The Secret Catamite Bk 1, The Book of Daniel (31 page)

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 together, 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.