The Horatio Stubbs Trilogy. Brian Aldiss

and faced her, aghast, unable to say anything. The room seemed to be full of silence.

      ‘I’ll tell your mother!’

      She pulled my hands away. My prick was still standing at an angle, jutting out. She touched it. She gripped it.

      ‘If you’ve got that far, you’d better go on, Master Horace. Go on! Let me see you do it!’ She insisted as I hesitated. Unable to bring myself to do it in her presence, I leant away from her.

      She took hold of my prick again and began rubbing it, muttering, ‘Oh, you naughty naughty boy! You shouldn’t rub it yourself! You shouldn’t!’

      Her other arm went round my back and she dropped on to one knee. She was working away, her face flushed. She held my prick, rather daintily between thumb and two first fingers, with her little finger cocked out straight, in the genteel fashion she observed while holding a tea-cup. I already had enough sense to know Mother would never be called. I was still speechless, but now with exaltation. Although I was still in my anti-girl phase, Beatrice was somewhat too old to be exactly classed as a girl, and the pleasure was exquisite.

      ‘Lay on the bed,’ she said. As I did so, she closed the door. Then she climbed on with me.

      For the first time, I was horizontal with a girl beside me.

      We were both trembling. She lay half on top of me, still tossing me off, but now from a rather less advantageous angle. She kissed me at the same time. Without knowing what I was about, I was reaching up under her dress, sliding my hand up over her black cotton stockings, feeling her leg. Suddenly aware of what I was doing, I hesitated.

      ‘Go on!’ she said. She pressed my hand right up into her crotch. I slid my hand under the leg of her knickers as she opened her legs – and there for the first time the genuine article lay fluttering in my grasp, damp and furry and indescribably exciting. Gripping it, I held on tightly while she rubbed away. Now a strange sensation overcame me, originating I knew not where, but slowly encompassing my whole body.

      I lay back in a swoon, my hand slipping from her fanny, gasping, while she kissed my open mouth and tossed me off like fury. The feeling rose and flowered and burst magnificently, and my body seemed to churn into dozens of delighted particles. It was my first orgasm. Flinging my arms about Beatrice, I lay with my head on her breast; so we remained for a lingering interval.

      The beauty of this event left me dazzled for a long while. There was awe in my attitude towards it, awe for my own hidden capacities, awe for the staggering generosity of women who could provoke such wonders, and a little awe left over for a world that allowed such clandestine glories to occur. I saw that England and its fair inhabitants might indeed be worth the contents of an Indian gold-mine.

      Part of my wonder resided in the fact that what had happened was an unique event. Nor did I make any particular move to alter this state of affairs.

      I had faith that such pleasures, such revelations, would recur. Unfortunately, Beatrice decided otherwise. Although she had been overwhelmed by lust when she saw me standing posturing naked before the mirror, in cooler blood, later, she must have been stricken by conscience to think she had seduced (if that was what she had done) a boy of twelve. She resolved she must not touch me again, and proceeded to evade me about the house.

      When I realized this I was mortified. At the time it did not occur to me that she might see anything sinful in what we had done; if she avoided me it could only be because she did not much like me. I lay in wait for her, trying to catch her alone in the kitchen, or on the landing upstairs, once venturing desperately up the second flight of stairs to the servants’ quarters, creeping into her little room, pleading with her – only to be turned away.

      During this miserable period I masturbated myself for consolation, and Ann also did it to me, but there was no transcendence, although I now had orgasms on every occasion – still without ejaculating. I achieved higher feelings on my own, when I could create fantasies about Beatrice. It never occurred to me to try to excite Ann; seemingly, it never occurred to her that she could be excited.

      The summer holidays came, I returned from school with an adverse report. Father said nothing about it; Mother told me he was very angry, and disappointed in me; but he always was being disappointed in me.

      As usually happened, we went to our bungalow by the sea. Father drove us down and came to visit us at the weekends, living alone at home during the week, looked after by one of the maids. The other maid came to the seaside with us. On this occasion I was mournfully glad to find Beatrice was coming with us.

      I wish I could remember more of that little darling. The real Beatrice has long since been obnubliated by the long years of my fantasies about her. Nothing comes back to me except the thrilling feel of her fanny between my fingers, elusive and plump. She could not have been more than nineteen. I adore her still!

      She was forced to reach our bungalow by train and local bus, a journey involving half a dozen changes, because it would never have done to have had your maid in the car with you, even if you could have crammed her into your little hot black Rover.

      Our family holiday tradition was wearing a little thin by this date. The bungalow was now rather cramped for us, although Father had had a large living room tacked on and had divided the old living room into two bedrooms. On this occasion it was raining dismally when we arrived. Nelson, too, was in sober mood. His School Certificate exams were looming over him, and he arrived armed with a parcel of schoolbooks to work at. In my wretchedness I had confided in him about the Beatrice affair; he had promised to speak to Beatrice on my behalf, but nothing had come of it.

      That dull day of our arrival comes back to me well! I took my sister’s hand and we ran down to the edge of the sea in our macs. She hunted for funny stones, calling in delight. I flung driftwood into the waves. More time passed than we knew, until heavier rain drove us back to the bungalow. Mother had lit the big oil lamps with their bulging white translucent shades, and everything looked homely and welcoming as Ann paraded her treasures on the table. Where was Father? I asked. Since the weather was so unpromising, he had had a cup of tea and started the drive home immediately.

      And he had not thought to say goodbye to Ann and me!

      As it happened, the weather improved the next day. It became bright and dry, with a little cold hard wind sneaking along the sands, entirely typical of the North Norfolk coast. Ann and I loved the wide beaches, and played on them contentedly all day. Ann could swim like a little dolphin; Nelson was a good diver; but I could swim farther than either of them, and farther underwater.

      One morning, Mother decided she would buy herself a dress, and took Ann with her to King’s Lynn for the day; Ann liked the train ride. Beatrice could look after the boys. By now, I was fed up with Beatrice, and ran off to the beach as soon as I had waved goodbye to Mother and Ann. I joined some brown and ragged boys in a game of cricket on the great expanse of sand. They were bigger than I, and tough, and to their chagrin I bowled them all out one by one, until they chased me savagely off the beach.

      As I made my way back to the bungalow, some instinct made me go very quietly. I threw my gym shoes into the hedge and crept up the sandy path. Most of the windows were open – I must have caught the odd murmur of voices. Bumble-bees were in all the snapdragons by the front porch.

      Gliding round to one of the big side windows, I stealthily raised an eye over the sill, heart beating heavily with presentiments of evil. This window had belonged to the old living room. A partition now divided it unequally in two. The large part lit my mother’s bedroom, the smaller, the maid’s room.

      For reasons of comfort, Nelson and Beatrice had elected to lie on the double bed in my mother’s room. They were between bouts. He was naked except for a flannel shirt, and had removed his spectacles. She still wore all her clothes bar her knickers, which had been kicked on to the floor. The rest of her clothes were bundled up around her breasts. He was kissing her stomach. I could not see Beatrice’s face.

      After a moment, Nelson moved so that I could see he bore a flaming erection. He opened her legs and knelt between them as if he was going to enter her, but she sat up and cupped his prick in her hands, staring at