The Horatio Stubbs Trilogy. Brian Aldiss

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СКАЧАТЬ somewhat vexed that it had happened without my being aware of it, and also scared in case anyone had seen me from the road; but there appeared to be nobody about and presently I picked myself up and peeped in the window again.

      I saw their enviable climax take place, that thrilling twitching of limbs! Almost at once, Beatrice sat up and grabbed a towel to wipe herself – doubtless fearing the consequences of her love-making. To do this, she perched on the edge of the bed and opened her legs wide. From my position, I would have had a glorious view of all her secrets but, after one quick thirsty glance, I had to slide out of sight, since she would have looked directly at me had she lifted her head.

      All I had seen drove me absolutely insane with lust. Little juicy twots seemed to burst open inside my brain! I ran round the bungalow with my prick out, wanking furiously, barefoot, uncaring. Finally I flung myself on a pile of grass-cuttings and shot my bolt again, body heaving.

      The misery was by no means over.

      Beatrice made us a scratch lunch and we ate it on the balcony in a heavy and intermittent silence.

      Afterwards, Nelson came to me with a clenched fist to set under my nose and said, ‘If you tell anyone what happened this morning I swear I’ll brain you!’

      I was overcome with anguish. How did he know I knew? Later I discovered that he had seen me rolling and wanking on the grass from his bedroom window, and divined what had driven me to that extremity. But I have wondered since whether, in fact, he had not noticed or at least sensed me at his window, and derived a certain amount of additional pleasure from showing off his capabilities to a younger brother.

      I looked at him in a beaten way and said, ‘Let me do it with Beatrice, Nelson!’

      ‘You’re too young. It isn’t good for you.’ He was kindly now. ‘Come on, I’ll toss you off, if you like!’

      ‘Don’t want you to!’ But he was opening my flies, and whatever I felt, my little weapon was not adverse to the idea.

      ‘Fetch Beatrice!’ I begged.

      ‘Ssh! Get on the bed and I’ll give you a really good going.’

      ‘Oh, if you must!’

      It was a flimsily constructed bungalow, and the speculative builder who put it up had not intended that it should keep secrets. Beatrice had been suspicious, or at least uneasy; she now appeared in the doorway, clutching a dishcloth.

      The shock of seeing us in that incriminating attitude triggered off her ‘I’ll tell your mother’ threats; equally, the sight of a male organ drove her forward.

      I ran squealing to her, prick in hand, offering it as lovers offer bunches of flowers. I begged her to let me do to her what Nelson had done, swearing I was not too young, that I would keep the secret.

      Over my head, angrily to Nelson, she said, ‘You rotten little bastard, you told him!’

      ‘He saw us!’ Nelson said.

      They stared at each other.

      Anxious that they should concentrate on me, anxious to make as many concessions as possible, I said, ‘Please, Beatrice, please, at least do me once – I don’t mind if you do Nelson at the same time, please!’

      ‘I shall have to tell your father,’ she said wretchedly, seeing herself in too deep for anything other than violent extrication.

      Nelson turned pale. He put an arm round her and an arm round me. ‘Don’t be frightened, Beatrice. You know Horace knows all about it – he’s growing up! He won’t hurt you. He won’t tell anyone if you just do it to him quickly, will you, Horace?’

      Of course I protested that I would not tell a soul. We both began to work on Beatrice. I managed to get her to clutch my prick, which alone was balm, although my anxieties were such that I had lost my hard; she looked down at it in a puzzled fashion.

      Between us, with protestations and persuasions, we managed to get her to sit on the edge of my bed. Nelson now unbuttoned; his prick was flying again; he brought it forth as if it were an additional prop to our argument. Possibly we both felt she could not resist the sight of two cocks; possibly we were right. Suddenly she made up her mind. Shrugging us away, she went off quickly and returned with her towel. Then she lay back resignedly on the bed and let us have our way.

      When I lifted her skirts I discovered to my joy and surprise that she had not bothered to put on any knickers since her last encounter (I had no idea how easily knickers came off, suspecting they probably buttoned in obscure places, just as pants did in those days). So there was her curly-haired little cunt, smiling meekly up at me between her legs!

      It delighted me, and it terrified me. When she opened her legs it did look incredibly large, the unknown made palpable. It also appeared somewhat complicated, lacking the simple classical lines of my own organ. But it felt good and welcoming, and as I touched it, my waning organ revived. I caught, too, just a scent of the quarry, putting me in mind of the smell I had sniffed on my fingers after my first meeting with this forbidden toy. That was all that was needed to add steel to the backbone.

      Beatrice looked at me, sober and keen. Without ever having seen that expression before, I knew she was eager.

      I was in a terrific hurry to get in. But she guided me, and I felt the lips of her vagina take and suck at my tip, and then I sunk into that devouring passageway. So much can be described in words; but of all the flooding inspirations which filled me it is impossible to speak. Secret compartments opened in my heart.

      It vexes me now that I cannot remember more. I believe orgasm came just on that miraculous contact. For, as I rolled off, Nelson was still pulling himself towards ejaculation by the side of the bed.

      During that holiday, and while we were still at the seaside, I had my thirteenth birthday, and Father came to a great decision.

      I suppose I was a worry to my parents. I still had temper fits, I was not doing well at school, and now I had become very solitary and morose, and would hardly speak to Nelson.

      My parents could not guess at the torments that raged in my being. I had imagined that once Beatrice allowed me to screw her, she would allow me to do so every day. Far from it. She and Nelson made it quite clear that that one and only time was my reward for keeping silent. I must expect no more rewards. It was unhealthy.

      Jealousy corroded me. Every morning Mother would take Ann and me down to the beach. Nelson, pleading that he had to study, would be allowed to stay in the bungalow – where Beatrice was supposedly cleaning the house and preparing a picnic lunch to bring down to the sands. I knew what they were doing. Always before my eyes was a vision of them doing it, and the vision of how marvellous Beatrice looked with her clothes up by her armpits.

      At the seaside, Ann seemed to have lost all interest in sexuality. She swam and ran and roamed the dunes and built castles, and forgot that she had ever tossed me off. No, once she did it to me as I stood naked among the dunes, flaunting myself; she put both hands round it, working from the front, tongue half-out, as when she was colouring a picture. But I was too mixed up to confide my problems to her.

      Nelson hated me, seeing me as a threat to his enjoyment. He would not answer my anxious questions. On one occasion he did drop this hostile attitude when he discovered from Beatrice a piece of news so galvanizing, and at first so incredible, that he was forced to share it with me.

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