The Secret Catamite Bk 1, The Book of Daniel

by Patrick C Notchtree

  "Thanks for helping me, Daniel," said Simon, as he sat on the floor after doing press ups.

  "You support me at swimming," countered Daniel.

  "But you come running with me, and I don't go swimming with you."

  Daniel smiled. "I seem to remember we tried that once before. I think you're better on dry land."

  Simon grinned ruefully back, remembering that day at the lido. "OK. But I must do my best ever time for this. All the top kids will be there. And some of them will be almost a year older than me. I hate being young in my year."

  "You're as good as any of them," said Daniel, encouragingly.

  "There's a kid my age group in Sussex who's done a hundred yards in ten and a half seconds. Must have very long legs."

  "Well, let's hope he and his long legs stay in Sussex then. Right! I want to see those stomach muscles working. Sit ups!"

  Simon obediently commenced sit ups.

  On the Saturday of the meeting, they travelled in Mum's old little Ford she had bought to help her travel for work. Mum was driving, but Simon chose to sit in the back next to Daniel, rather than be separate. He felt nervous and wanted the support that Daniel's proximity gave him. On arrival, he had to find the others of his team and Mr Atherstone.

  "Don't look for us, we'll be watching, remember, concentrate!" urged Daniel.

  Mum gave Simon a hug. "Good luck, son. Just do your best."

  Simon left to find his team and then the long wait until his event, under fifteens 100 yards. Check kit, get changed. Luckily the weather was fine but not too hot, especially as there was little wind.

  When it came time to go out and line up for his heat he looked into the crowd but could not find Mum or Daniel. So stop looking and concentrate. He looked at his competitors. They all looked so confident and fit. One or two familiar faces from previous meetings, but nobody he really knew. He nodded to them, they nodded back, each boy concentrating on the inner person. Simon saw a tall fair boy in the colours of a club unknown to him watching him. He looked familiar, perhaps from a previous meeting. Loosening up, moving around. Keep loose. Not the time to talk.

  Line up. Lane but one furthest from the crowd. Good. He glanced sideways. The tall fair boy in the next but one lane was still looking at him. Simon felt uneasy. The boy smirked at Simon. Barry Spence! Christ! Simon looked away quickly. Stay focused. His heart was racing with the shock. Simon looked down the lane at the finish exactly a hundred yards away. Focus on that.

  "Set!"

  Simons hands lay exactly along the line. All else blotted out now, waiting for the gun.

  Crack! And Simon went. He knew immediately it was an excellent start. His heart pounding, his legs driving him forward, Simon felt on top form, no sign of running out, aware of a boy on his left, but just behind. The crowd cheering something. Simon crossed the line first! He had won his heat and would be in the final later. Now he looked for Mum and Daniel, and still could not see them, but he knew they would have been cheering. They had been cheering his race of course. Simon noticed with satisfaction that Barry Spence had not qualified, and now he could not see him. Good.

  "Well done, Scott. Brilliant run," said Mr Atherstone. "Get a drink, but not too much. Do you know that was equal to your previous best?"

  Simon drank some Lucozade. "No sir. That's good though isn't it. I'd love to crack that eleven second barrier though. So near, again."

  "Don't worry too much about times, it's the race that's important. Now Scott, next time you are up against the very best, King Henrys is relying on you to produce your best, and I know you can. So now rest a bit, but do your stretches and keep loose."

  Again Simon had to wait.

  "Good run, Scott," said some of the other boys. One asked, "Tell me where you get the invisible wings from. You were flying!"

  Time for the 100 yards under fifteens final. Simon felt confident. He could do this. He had flown in his heat, his body had recovered, he was ready! No Spence this time. Up to the line, under starter's orders. He glanced into the crowd, straight into Daniel's face. There he was. Simon felt his already buoyant confidence soar. But now focus.

  "Set!"

  Simon was totally focused on the gun. So much so that when the line moved for a false start before the gun had even gone off, he was the only one that didn't move, so much had he cut out the others. He didn't know or care who had moved first. They moved about to reduce the tension. Daniel was still there. Now he saw Mum too. Then they lined up again.

  "Set!"

  Simon was calm, confident.

  Crack! Simon again knew at once he had made the perfect start. He was flying and he knew it. Oblivious to the crowd's noise he put all his might, all his effort, all that training into running the race of his young life. He felt as if he could keep running forever but it was he who burst the tape to win the final. He had done it! He slowed and felt the others come in behind him, some patting his shoulder and saying words of congratulations between their panting. Simon could not find the breath to reply as he sucked in the oxygen.

  He heard the Tannoy announcing the results. "The winner of the under fifteen one hundred yards is Simon Scott of King Henry VII Grammar School Athletics Club in 10.9 seconds, a new under fifteens county record!"

  Simon gasped. He had done it. He had broken the eleven second barrier. Sussex watch out! People were suddenly round him congratulating him. He was King of the World!

  "Scott, that was fantastic!" said Mr Atherstone. "Henrys will be very proud of you."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "No more for you today, go and shower and change. I've still got Tomkinson in the 800 to see to yet. Well done."

  Mum and Daniel were by the changing rooms. "Well done, Simon," said Mum, hugging him, against Simon's will as there were other kids about.

  "You were simply super," said Daniel. Simon just grinned back. He was on top of the world, as he was later at the presentations which closed the meeting.

  On the way home in the back of the car, the boys talked.

  "You saw him, didn't you?" said Daniel.

  "Spence?"

  "Yeah. I saw him watching you for a while before you noticed him. It took me a time to remember who it was, then it came to me. I was hoping you wouldn’t recognise him."

  "Nearly didn't," said Simon. "I only realised who it was when he gave me that evil, cocky grin of his. Upset me a bit."

  "Who's Spence?" asked Mum from the driving seat.

  "Just a stupid kid we knew at the juniors," said Simon.

  "Well, it didn't show, you upset, I mean," said Daniel. "Anyway you left him standing. Serves him right. And I thought it was brilliant when you were the only one who didn't move on the false start."

  King Henrys always made a fuss about sports, and rewarded successful sportsmen with a ritual standing ovation in assembly. Daniel had received it once for swimming, mainly because he had chosen to stay with his swimming club rather than compete all the time for Hooray Henrys. And of course he played the piano in school concerts, Rachmaninoff a favourite. Simon had never dreamt that he, the clumsy kid who couldn’t catch a ball, would ever be on the stage in the great panelled hall receiving the plaudits of the entire school, from the new fags up to the Prefects, and teachers. It felt wonderful!

  The two continued to do their homework together, usually straight after school at Daniel's house. Now that Louise was working and at college, and Simon's mother was, and Frances now working, both boys were 'latch key kids', coming back to empty houses. But they both went to Daniel's, which they both preferred. Daniel rarely visited Simon's house. They both knew why, but neither said it. It had always been so. Knowing they had perhaps an hour and a half before they would be interrupted, they would release the stress of the day in the big bed. Pressed close against each other, stroking, kissing, legs entwined, hands caressing the other's admired body, often just that closeness and sensuality would be enough for one to reach orgasm, causing the other to follow rapidly, sometimes achieving this togeth
er, their teenage bodies pulsing with desire. Sometimes they would slake their passion for each other in the union of their bodies, Simon happy in his role as catamite to Daniel, Ganymedes to his Zeus, and then they would relax in each other's arms, talking before getting dressed again. The hungry teenage boys would often then descend to the kitchen where Daniel would make bacon sandwiches.

  "Do you want me to help?" offered Simon.

  "Not likely!" said Daniel. "You set the whole pan on fire."

  "That's for sausages and out of doors," argued Simon, knowing full well that Daniel knew that too. So he would watch while Daniel flipped the bacon over with the casual competence about him that Simon envied. Then back to the room for food and homework. In the run up to GCEs, Daniel worked with a fierce intensity that Simon could only wonder at, the piano being his counterbalancing outlet, the Rachmaninoff Prelude in C Sharp Minor Opus 3 No.2 a favourite for permitting his pent up energy to be spent, especially when his mood matched it. And yet he never refused to help Simon if he needed it, especially with Mathematics.

  Simon glanced over to Daniel's work, curious about the equations he was working on.

  "What's that lot?"

  "I'm writing up a physics experiment," said Daniel.

  "Which one?"

  "To test Boyle's Law, it's about gases."

  "What about them?"

  "Well, at a given temperature, the absolute pressure and the volume of a gas are inversely proportional. In a closed system of course. We can use it to predict the changes in either the pressure of a gas if the volume changes, or the volume if the pressure changes. You see, the equation …"

  "OK, stop there! Why would we need to?"

  "If you're a scientist, working on pressures, or maybe you work for the gas board and are installing new pipes, or something like that," said Daniel.

  "OK, I believe you. I can see that, I mean how the pressure and volume have a relationship, it's just the maths that gets me, as always. I like physics until the maths starts."

  "Can't be good at everything."

  "You are," said Simon. "But perhaps I can interest you in the causes of the French Revolution?" he added with a smile.

  "Would that be an increasing middle class who were excluded by the privilege of the nobility from any power," started Daniel, grinning, "coupled with France's inability to feed the poor despite having a large agricultural economy? And then there's the …"

  "Daniel Gray, there are times when I hate you," laughed Simon, bringing Daniel's historical discourse to a halt with a thump. "But what about the massive government debt? And the King's support for the American Revolutionaries which made it worse, the rise in anti-clericalism as a reaction to the church's opulence and its taxes on agriculture which made the price of bread even higher, and…"

  "OK, OK," said Daniel. "I know you know much more about history than I do. That's why I pick your brains on history as well as English and things like that."

  So Simon was able to repay the favour sometimes, helping with English essays, and in history, where Simon's extra reading often covered areas that he would study in the future and that Daniel was studying now. He would throw ideas at Daniel about history who would eagerly take every morsel Simon could give. So there was reciprocity and balance in their friendship which made it grow even deeper and stronger.

  When they had finished, Daniel said, "Come down and listen to my new piece I'm working on."

  So they went down to the back room where the Bösendorfer piano awaited them.

  "More Rachmaninoff?" asked Simon, while Daniel looked for the music.

  "No, Beethoven. Sonata number eight, the Pathetique."

  "Why's it called the Pathetique?" asked Simon.

  "Never mind. Sit there and turn when I say."

  Daniel started to play. Simon recognised the tune but wisely kept silent, aware of the look of intense concentration on Daniel's face. It seemed a hard piece and Daniel frowned once or twice, but to Simon it was an excellent performance.

  Daniel stopped, and turned to Simon, seeking his approval. "That's just the first part. What do you think?" he asked anxiously. He really cared what Simon thought.

  "Brilliant, as always," said Simon. He looked at his friend in admiration and love, although he would never have expressed it as such.

  Peter and Simon were lying on the grass of the school field on a warm autumn day. Fourth years now, around whom the younger boys trod warily. As they themselves did of the prefects, sixth formers and fifth formers, bar one in Simon's case. Both boys were now stars in the eyes of the other boys, Simon for his record run, Peter had found a niche in the school's drama club and had taken to acting like a duck to water. He now wanted this to be his career.

  "You've always been a such a pal to me, Simon," said Peter. Simon looked at his friend, aware that something was troubling him. He wasn't the usual chirpy Peter.

  "Well, you have been to me."

  "You're my best friend, Simon."

  Simon felt a little guilty about that. How could he respond in kind? He liked Peter, always had, but he was not Simon's number one. He knew little of Peter's life out of school. He was saved when Peter continued, "Oh, I know Gray's your best friend, always has been, I know that. But you do like me, don't you?"

  "Yes of course I do, Peter," said Simon, relieved at not having either to lie or let Peter down. "What's the matter? You don't seem right lately."

  "If I tell you something, promise you won't tell anyone? Anyone at all."

  "Yes, OK."

  "No, I really mean it. I just know I can talk to you, you're the sort of person people can talk to. But you have to promise."

  "I promise. What is it?" said Simon, curious yet concerned at Peter's evident upset.

  "Not even Gray. In fact, especially not Daniel Gray."

  "Why especially? He's very understanding too, you know."

  "Not about this. Promise. Not even Daniel Gray."

  "OK, Peter. I promise. Not a soul, not even Daniel."

  "Good. Thank you." Peter fell silent.

  "Well?"

  "It's difficult. I more than like you, Simon. You understand?" He reached out and placed his hand on Simon's upper thigh. As close as he dared? But his face said it all.

  Now Simon understood perfectly. "You mean sex? You want to have sex with me?"

  Peter nodded, he was close to tears. What could Simon say? He'd had no idea. He knew though that he must not reveal his true friendship with Daniel. He played a straight bat.

  "Peter, are you telling me that you're a queer?" he said in as sympathetic a tone as he could manage.

  "Yes, I had to tell someone, and you're the one. I've liked you that way for ages. I see you when we're in the showers and it makes me … well, you know. Please don't be angry. I would hate that." He withdrew his hand.

  "I'm not angry, Peter. Just surprised. I had no idea you were like that, or that you felt that way about me." At least that part was true.

  "I know you're not one, Simon, but can we still be friends? Please? I haven't spoilt it have I? It's just I had to say. It's been burning me up for ages."

  Poor kid, thought Simon. Would I be in that hidden anguish were it not for Daniel?

  "Of course we're still friends. Just like we always have been. I'm not going to drop you because of that. You're still the Peter I've known for years." He reached out and patted Peter's shoulder.

  Peter's face was one of sheer relief and pleasure. "Thank you Simon. I knew in my heart that you'd be OK. I couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. I've been wanting to tell you for ages."

  "Honestly, Peter, it's fine," said Simon. He looked at Peter anew, and briefly wondered what sex with him would be like. But no, put that out of your mind. "Why were you so worried about Daniel?"

  "Daniel Gray! Are you joking? You know him. A homo is the last thing he is. He's good at sports, music, dead brainy and all that, like you. I can see why you're friends. But please don't tell. You promised."

  "OK, I
promised. I'll keep my promise. But he's a very kind person, and he would not condemn you. He's not a bigot like so many of them here."

  "Bigot?" muttered Peter. "Oh yes, bigot. I know what you mean. So we're friends still?"

  "Of course, Peter. We always have been, always will be. Don't worry, your secret's safe."

  "I know you're friends with Gray, so maybe I shouldn't say this," said Peter.

  "What?" said Simon, suddenly anxious.

  "Well, as I seem to be telling you everything, it's just about Daniel Gray."

  Simon's head was spinning. Was there something about Daniel that despite their closeness, he didn't know? Hideous doubt crept into Simon's mind.

  "What, Peter?" he said, his impatience showing.

  "Well, some of the boys say he's …" Peter's voice tailed off.

  What was he going to say? That they thought Daniel was queer, a homo? He felt panic. Had they been found out?

  "Peter, what is it?" he demanded.

  "Well, they say he's a bit too big for his boots, big headed sometimes. But they might not say that to you coz you're his friend."

  Relief surged through Simon. "Is that all, Peter?" he said, relaxing. "I wondered what the hell you were going to say. Like he was a murderer or something."

  "Did you know?"

  "Don't worry, Peter. I can see how he comes across that way, and yes, he is a little bit sometimes. I tell him off for it."

  "So you don't mind me telling you?"

  "Of course not."

  "And you really won't tell him what I've just told you? About me, I mean."

  "No, Peter, I won't. I promised, didn't I?"