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Friday, June 29th 2012

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Related article: Date: Sat, 3 Dec 2005 13:24:14 +0000 (GMT)
From: Mike Arram
Subject: Henry in the Outfield 3This is my fifth gay erotic novella on Nifty. The four earlier ones
chronicle -- in different ways -- episodes in the same love affair: They
are, in order: 'The Decent Inn' and 'Terry and the Peachers' in the Nifty
archive under the College section; 'The Heart of Oskar Prinz' in
Beginnings, and 'The Chav Prince' models youngs angels
in High School. This, however, is a very
different kind of story. But different though it is, I have to confess
that I went under to the temptation to include some earlier characters of
whom I am particularly fond. Nevertheless this is the story of Henry and
Edward, who, as Justin unkindly says, may sound like refugees from Thomas
the Tank Engine, but they aren't.
The story contains graphic depictions of sex between young males. If the
reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your place of
residence please leave this site immediately and do not proceed further.
If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.
IIIHenry helped out in church on Sunday, providing Dad was at Trewern, and
this Sunday at the ten o'clock eucharist, he was. So Henry togged up in a
zipped alb, carried the cross in front of Dad and acted as server. Mum
played the Victorian organ, rather well. The main congregation at Trewern
was not bad for a country parish. There was a village primary school, and
the Sunday school usually pulled in at least ten kids, so there was a
scattering of young families amongst the grey heads. There were over forty
people in the pews of the large medieval church. It was an encouragement
to Dad. It was also a tribute to his preaching, which was always worth
listening to.
Henry occupied a place on the south side of the long-abandoned choir
benches during the readings. He gazed up at the numerous wall monuments,
and that escort models london Sunday morning he observed one up close to the sanctuary on the
north side opposite. It was a rather theatrical marble cartouche, topped
by the inevitable urn, flames spouting out of the lid. Henry squinted up
to make out the words, but only caught the name 'Scudamore'. He made a
mental note to get a closer look after the service.
After he had tidied the sanctuary, he went for a closer look at the
monument. But he was in for a disappointment, the wording was in Latin.
He saw the name of Edgar Scudamore, so it was the same rector from the
boy's tomb in nude indianmodel the graveyard. He got the blank side of a pew news sheet and
a pencil from the vestry and scribbled the text down .M. In tumulo prope hoc marmore resident cineres EDGARII SCVDAMORE qui in
vita mortali rector templi Trewerni erat. Vir probus. Sacerdos
prudens. Maritus castus. Alumnus universitatis Oxfordiensis magister
artium erat per decem annos socius et tesaurarius collegii Omnium
Sanctorum. Mortuus est in LVIIo anno aetatis suae in anno incarnationis
MDCCCII relicta FRANCESCA devota uxore sua, filia nobilis domini Roberti
Simpkins baronetti, quae in pietate hoc monumentum erexit.It was as he was finishing this off that he heard a fine old voice say
behind him 'Hello, young Henry, still busy researching?' It was Dr
Mackenna, the churchwarden. Dr Mackenna was a retired academic from some
northern university, who had been warden of Trewern now for twenty years.
Henry liked the old man, who was one of those sympathetic types just born
to be grandfathers. Henry had told him all about his researches, and he
had been very interested, showing Henry a stack of older graveslabs stored
behind the sexton's shed, which he would have otherwise missed.
Henry grinned, 'Hi, Dr Mac! Yup. Just copying down this monument. But
it's in Latin and I can't read it.'
'Not a problem, Henry. Let me get my reading glasses. I took Latin for
matriculation and I had to keep it up for one reason and another. Now,
let's see. Mmm.' The old man frowned and then cocked an eye at the boy,
'Ready? Got your pencil? Here goes.'
"In a grave near childmodel sites this stone rests the dust of Edgar Scudamore who while
alive was rector of Trewern. He was a fine chap, a wise priest and a
faithful husband. He was a graduate of Oxford University, was a master of
arts there and for ten years was ilegal models nude fellow and bursar of All Saints. He died
in his fifty-seventh year in the year 1802 leaving his devoted wife
Frances, the daughter of Sir Robert Simpkins, baronet, who dutifully put up
this memorial."'
'That's brilliant Dr Mac! Thanks a lot. Odd thing though, it doesn't
mention any kids: but he had at least one son, with some biblical name or
other, who's buried out in the graveyard. But he did predecease him I
suppose.'
'Yes, that is odd. These memorials usually go into extensive family
details -- his father- in-law got a mention after all -- and they usually
do name the children, bdsm model bbyudoll even if they had died. I suppose it must have been
an only child too, tragic.'
Henry took his leave and finished clearing up. Dad was still chatting to
parishioners in the south porch when he left. 'Dinner in one hour, dad!'
he called cheerily as he passed. Dad's timekeeping was good where it
involved funerals, baptisms and weddings, and pretty useless otherwise.
Like most clergy, he felt he was at the disposal of his parish, and he
couldn't say no to anyone, poor man.
Henry was happy that day, and when he was happy he was -- like a
surprising number of adolescent boys -- extremely good company: quick,
amusing, and attractive. Dinner was very good fun, and Dad told his best
funeral stories. Henry had heard them before but some stories got better
the more you heard them. He helped Mum stack the dishwasher.
Henry was on his way up the stairs when Dad called him down. 'Henry, can
you pop across to the church? The candles needed changing this morning,
but I didn't have time, and the ones on the altar were nearly down to
stubs.' Henry was not going to be disobliging today, so he smiled and said
he'd do it right then. His Dad ruffled his hair and hugged him as he went
past.
The heavy south door creaked open and closed back on itself with an
echoing crash, as Henry let it go. The church was left unlocked on
weekends, despite the risk of thieves from Birmingham raiding its Victorian
fittings. It was on the tourist circuit, and Dr Mac or one of the PCC
tried to be there to keep an eye on it when they could. But there was no
one there that afternoon.
Henry was not spooked to be on his own in the ancient building, smelling
of dust and candle wax. The creaking and cracking of boards and beams left
him unmoved, and the cool dimness of the church did not daunt him.
Cobwebs, fluttering bats, scurrying rodents were all as nothing to him. He
had grown up with churches and they were to him what the local park was to
most kids, and probably a lot less dangerous.
Humming to himself, he got the knife laika girl model and fresh candles from the vestry,
and began clearing out the candlesticks. He boiled up water in the kettle,
and melted off the dripped wax. It was as he was drying off the brass that
he was aware of a curious hum in the air. It sounded as though the sound
system was giving off feedback. He was curious enough to open the vestry
cupboard to see if someone had left it on, but when he did there were no
lights and the switch was down. pretens models pfotos He went back to the job in hand. When all
six were sorted, he began taking them in pairs back to the altar.
As Henry looked over the altar and back down into the nave, he was aware
that someone had child nonude modeling come into the church. A slight, dark figure was in a back
pew, and seemed to have his or her head down in prayer. This was not an
infrequent occurrence, and Henry had ilegal models nude learned that such people generally did
not want to be disturbed. So he did his best to adult modeling be quiet and unobtrusive.
When he looked again he found that the dark figure was also looking up. He
found it strangely difficult to focus on the figure in the darkening
afternoon, but he got the impression of a young male face looking fixedly
at him.
'Er ... hi!' he called out, 'can I help you?'
There was no reply, the figure just kept looking at him. innocent models gallery Henry was
unnerved. Christ, it might be a druggie on a bender. His dad had told him
some cautionary tales about drug addicts and churches. As the alarm rose
in his chest, the sound system definitely gave a crackle and the humming
sound became yet more obvious. All of a sudden, Henry had a decided
conviction that he did not want to go down into the church, and indeed he
had changed his mind about being alone in this place. He remembered that
the dead lay all around him and under the very flagstones on which he was
standing. There was however an option. An old priest's door opened off
the chancel, and Henry had the key. He finished his task and walked in a
controlled way to the south side. He did not look, but he knew the bloke
was teeniemodels still there and was staring at him and out of the corner of his eye he
thought he saw a movement. His key engaged with the look, it twisted and
the door opened.
A flood of springtime scents and warm sunshine surrounded him. Death and
decay were behind him, and life and colour in front of him. He breathed
out, only now aware that the breath had frozen in his chest. But as he
stepped out on to the grass he was almost certain he heard a sigh from just
behind him, definitely a boy's sigh with that adolescent rasp that many
teenagers get. He span around, but nobody was there.
Henry's alarm subsided and he felt ashamed of himself. He was by nature
a secure sort of boy. He had never asked for a night light, and he wasn't
ordinarily bothered by loneliness or the dark. His sudden panic in the
church had been an aberration, and he wanted to efface it. He turned
around on childmodel sites the path and went nervously back in. He looked around. Nobody
was in the chancel. Nobody latina model lesbians was in the nave. The pews were empty. He
coughed, escort models london
and called out, a little tremulously, 'Hullo! Anyone there!'
There was no reply. Henry breathed out and shrugged. He finished tidying
the altar and went home, pondering what he had experienced.
That night Henry dreamed again. He was once more in Trewern Woods,
walking the paths embarrassingly naked, and once again a boy was walking
with him and talking, but this time he was also holding his hand. He could
not understand what the boy was saying, but he seemed happy and amused for
some reason. His eyes were bright and his face was clearer to him this
time. It was quite a good looking face: dark haired with large grey eyes,
a little sad maybe, but twinkling now with laughter. He was clothed in
some black stuff. He stopped Henry and they looked at each other. He put
a hand on each of Henry's bare flanks, and he moved his latino models teen
head towards
Henry's. Hey! The boy was going to kiss him! This wasn't right! Henry
turned his head away. The unknown boy looked hurt and then annoyed. He
stormed off through the bushes leaving Henry cold and alone in a darkening
wood. There was a rumbling sound and the wind rose underteen nude models in the trees, the
branches thrashing, Henry felt himself buffeted in the gusts and he felt
his feet leave the ground. He woke with a yell. child modele photo Bloody hell. What a dire
dream, he thought; shaking as he reached for the light switch.The minibus arrived. It was Monday again and it was back to Hogwarts, but
there would be no quidditch practice today. Henry smiled to himself. He
had a note from his father saying that Henry had twisted his ankle and Mr
Atwood would be grateful if Henry could be excused games.
During games, Henry was sent to the library. He sat happily in the
corner of the empty room and put his hands behind his head as he stretched.
The blackened rafters above him reminded him that this was the old part of
the school, in fact he remembered that this was the core of the old school
itself and had once been the hall in which all escort models london the boys had been taught,
ranked on benches, each reciting their own exercises in Latin grammar. The
room was panelled with oak, and he had before now looked at the ancient
graffiti that his predecessors had carved into the panels down the
centuries.
The librarian's desk was empty and there was an expanse of the old
panelling behind her chair, so Henry, ever curious, went over to view that
unexplored area. It was covered with jagged child sexmodel
penknife etchings. Of course
all boys had carried sharp little knives in those days: not to stab each
other, but to trim the quills of their pens. There were some classics. He
particularly liked the despairing ones. 'Jn Andrewes. 1814. Longinge for
death' was an instant favourite. Some were tall and skeletal, some smaller
and beautifully executed, tgp childmodels a monument to the long boredom of school
afternoons. But one now caught his eye: JE'DA SCVDAMORE. 1795, it
proclaimed in firm deep strokes. Well, well. Henry was intrigued. So it
was the Trewern boy, who had gone to Edward VI Grammar in his day too. And
he noticed something else. The same hand had cut another name, a name that
interlaced artfully with the first, almost as if it were caressing it:
NATH'L CORNER. What to make of that? Henry had no idea. He got a blank
sheet from his file, and laying it over the names, used the nude catalog models side of his
pencil lead to make a rubbing of the two linked carvings. He smiled at the
result, and went back to his table.
The library windows looked on to the sports field, where figures in white
were enacting the immemorial rituals of cricket. Henry was not in fact
against cricket as a spectator sport. It was the forced participation that
he disliked. Temple house was in at the moment, and Edward Cornish was
bowling. He did it with intensity and coordination, sending the ball
hurling down on to the crease with appalling power. As Henry looked,
Mukhtar Patel's middle stump took wing as the ball smashed through the
wicket. Cornish leapt in the air, raising his fist, his face a mask of
delight. Henry was a little moved, despite himself. The power and the
joyous youth escort models london of the boy were nothing if not impressive. And when Cornish
embraced and danced around with Gardiner, Henry was curiously saddened. It
was a world of physical accomplishment to which he would always be a
stranger. He sighed.
As Henry was once more heading towards the minibus along bottom corridor
that evening, he was again confronted by Cornish, although this time
without Westenra and the other two. Cornish looked straight into his eyes,
and then looked away rapidly, shamefaced and actually moving out of Henry's
path. There was a certain apologetic submissiveness about the gesture that
Henry could not but see, and it moved him, as he was a generous-hearted
boy. models youngs angels Oh hell, he thought in his head: I hate being a Christian.
As he passed Cornish, he stopped him. 'Hey, Cornish.'
'Uh ... hey.'
'You didn't half send Patel's stumps into orbit,' Henry said, and he
smiled.
Cornish looked taken aback briefly, and then stared back full into
Henry's face. He too smiled, and when he did, he looked very
different. 'Thanks Atwood,' he said, and then he added: 'We missed you out
there.' But he said it with a very human and mischievous grin, and Henry
could only grin back. He felt a curious surge of emotion towards this boy.
He offered his hand, and it was taken.
Cornish in fact held on to it, as he said the last thing american supper model Henry had ever
expected him to say, 'I'm sorry for what I did, Henry. I don't know what
came over me. Can you forgive me?'
'Course. No problems. What's a boot up the arse between friends?'
Cornish laughed, and let his hand go. 'Friends? male fitness model
On my part, yes.
Though I don't know how I've got the nerve to say it; you're very kind,
Henry.'
'Er, thanks ... by the way, you called me Henry. What happened to
Atwood?'
'My name is Ed. Call me Ed, OK?'
'Sure ... Ed. Well. See holynet child model you tomorrow.'
'Yeah. Tomorrow.' They smiled into each other's faces, and parted. And
much to his surprise, Henry felt his heart lighter. That's forgiveness for
you, he said to himself. It's liberating. I should listen more to Dad's
sermons.
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