped.
I did as he suggested. I kept my hands away from John Thomas, as that was another name for penises I’d heard from Jonathan, except to hold it to pee, until Thursday night back in Edinburgh. Yes. A gentler hold and about two strokes or so a second for even twice or three times a day, but no sore prick ever since! I had to admit to Jonathan things did seem to have to speed up as the big feelings started. He said it was true, it was just like a touch on the accelerator to reach the top of the hill. Pete had laughed like a drain when I told him all this - first about being able to shoot cum - but even more so when I told him what Jonathan had said. He said he wished he had an older brother but had heard enough things from the other boys at School not to get worried.
All that took up quite a time at the second game of ‘Truth or Dare’. Jonathan had looked me straight in the eye when I said ‘Truth’. His question was really nasty: ‘Are you a little wanker yet?” I said I thought being called ‘little’ was nasty as I was well into my developmental spurt according to Fergus’s book. Jonathan had laughed about ‘spurt’ as well. Anyway, I confessed I was now a wanker, like them, and emphasised ‘like them’. I think David had guessed because another of the names Jonathan used for me now was ‘Squirt’. David said he’d guessed especially as I’d pinched a box of tissues from the downstairs loo and what did boys want tissues for? Only one thing, unless it was winter and they had a cold!
Those names! There must have been about twenty of them over time. Of course one was Moby, as in Moby Dick. I was sure Jonathan had dicks on the brain - oh - I think I did, too. Anyway, I got that name last year when Jonathan and David came into my room after their run. I was still asleep so the duvet was pulled off me and, as it was Summer, I was sleeping in the nude. I must have turned and displayed a morning stiffy. It was something that happened most mornings now and I had been told it was very common. I was awake now with Jonathan tickling my very sensitive ribs. “Up, up, Moby, though that’s neither great nor white, more like weeny and pale pink.” My pride was hurt. My young prick was straight and firm against my belly. Admittedly nothing like the size of Jonathan’s full-sized ‘skyscraper’ as he called it, which he liked to flaunt, though David matched him and, I was sure, was a smidgen longer. David came to my rescue.
“Don’t be so bloody rude,” he said and slapped Jonno’s backside. David rarely swore so I knew he was quite annoyed. “It’s OK, Jamie, your brother’s only got a midget one himself, shrinks to nothing when no-one’s about. I saw a mag once with plenty of kids who beat him by inches. You’ll do the same I’m sure when you’re his age.”
“Sorry, Jamie,” Jonathan said, “The mouth opens and shit pours out... ....Ooh! what have I said?” David gave him a thump in the back to add to the slap. “Am I forgiven?” What could I do but nod. Anyway, my Moby had flopped. Moby was my name for the rest of the week until I was called something else. Probably ‘Bumfluff’, as I was getting a bit of an adolescent moustache though it was almost invisible unless you looked closely, or it might have been ‘Chopper’, another term for a boy’s possession. ‘Sausage’ came about as Jonno had seen me come out of the bathroom one morning a bit plumped up. I’d been in to have a shower. I had been enjoying a rather long shower with benefits, but the hot water from the tank became cooler then cold. I had hopped out, grabbed a towel, and intended to finish off in my bedroom. Jonathan saw me, pointed, and I was Sausage for the next few days. Next I was Chip as he came in after his run and woke me the usual way by pulling off my duvet. As I turned to grab it I was on display. That morning I wasn’t hard. Jonathan had laughed and said it wasn’t a good fat sausage any more, just a chipolata! Shortened, like my dick as he said, to ‘Chip’. ‘Squishy’ came about the morning he came in and found I’d dropped a couple of pieces of dampened loo paper by the bed and he’d trodden on them.
Waking me in the morning was a bit of a ritual for him. I didn’t mind as there was often a quip as well as a name. Someone said to him, because of his more-or-less blond hair and his physique, that he would be a good model for a Norse God. This must have been a couple of weeks after I ‘d had my wet dream and nearly rubbed myself raw. A morning or so after that he came bouncing in to wake me. He was brandishing a hammer which he’d found somewhere and bellowing out “I’m Thor! I’m Thor!”. I was already awake and sat up and stared at him, he just in his running shorts and bare-chested. He bent down to my level and whispered “Rubbed my Godhead twice yesterday and I know I’m Thor! Is young Jamie still sore?” I did manage to slap a bare leg as he turned and ran out.
Of course David and Danny knew how I got the names but never called me by them. I was a bit concerned in case my sisters or Mum asked about the names but they never did. I supposed they thought they were just another of Jonathan’s usual quips or japes. The others didn’t miss out either. For example, David was wakened one morning by a wandering hand under his duvet and a chant of ‘Hickory dickory dock, a mouse has bit Davy’s cock!’ and Danny, who came from a part of London called ‘Crouch End’ was labelled, or libelled, as ‘Crotch End boy’ or, even ‘Knob End boy’ in Jonathan’s version of a Cockney accent. He never got away with any of these jibes or japes with them. They were as big and strong as him so he would be grabbed, tickled, bum-smacked and generously pummelled with him shrieking and calling out he was being assaulted. As it was a common occurrence no-one else bothered and he would get another slap from Mum or a whack, with the ever-present ladle, from Mrs Grantly if he complained to them after being vanquished and he was down in the kitchen looking for food. Oh, and there was the time with Great-Aunt Cassie and the whoopie cushion. She was highly amused and confiscated it to try it out on one of her rather uptight students. She did say it was a good thing he hadn’t used Grandfather Sinclair as his guinea-pig!
There were always a few remarks from Jonathan about the medical examination we had to have each year before going back to Kinloch after the Summer holidays for the Christmas term. Mum said the reason for the examinations went back years as two brothers turned up with the beginnings of tuberculosis or some such disease and it caused a panic. She said that sort of thing wasn’t a problem now but the medical examination each year was a strict requirement. It meant a visit to Dr Muirhead’s surgery sometime towards the end of August. I didn’t mind being prodded and poked as it had happened so often and although Dr Muirhead seemed very old he was always smiling. He did say once he had been at school with Grandpa Drummond and they still played golf together. Jonathan as usual twitted me about the examination each year. He’d say things like ‘teeth, tum, balls and arse’, or, ‘see my finger, see my thumb, here they go up Jamie’s bum’, but definitely not in Mum’s hearing as we made our way to the surgery.
I was very aware of what was happening to me the year I’d had my wet dream and learned I could come. I made sure I didn’t have a wank for four days before going to the surgery that year. I wasn’t sure if Dr Muirhead would know if I wanked so I made sure my cock wasn’t red. Anyway, as usual, I had to strip down to just my underpants, even no socks. Dr Muirhead laughed and held up the form the school had sent him, “Plenty to find out so let’s begin”. First he weighed me then measured my height with that thing which came down and always banged the top of your head. Next he measured my chest and waist, looked at my feet, ankles and knees and all the time was jotting things down on the form. He asked about my teeth and I had been to the dentist in case I needed a filling but it was OK and I told him that. I then had to remove my underpants and he put on a pair of thin rubber gloves. He looked carefully at my midriff, lifted my dangling prick, held my balls and I had to cough. He wasn’t finished as I had to turn round and stand with my legs apart then bend forwards and try to touch my toes. Luckily he had warm hands because he parted my bumcheeks and put a finger on my hole. I knew he was looking for something called piles. Jonathan always said he didn’t know whether to tell Dr Muirhead he’d already done piles that morning. Fergus had explained to us that the piles the doctor was looking for were something to do with swollen blood vessels. When he told us that Jack Pringle asked him if they were like his dick in the mornings ‘cause that swelled up with blood inside and his brother had a fat vein down the side of his and he knew that was a blood vessel. Fergus just shook his head and said they were something different so we were all none the wiser.
As Dr Muirhead took off the gloves and carried on writing he told me to pull up my pants. “All seems OK,” he said as he put his pen down. “No problems as far as I see.” He looked over the tops of his glasses. “You realise you’re growing fast because at the present rate I’ll have to raise the ceiling to measure your height next year.” He laughed. “No, to be serious. You seem to be well into what we call the adolescent growth spurt.” Oh, that word again! “You’ve heard of that?” I nodded again. “You’ve noticed other changes than getting taller recently? Hair for instance?” I nodded. I didn’t say I wished my patch of hair looked more like Pete’s, or Jonathan’s, or Danny’s or... I had to listen carefully as Dr Muirhead spoke quite quietly. “Yes,” he went on, “There have been several changes since I saw you last year and they’re be more especially down there.” He pointed downwards. “One more question,” ...he was still pointing..., “I guess you’ve found out other things and what happens. All is in working order, eh?” I knew he meant could I make cum. Also, without adding ‘when you wank’! I just nodded again. He smiled . “I know it’s a bit shy-making to talk to your doctor at your age but I do have some other advice for you.”
I wondered what was coming next. Had he spotted somehow that I liked to wank every day? Was he going to tell me to stop doing it? I probably looked a bit flummoxed. He just said I should get dressed and he would tell me. It was all OK because he then advised me not to do more exercise than I was used to doing at school. He said I was sturdy enough as it was and I mustn’t overdo things with too much exercise. That didn’t sound like an instruction not to wank. I felt even better when he went on to say he’d told Jonathan when he was sixteen or so that one of his ankles was a bit swollen when he had examined him and it was probably through the extra running he did at home on hard pavements. He said I shouldn’t try any extra running like that until I was at least sixteen or so and try to avoid hard pavements if possible. As he lived in the next Square he most likely saw our lot running past as I knew they usually did a circuit of the Squares. I also remembered the further advice he’d given to Jonathan at that time. He said he should always wear a tight elastic ankle support when running at any time. He certainly took that advice as Danny had gone with him to a sports shop the next day and they came back with two of those things and another jockstrap. All these had been shown to me with the jockstrap dangled in front of my nose. “Wearing that ankle support and this athletic support should make me ready for anything. You’ll probably inherit an old one of these from me when your balls drop but that won’t be for years yet.” Though I was only ten at the time I did know a bit about what happened as you got older. Seeing nude bodies after showers and being told things by Jonathan. Mine might be small and tight up now but he, Danny and even David, at the time, had danglers!
Of course, when we got home and sitting in my bedroom, with David listening, Jonathan wanted to know what Dr Muirhead had said to me after that latest examination. I told him it had been the usual but Dr Muirhead had more or less asked if I was making cum and did I wank. I wasn’t shy in saying this to Jonathan and also David who had been examined by Dr Muirhead when he was at Kinloch and first living with us. David laughed and said he’d never had his balls held by a doctor until the first time he had been examined before he joined Kinloch Prep School and wondered what the doctor was doing. He said it tickled him and he was scared he might pee himself. He said his balls at the time were small and quite tight up so having them held by someone else was very strange. Just like my own memory. As time went on he said he got used to it and felt quite proud when his balls really began to dangle and he felt he was showing off to Dr Muirhead.
Jonathan had been his usual self and said he’d noticed at the time when they were beginning to dangle but David had a long time still to wait before they reached his knees. David got his own back by saying that Jonathan had a way to go, too. “No, yours certainly don’t dangle that far either.” David said. “Anyway, I’ve seen yours shrink upward more than once. Too much activity in that area!” he added. He then said his went tight up as well and Jonathan explained that when you were about to come some muscle pulled your balls up tighter. It was true they rose as I had noticed that about myself soon after I’d started wanking in earnest! Perhaps that was the importance of being earnest!
After all those reminiscences I felt I’d better put all my thoughts in order about last night’s Hogmanay Dinner and finish my 1998 Journal. I spent a good two hours setting down all that had happened. I wrote quite plainly that Jonathan had been naughty - I didn’t mention condoms - and had to be punished. At last I was able to write ‘So closed 1998'. There was a secret sign after that. I had to even though I was quite tired after getting home, but the thought of Jonathan’s hairy balls and that he’d had a constant erection made me stiff. Wouldn’t that happen to anyone my age?
My next thought after closing that Journal was what would happen this coming year? What did happen at the end of that first week in January 1999 changed a lot of things. On Friday afternoon I’d just come downstairs from my bedroom about half past five. There was a ring at the front door bell. Mum was in the kitchen and called out for me to see who it was. The automatic light had come on so I peeped through the spyhole and realised it was Graham MacFarlane. I opened the door and saw he was in his smart overcoat and he still had his suit and tie on that he wore at the Bank.
“Is your father in?” he asked, “I would like to see him if possible.”
Mum had come along to see who it was, but other than greeting her he didn’t say anything else. I could see he looked a bit worried. Mum told me to tap on Dad’s study door. I did this and he was in there by himself. I said Graham MacFarlane would like to talk to him and he stood by the door and beckoned him in. I went along to the kitchen with Mum who just shrugged her shoulders when I asked if she knew what he wanted.
It wasn’t long after that that Dad came along to the kitchen and asked was there enough in the casserole for two more hungry hunters? Graham and Marty would be in for supper - that was what we called our usually informal meal in the evenings and it wasn’t unusual for them to have a meal with us. Grandfather would be out and my sisters were going to some College event so with what Mrs Grantly usually prepared there would be plenty.
Dad buzzed Danny down from his room - proper communications - and went back into his study with both Danny and Graham. Mum still just shrugged her shoulders and said I should lay up two more places in the dining-room and see if there was a bottle of red wine in the cupboard. I knew the two MacFarlanes liked a drink - in moderation. And as I was treated as a grown-up at the Hogmanay Dinner I put a wineglass ready for me as well.
The three didn’t come out for about another hour and during this time Marty had been ‘phoned and he came over. He wondered what it was all about, but as he and Graham were always around given that Jacky was rather fond of Marty and the lads had that exercise machine which Jonathan used at times there was no great surprise. Marty just said my sisters were attending some fashion show as one of the other students’ mother was a designer. So it wasn’t really a College event as term hadn’t started. Mum laughed and wondered what they might be wearing when they came home.
There was some laughter when the three emerged. Dad said we should all gather in the dining-room as there had to be a toast to secrets revealed. Glasses were filled first.
It all came out then. Graham had been checking through the end-of-year statements ready to be sent out to the Bank’s customers. He had noticed one for our address but although the name was ‘D. P. Jacobson’ it certainly didn’t have ‘Cpl’, or even ‘Corporal’ before the name. Of course, his proper title was Lieutenant as I had found out at least a year ago but had sworn secrecy. It was a useful cover-up as Sergeant Wilton was really a Major. It was true that both were in the Intelligence Corps, as commissioned officers.
The MacFarlanes were highly amused and said their lips were sealed, too. Mum said that Jacky and Caroline also knew. This made Marty laugh. “If they can keep secrets like that I pity their husbands.” We knew that Marty and Jacky were very good friends. In fact I knew that Jonathan had said, not jokingly, that Marty shouldn’t dance too closely with Jacky as that was a prelude to having sex and if his prick wandered nearer he’d have his balls on the mantelpiece in a glass case. Apparently, as Graham was there when he said it he’d laughed and said it would only be a small glass case. I’d heard the story when Jonathan was telling it to Danny while they were drying after a shower in the bathroom and I was sitting on the loo in the cubicle by the side. The wall between us was very thin. Anyway life went on at home with secrets understood, but to make things legal we all had to sign the Official Secrets Act. Just in case!
It was later in 1999 when things went more than awry for me and my friend Pete. We had found that we were left alone quite a bit if we offered to deal with the CCF Store. Of course, two horny mid-teenagers had to let off steam regularly. It was a phrase Gordy Brigstock used to describe our nightly self-pleasuring. Pete and I made good use of the back storeroom and it was on one afternoon we were in there when things got more than a bit out of hand. Actually, we had each other’s pricks in a hand, shoes, shirts and combats had been dispensed with and no underpants were in sight having been left in our bedroom. We were starkers as we liked to be in this situation. Anyway, we were too engrossed in beating off each other’s stiff cocks and so didn’t hear someone come round the corner into the part of the Store we were in. Usually no-one ever came to this part as all it held were racks of very old equipment that went out of date yonks ago. Whoever it was must have heard us giggling.
Unfortunately it was Corporal Angus Reid, a stuck-up tight-arse as usually mild spoken Fergus called him having fallen foul of his over-bearing ways at some time. He was very Presbyterian and sneered at the wishy-washy services, as he described them, we had in Chapel. His father was a Colonel with high hopes for a military-minded son and Angus used his Corporal’s rank to try to browbeat anyone inferior in his opinion. He was always shouting on parade at any squad who was unlucky to be under his command that day. I was sure he didn’t like me as he had been a sproglet when Jonathan was at Kinloch.
Angus starting ranting at us which made us stop, but we were still holding on to each other. He got quite red in the face and shouted out that we should get properly dressed and he would report us to Company Sergeant-Major Campbell for suitable punishment for such reprehensible behaviour. That did scare us. Paul Campbell was a God to us youngsters in McCrae House. Not only was he in our House but he was also Head Boy of School, Captain of Rugby and the CSM of the CCF! He was always on parade directing things and I knew his family knew Pete’s. I had three of Pete’s drawings. Two of me, one of which I kept carefully hidden, and one of Paul, though I would never dare address him as such, in his trews and a Sergeant-Major’s crown on his sleeve. Pete wanted to be an artist and he was good already.
We dressed quickly and went up to our bedroom worried like stink. The others came in to get cleaned up ready for dinner and heard our story. They were well aware of what we did in the Storeroom but had never joined us. “Bloody Hell! He’d drop anyone in the shit! I’d have his bollocks if he played rugger,” was Freddy Arnold’s immediate response. A favourite punishment for any misdemeanour on the field judged unworthy by members of the opposing team was for a swift blow to the testicles, dropped or not. It certainly dropped the offender.
There was general commiseration and it was soon announced, privately we were assured, that there would be a sort of hearing before the CSM and Staff-Sergeant Fergus Cowen in their room upstairs in our House on Thursday at sixteen hundred hours. Four o’clock to the non-CCF crowd. As it was near the end of term my curly hair was quite unruly so I asked for a chit for the barber’s in Tulloch and he laughed when I said I wanted most of the curls cut off. The rest of the room got our boots to a polished maximum and our Fergus went to Matron who didn’t ask any questions but ironed our shirts and trews to perfection. We were inspected very closely by Cheng and our Fergus at half past three as none of us four were playing rugger or hockey that afternoon. They said we would be given a fair trial so don’t be too worried. We were worried. Paul Campbell and Fergus Cowen would learn we were evil wankers as bloody Angus Reid had called us.
At the appointed time we went up the second flight of stairs to where the Senior shared rooms were. Corporal Angus Reid was there waiting outside Paul Campbell’s room and just about sneered at us. He, of course, wasn’t in Mr McCrae’s House but he must have known which was Paul’s room. The door was opened and Reid marched us in, ‘Left Right Left Right Halt. No Stand Easy. Remove your hats!’. As I did that I did manage to cast my eyes down and around. Staff-Sergeant Cowen was sitting in a chair next to CSM Campbell. There was a third person. The one who had opened the door. It was another Senior, Phillip Menzies. I knew him. He was in the final year before taking Highers and he’d helped me with some of the new maths we were doing. He’d also been a coach for our Junior rugger team as well where I was a forward. I did feel even more sorry for myself especially as he would hear the accusations while sitting in a chair behind us.
We had to wait a moment as Paul Campbell had a sheet of paper in front of him. He then read out something very clearly but I was too scared to try to remember it all. It went something like we were accused of conduct to the prejudice of good order and discipline and it ended with our full names and ranks, Cadet Peter David Bowen Douglas and me, Cadet James Arthur Stewart Drummond. I quivered.
What came next was awful. Paul Campbell asked Reid if we were touching each other. At least he didn’t ask if we were holding each other’s pricks. But, after his next question Reid say that was what we were doing and when Paul Campbell asked him for more he said we were erect. I almost sniffed. That was true. At least he did admit we weren’t wanking each other just holding.
Paul Campbell scribbled something on the page and then turned to Fergus Cowen. He was friendly enough usually but spent most of after prep time either reading or playing Scrabble with one of the other Seniors. Paul Campbell asked him if had any questions to ask. I wondered what he might say. He did ask Reid if there was any evidence of an act having been completed. At least I knew he meant was there any cum on the floor. We always made sure it was always cleared up. Reid said there wasn’t anything. Cowen then asked if he was mistaken and that we might have only been inspecting each other, say for jock rash.
I think Reid lost his temper then. He just about shouted out we were cheeky young fuckers and were wanking each other off and he should know. He stopped then and Paul Campbell said he was dismissed and should wait outside while he took evidence from us.
I nearly shit myself as I had to keep my legs tight together as possible. Did we have to confess to these three Senior boys that we were really have a wank together? Not only together, but helping each other, and by that time, weren’t far off shooting our stuff - at least I wasn’t. My brain froze.
Paul Campbell then asked if we had anything to say for ourselves. My brain unfroze. The charge he’d read out said that we were wearing the Queen’s uniform. That was wrong. Paul Campbell was looking at me. “Please Sir, we weren’t wearing the Queen’s uniform.” I then had to confess we’d taken our uniforms off. Pete then said we weren’t really on duty and that we were only in the Store because the Sergeant in charge had gone off for a ciggie and had asked us to stay around. We knew that would be at least a quarter of an hour before he was back so would be time to have our wank and clean up.
After Pete said that, without saying we had about fifteen minutes before Quarter Master Sergeant Turner returned, I saw that Paul Campbell and Cowen put their heads together and discussed something. I was really scared now. What would happen to us? Paul Campbell looked at us and ordered us to stand up straight at attention. I thought that was how I was but I suppose I must have slumped a bit.
What happened next was he announced our punishment. We had to clean the whole of the back of the Store and he, Cowen and Menzies would judge our efforts the next day at eighteen hundred hours, six o’clock. What he said then was quite startling. He said in future we should make sure the door was locked and told us where the key to the back Storeroom was kept. We were then dismissed and we heard Reid being called back in. Nothing more was ever said. The lads in our room helped us to clean the Storeroom next day and we were praised on its cleanliness. We used that backroom regularly after that whether Quarter Master Sergeant Turner was in the front main store or not. Anyway, he liked to have a smoke and couldn’t do that in the Store. Also, both Pete and I got promoted to Corporal because of our ratings by the upper NCOs and the Officers in charge. Another blow to Corporal Tight-arse Reid!
Pete told me he would be spending Hogmanay that year at Linnhe Castle where the Campbells lived as his father and Mr Campbell were away on a shooting party, his sisters were now away from home and his mother was going to visit some old relation. All most complicated. Anyway, when we were back at Kinloch in the New Year he said he’d had a great time. Ow, there was me at home with just my right hand and he’d been in bed with one of our Seniors, one of the two Arabs in our House. They were both Mac something but it wasn’t a Scottish Mac surname. Pete did confess they’d had plenty of wanks together so Arabs weren’t any different from the Scots even with different surnames! He said that the Seniors all knew about Angus Reid and were determined to get something on him for what he’d done to Pete and me.
I was getting more and more fond of Pete. I wanted to be with him all the time. I just wondered at times if he was a greater friend of the Arab lad. I wondered that a bit more when it came out that he would be going to Linnhe Castle again for Easter and this Ghazi something would be there. In fact all my thinking about Pete did affect my schoolwork and though I knew I was good at maths I lost attention more than once not only in those classes but in other subjects as well. In fact, I had to ask Menzies for further help sorting out things in geometry and algebra. He said he enjoyed helping me because he knew I was really good underneath. I wondered If he’d guessed anything about me and Pete as he always smiled when we were togther.
Anyway, my schoolwork did improve and I confined my thoughts about Pete as far as possible to when we were together. We did have outside exams in the Summer Term which would determine if we could stay on at Kinloch for Highers. I certainly wanted to and I knew Pete did as well. I did pluck up courage to ask Pete if we could share a Senior room on the top floor next year if we stayed on. He agreed to that.
There was something else which was bugging me greatly and it was something which I’d heard Jonathan talk about that time with Alistair. I think it was the same thing with me, but perhaps more. Both Freddy Arnold and Jack Pringle had a collection of girlie magazines handed down by their older brothers. By girlie I meant there were plenty of photos of naked girls showing off everything. These were kept well-hidden in a bit of the false ceiling in the heads where the pipes came through but some of the mags came out most days to be looked at especially in the half-hour or so before lights-out. They were well-thumbed especially by those two though we all were interested in seeing how different females were from us boys. Even I was curious as I ‘d never seen my sisters, or any other female, naked in the flesh. Freddy also had a stack of muscle mags as he was well into wanting hints and help on getting a perfect torso with a six-pack, delts, pecs and glutes even at fifteen or so. He and a couple of others in the House made good use of weights and a chest expander which were kept in one of the garages by Mr McCrae’s house. I’d tried the weights and used the excuse of trying out fifty reps on those to also seem interested in the hints and help to development. No, I didn’t want to develop a torso, arms or thighs like some of the bulky beasts in the photos. Like seeing the dancers at the gig I got feelings and, though I knew Jack and the others would often take a girlie mag into the heads for an extra wank, I admit I’d done the same more than once to the sight of a well-muscled younger lad in one particular mag.
There were other things, too. Over my teenage years so far I’d been to the Hogmanay celebrations as well as other dances at the Conservative Club and church functions in the Parish Hall. Of course, I liked the Scottish dancing with the reels, strathspeys and so on. As well as those Mum and my sisters had taught me the steps for the waltz and foxtrot so I knew how to lead. What got me was the things I’d heard when the boys my age and the older lads were discussing some of the girls they had danced with. “Great tits on Betsy, wouldn’t mind a closer feel!” or “Had a hardon up to me eyebrows with that Patty, nearly came a load,” were just two examples. But, I never felt like wanting to feel any girl’s prominent anatomy, nor did I ever get a hardon however close some girl was clutching me in a slow waltz. In fact at the Easter dance this year I was sure both Cherry McGill and Becky Collins were deliberately pressing themselves a bit more than usual against me down there. I did respond by pressing on them but it certainly wasn’t with a hard cock like Georgie Gibson had said he had that evening. I’d read about being gay but was this something for another deep talk with my big brother? That couldn’t happen immediately as he was now at Sandhurst having got his MA and no leave until the course finished. I could hardly ask David or Danny and Alistair wasn’t due to make a visit. I bottled up my feelings and carried on with Pete engraved on my heart like Calais for that Queen. As I said, I did pluck up courage and ask if we could share a room when we were Seniors. He did say ‘YES’. At least I hoped it was in capitals.
Even more happened towards the end of the Summer Term of 2000. I was sitting on the mound which surrounded the playing field just thinking. We’d taken our exams and I was expected to do well and Mr McCrae said there was no doubt I would be back to do Highers. Pete had been told the same. We would be sharing. My thoughts were disturbed by Menzies who was looking for golf-balls which our Head of House, Dowson, and the older Arab lad had lost in the rough when practising long-shots across the playing-field. He asked me if I’d seen any balls, I hadn’t, and we chatted about other things but then he asked me outright what I thought of Pete. I was caught off-guard and just said ‘I love him’. He said I should tell him that as soon as possible. There was something in the way he said that and smiled and I wondered what he knew. I stood up and while Menzies continued to look for the balls I hurried back to McCrae’s House as Pete would have just finished exercising with the weights. He was in our room having just had a shower and was getting dressed in shorts and tee-shirt. No one else was there when I told him that I loved him. He smiled and just said “I love you, too.” Two boys hugged and kissed and two sturdy rods clashed against one another. I knew I was truly gay then and over the next days and our Summer CCF camp we were able to tell each other all about our feelings. We did go to the next stage. We managed three wonderful blow-jobs which matched the Sergeant’s stripes we proudly wore at that camp as we had been promoted even more. Reid was also vanquished. Dolly shared a tent with him and a surreptitious photo was taken of a blow-job being enjoyed. Ha, ha, ha!
The next two years were bliss except when we were separated during vacations. At Kinloch sharing a room, mainly the same bed, I loved Pete and he loved me. Decisions had to be for the future as Highers loomed. We would not be separated once we had passed those which we did most successfully. That meant I wrote in my secret code in my 2002 Journal in the five letter groups:
mrubo vozok tljor uboys oktld cczur utlut dodmr rhu