Edmund continued to hold Jim in his arms; no longer hugging him but running his hands all over Jim’s skin. His fingers slid inside the scarlet briefs; soon afterwards these were on the ground, as was Carter’s sky-blue Speedo. Edmund kissed Jim for the first time in their lives.
“Don’t tell me that you’ve remembered that your light-blue trunks at school were a turn-on?”
“I’ve always liked that colour; it goes well with fair hair and a fair skin, I think. And I recall you watching me dive; at the time I wondered whether you were assessing the quality of the dive or something else! It's not just the colour; it's the cut that matters, too. I switched from modest Bukta trunks to blue Speedos – same colour - and that increased my fan-club, as I could not help noticing!”
Edmund was now kissing Jim’s throat and his hands were straying lower down. In another moment my cock’ll be in his mouth and then I’ll be putty in his hands! Jim thought of a way to at least postpone the ‘putty moment’.
“This is a great place to dive! I dive from that cliff over there. It’s quite safe; the pond is fathoms deep. Come on!”
Edmund seemed quite willing. He let Jim grab his hand and lead him to the top of the cliff. Then Jim dived. After a few moments he rose to the surface and spat out some water.
“Come on!”
Edmund was for a moment put off by the height of the dive, but Jim seemed to have survived. The honour of the SAS was at stake. He dived too, deep into the green depths of the pool. Having run out of impetus, he started to kick his way slowly up to the surface. Fish, some of them very large, moved out of his way. He could see Jim splashing about on the surface. He swum up directly under Jim and grabbed his cock. Jim thrashed about wildly, sank, pushed Edmund away and resurfaced, laughing.
Edmund put his head above water, laughing too. “I bet you thought a pike or something had got your todger!” he chortled.
“I wasn’t fooled for a moment,” said Jim. “And I don’t think there are any pike here anyway. God knows I’ve fished this pond often enough.”
“What d’you catch?”
“Carp and bream; the occasional perch or roach,”
“Something must prey on them.”
“Yes; there are otters and mink, herons and occasionally cormorants.”
After they had swum about for a bit, Jim decided to get out. As he was hauling himself up the bank, Edmund slid his hand between Jim’s wet buttocks and firmly touched his man-hole.
“I’m going in there, you know!”
“That’s for me to decide! That’s what he - Lindbergh – said to me on the first occasion!”
“He said that to everybody.”
“How d’you know? You mean everybody – including you?”
“Yup! He showed me the way, too.”
Jim had not suspected that: Lindbergh evidently spread his net wider than he had imagined.
They got dressed. Edmund’s clothes were folded neatly under a bush. He put on his sky-blue Speedo again. He donned fawn jeans with a crocodile belt; maroon socks; suede desert boots; a white open-necked shirt and a lightweight blazer with a red polka-dot handkerchief jauntily displayed in the breast pocket. Edmund managed to look under-statedly elegant as they walked back to Jim’s house with their bathing towels.
“How about dinner at The White Hart?” asked Edmund.
Jim hesitated. He had planned to spend the evening doing admin and catching up on correspondence. Apart from that, he had his suspicions about what Edmund really wanted. Why was he here? Had he been sent by Nigel, Richard’s boss in Spooks’ Castle? His familiarity with various private matters suggested that he had been. Or for some other reason? Edmund was still bloody attractive. Although he had fair hair, his eyebrows were dark and his intense blue eyes were piercing and mesmeric. He was good at getting his interlocutor into a positive, or receptive, mood.
Edmund looked at the other man and smiled mischievously. If his interlocutor did not immediately respond, he’d use small gestures: the smile would broaden; he’d jerk his chin upwards: Come on, smile – smile for me! And the other guy usually did smile. First defence down. He’d done that at school. Jim agreed to dine with him.
Dinner was pretty good; Edmund paid, so it was difficult for Jim to avoid asking him back for coffee and brandy afterwards. At this point things got more serious. Edmund got amorous; again he kissed Jim, holding him by his shoulders.
“Whoa!” said Jim. “Not now!”
“Why not? I didn’t expect you of all people to have inhibitions. It could be fun!”
“I daresay, but I’m not into sleeping around now.”
“With your looks, I find that hard to believe. A lot of men were keen on you at school; not just me and Lindbergh. I never forgot you; I still want to… test-drive you! It’d be challenging! You’re still great-looking, so what’s the problem?”
“I’m in a relationship.”
“Ah! I see. I know about your ‘other-ranks’ boyfriend. Where is he at present by the way?”
“The fact that he’s ‘only’ a Corporal is neither here nor there. He’s right for me. And he’s on exercise in Germany at present. Back next week.”
Edmund grinned at Jim. “That makes it easier. He need never know. But a word of advice: Don’t fall for a soldier!”
“Why not?”
“Because he is a soldier. Next year, or the year after that, he’ll move on. You can’t follow the drum with him; or not unless you throw everything up here and join up. Even then, you’d have a problem. Homo-sex is a Court Martial matter, though some Regiments are more tolerant than others.”
Jim said nothing. Edmund had articulated thoughts that sometimes bothered him. Usually he put them aside, determined to enjoy the moment with Hal. Richard Finch had said something of the sort, too.
Edmund persisted: “I’m not saying that you should give him up. Just don’t become too emotionally involved. And accept that one day he’ll march away. In two years’ time or less he could be in Germany, Belize, Cyprus, Hong Kong… He may be a splendid guy and he may even love you – that is possible, if unusual - but he knows that. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a few postcards or a Christmas card. He might even visit you when he’s on UK leave. But that will be all. You’ll just have a few months here to remember him by.”
Jim said nothing.
Edmund got up, still holding his brandy glass and started to look at the books in the bookcases. He sang softly:
Je sais bien que demain tout peut changer, Je sais bien que le bonheur est passager...
Jim, who remained seated, said nothing. He heard Edmund put down his glass. Next thing, he was massaging Jim’s shoulders.
“I’m spending the night here with you. Don’t argue. We both need a fuck.”
If sex with Richard Finch was sometimes like unarmed combat, it was even more so with Edmund; more like all-in wrestling spiced with sex. He was clearly very fit indeed and apparently tireless. Not for a moment were they still. Their struggles and coupling took them all over the bedroom floor, into other rooms and even – at one point – out on the veranda. Strong as he was, Jim was beaten on this occasion. But even when he shouted: “I give! I give!” Edmund seemed not to hear. His eyes were shut and his breath coming in great gasps. He spread Jim and spat on his man-hole. Then he picked Jim up in a bear-hug, which squashed the remaining strength out of him, braced himself and impaled Jim on his cock, which was big and hard. Bending at the knees, Edmund took both their weight on his legs and, with Jim’s legs round his waist, fucked him in mid-air. Finally, exhausted, Edmund let Jim slump to the ground, knelt beside him and shot his remaining sperm over Jim. Jim was feebly toying with his own cock; Edmund gave him oral sex and made him cum too. Then they both lay back, eyes closed. Jim’s cock and ass were very sore. Somehow Edmund got him into the shower.
When Jim woke up the next morning, Edmund and his car had gone. It was not clear how he had got in and out of Little Kansas’s secure zone, but he had. There was a note:
“Thanks for everything, especially for you. I’ve wanted to do that ever since we were in the Fifth Form. You’re still fucking marvellous. See you again. E.”
Jim still felt very sore. He decided to take a day’s holiday to recover. When Toby Bloodgood rang up to propose a drink, he said that he was not well.
Hal got back the following week. He came to see Jim on his first free evening. He had an empurpled bruise on his right cheek-bone. At first he was reluctant to talk about it. Finally he owned up:
“There was this really hunky Black Watch Sergeant and you know how it is...”
Jim smiled. “I do. You made a pass at him and he planted one on you?”
Hal had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. He grinned ruefully.
“You’d have wanted him, too. He was a real hunk – rugby build and handsome with it. He spoke posh like you; I think maybe he was a failed Officer candidate. Not your typical Sergeant. Clean-shaven, nice square jaw.”
“I can imagine. And he wore the kilt all the time?” Jim was remembering another kilted young Scotsman long ago [see Buying A Globe Warnecke, Chapter 1].
“Yes. Too right!” and it was a turn-on, specially the way he wore it. Boots DMS with puttees; Lovat stockings; red flashes and a sgian dubh in the hose-top. Above that, those great bare muscular legs, and always knowing, knowing that under the tartan he was naked …”
“You grabbed it?”
“I grabbed it!”
