“You were bloody lucky to have people like Gary and Alec to supervise your erotic education, as well as all the other training!” chuckled Toby.
“Yes, I was,” said Richard quietly. “You could say that they made a man of me. When they came into my life I was a moody, depressed and screwed-up adolescent who occasionally brooded about suicide. But, after the crash-course, I was as tough as a squaddie’s boots, good at sex, knew what I wanted to be, went after it and got it!”
“And after whom you wanted, I imagine, eh?”
“Ah, that was more complicated… anyway, enough about me. What was your first serious affair like. It was at school I suppose?”
They were in the country, halfway between London and Worcestershire, where Richard had to spend the weekend, since his constituency was there. Toby, whose estate was competently managed by a trustworthy relation, had elected to accompany him. They had stopped at a place Richard knew: a small lake in a wood, or pheasant-covert. It was invisible from the road; Richard had only discovered it by chance. They had enjoyed an up-market picnic on the bank and were now digesting.
Toby removed the stem of grass that he had been chewing and threw it away. He smiled at Richard. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes; sex is always interesting!”
“Not always,” said Toby. “I bet you’ve done it with scores of people, half of whom you can’t remember now.”
“That may be so,” Richard refused to be drawn. “But your first time is not so easily forgotten!”
“Okay; fair enough. But you’re wrong about Eton. Oh, we fooled around there: jacked each other off and had oral sex, but it was just a lark. My first serious affair with another guy was in Ireland.”
“I see! In enemy territory!” Richard had served in Northern Ireland.
“Not really; this was in Southern Ireland. There were memories of the Anglo-Irish War, of course. The Black-and-Tans, that sort of thing. But I never felt threatened. Nor did the people I was staying with, Lord and Lady Kilbannon. They were relations on my mother’s side. He was an Irish Peer, so he didn’t have a seat in the Lords. To all intents and purposes he was Irish. He spoke ‘posh English’ of a rather quaint, antiquated sort, but with a soft Irish burr. He’d studied at Trinity College, Dublin. He was horse-mad; many people in Ireland are. And I wanted to learn about horses; I even had ideas, back then, of becoming a gentleman jockey…. Anyway, there I was, working with the horses and treated during the week as one of the lads. Naturally, I had a room in the big house; I ate with the family on Sundays – when I was also expected to go with them to the Church of Ireland parish church – and on special occasions.
“The stable lads’ accommodation did not have baths or showers; just hand-wash basins. They received an allowance of Wright’s Coal Tar Soap. So, when they wanted a full wash they hosed each other down, laughing and larking around naked in the stable yard. Remember, it was summer. I often joined them in that activity after a hard day’s work. It was there that I first noticed Connor. He was so fucking beautiful! I thought that he had to be the by-blow of some earl or duke; he could have become a film actor. He had everything that interested me: classic good looks; dark-blue Irish eyes; short reddish-fair wavy hair and the body of an athlete. He had great long legs, seen to advantage in riding breeches and, better still, in nothing at all. He was always cheerful; whistling or humming a tune.”
One summer afternoon he upped and said: ‘Come for a gallop with me?’
Of course I said yes.
“We took two of the best horses; he had a black stallion called Prince; I had a grey mare called Maggie. We went across country. It was hunting territory; no wire, only wooden fences and hedges, so we did a good deal of jumping. Many riders say that jumping hedges is better than sex. Eventually we came to a wooded area; we galloped down the forest rides, with our horses’ hoof-beats deadened by fallen leaves and pine needles. Finally he called a halt in a clearing. There was a stream running through it. We let the horses graze. Connor watched them thoughtfully, leaning against a tree with one leg braced against the tree trunk, but I could see he had other things on his mind. He looked at me in a quizzical way.”
‘Come here!’ he said suddenly.
“I thought that was pretty cool. Nevertheless I walked over to him and looked at him expectantly. I’m not sure what I expected, but it was not what I got. He knocked my cap off, grabbed me quite roughly and kissed me. His mouth tasted bitter and masculine: mostly coffee, tobacco and mint chewing-gum. One arm was round my shoulders. With the other he squeezed my cock through the cloth of my breeches.
‘I really desire you. I’d like to fuck you!’ he said quietly.
‘Crikey, I thought you were straight!’ I laughed. Yes, I really laughed; nervously, of course.
“He laughed too. ‘As far as the world is concerned, straight is what I am. And no doubt one day I’ll get married. Normally I content meself with mutton and beef. But from time to time I want some wild venison. That means a young man. A feisty young man like you, who looks manly. And I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes when we’re hosing each other down. So…’ He went on smiling. I hugged him. Next moment my braces were round my seat. Then he began to unbutton my shirt.
“Stripping a man dressed for riding takes longer than someone in jeans and a T-shirt, but he soon got my boots off and the rest followed. I was fully naked and in the open air. I now turned to the task of baring him to the world. We went on laughing quietly. We knew what each other looked like from the shower-sessions in the yard. He had a body that any Ancient Greek sculptor would have used as a model; and it was almost as pale as marble. His face, throat and forearms were tanned, of course. I, on the other hand, had been in France over Easter and was tanned, almost all over. We kissed, touched and ran our hands gently over each other. I’d hear it said that Connor had ‘good hands for a horse’. He had good hands for a man too; I can confirm that!
‘Where d’ye get that tan?’ I told him the South of France. ‘And what the fuck costume were ye almost wearing?’
A fair question: I’d worn only a g-string; that was clear from the tan-line. In France that was unremarkable – indeed, nude sunbathing was starting to take off – but that was not the case in Ireland. He touched my asshole and set off some kind of reaction. He laughed again.
‘One moment.’
He searched in the pockets of his hacking-jacket and produced a small bottle of oil. I didn’t ask what kind or what for. He made me lie down on my stomach; he rimmed me and then started working the oil into my man-hole.
‘Now we’re ready. On yer back!’
He grabbed one of my ankles in each hand, spread my legs, pushed them forwards and lined himself up to enter. Then he ploughed me. It was great but it was fucking sore. I yelled my head off as I lost my ass-virginity.
‘This, he grunted, as he thrust away, is for what your lot did to our lot in 1916!’ I don’t think he was serious, by the way. It was the only time he mentioned the First Troubles.”
Richard’s imagination was working overtime. He could almost see Connor, a tall, pale Grecian form thrusting away at Toby; Toby’s eyes tightly shut; his dark eyebrows frowning; his mouth open to show the white regular teeth, as he screamed and swore. Toby’s tanned, muscular body spread; legs wider apart than they had ever been before; arms thrashing and head turning convulsively from side to side as Connor took him, plundered his ass and finally owned him.
For a short time after that they lay side by side, looking at each other, ‘with new eyes’ as it might be said. Then Connor raised himself on one elbow and looked down at Toby. He gave him a big smile.
‘You okay? Was I too rough?’
There was a pause. Then:
‘I’m okay but sore. No; I like you being rough. But I want to do that to you, too.’
Connor nodded. ‘You will. Come for a hug?’
They hugged, legs wrapped round each other. Then they washed off the sweat and sperm in the stream. Finally they rode back, not speaking much.
Richard wanted to know whether there was a sequel.
“Oh yes”, said Toby. “I had a pretty randy summer thanks to Connor. He even managed to climb up the ivy and spend the night in my room a few times. And remember that at that time homosexuality was illegal in Ireland. And I was technically a minor. So he was taking a risk. But we were never caught. I see him occasionally. We’re still friends. He’s married and has about four children; a good Catholic boy, you see!”
“And did no-one suspect?” persisted Richard.
“I don’t think so. They just thought we were very good friends. The old Catholic priest, whom we used to see quite often when we were out riding used to say:
'Well, if it isn’t David and Jonathan!'
And if that is what people though, that was fine by us!
