The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (5 page)

“Why should she?”

“Oh, she has ideas about what’s proper. I once wanted to be a painter, but she talked me out of it. She was probably right.” His sex continued to grow under Peter’s hand.

“Well, you obviously have talent. I haven’t. It makes a big difference.”

“You could have. You just might not have discovered it yet.”

“I doubt it.” He interrupted himself with laughter. “But I guess today proves there’s a lot I haven’t discovered yet.” He unfastened buttons and grasped Charlie’s sex and eased it out. It sprang up, and the head hovered near the wheel. “Golly, it’s even bigger than I remembered. I thought I must’ve imagined it.”

“Do you want me to kill us both?” Charlie protested. Being naked and erect out of doors in broad daylight brought him immediately to the verge of orgasm.

“You just keep driving. You said I could do anything I felt like.” He leaned over, obliging Charlie to remove one hand from the wheel, and ran his tongue along the length of the sex and took the head in his mouth. Charlie’s loins were rocked by the shock of it. He knew he should stop him, but the daring of it thrilled him. His size had always inhibited oral play, exposing him to teeth, but now he felt only the moist, smooth warmth of Peter’s lips and tongue. Peter’s head moved against his chest, surely visible to the whole world, as his mouth demonstrated its extraordinary capacity. Charlie felt his eyes closing, his hand slipping from the wheel. His free hand gripped the back of Peter’s shorts and he made a furious effort to concentrate on the road as the power built up in him, making his jaws clamp shut and his legs stiffen. His hips were convulsed, every muscle seemed to lock as he exploded into the avid mouth. They both uttered stifled cries. The car swerved, but he recovered control. Peter’s shoulders contracted, he retched once, but he held the sex in his mouth until Charlie’s final spasms had subsided. Then he rested his head in his lap.

“Was it all right to swallow it?” he asked, his lips brushing against the dwindling sex.

“Yes, sure.”

“I thought it might make me sick.” He kissed the sex with lips and tongue and gentle teeth and lifted it back into the trousers and buttoned it in. He gave it a squeeze and sat up.

“Actually, it’s supposed to be good for you,” Charlie assured him.

“You taste wonderful. It is something people do, isn’t it? I mean, with the mouth? I’ve heard of it.”

“Of course. Only nobody’s ever really managed to do it with me before.”

Peter’s face lighted up as he turned to him. “Honestly? That’s marvelous. Did I broaden your experience?”

They laughed. “Jesus. You’re really something.”

“I can’t go to the club now,” Peter said.

“Why?”

“I came again, naturally.”

“You’re incredible. How many times does that make?”

“I don’t know. I come automatically when you do.”

“And a few times when I haven’t.”

“That was just the beginning. It won’t happen any more. What do you call it?”

“What?”

“This.” He gave Charlie another squeeze.

“Oh. Cock, I guess. I don’t like most of the other words.”

“I want to see your cock when it isn’t hard.”

Charlie felt it stirring again. “I don’t see how you ever will if we go on like this,” he said dismissively. This was somehow going too far; he felt once more that he was being drawn in too deep. He wanted suddenly to get away from Peter for a while. He had to be with other people, see himself reflected in the familiar faces of the boys and girls who offered and demanded no more than simple companionship.

The road he had taken came to an end among sand dunes and he turned the car without stopping. “That’s the Atlantic Ocean. We can look at it some other time. I have to go to the club. I left my racket there yesterday. You can wait in the car. I won’t be long.” He accelerated recklessly.

“You don’t have to hurry for me,” Peter said. He removed his hand from Charlie’s lap. “It’ll dry.”

They said no more as the landscape flashed past. The club was all trees and lawns and tennis courts. Charlie parked the car and slid out from under the wheel. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and was gone, walking fast. He was free. He breathed deeply. His sex finally subsided to its usual dimensions. He hitched up his trousers and felt complete in himself and self-sufficient. He went first to the locker where he kept his tennis racket and took it out. Then, no longer hurrying, he went on up to the big porch that served as a social center. He found Anne and Harry and Belinda having lemonade. They were all members of his crowd, and he was greeted enthusiastically and urged to have a drink. He ordered a lemonade from a passing waiter and sat with them. They resumed their chatter, he was included in it, he joined in dutifully. Before his lemonade had arrived, he had had enough. The day, which had been touched with wonder and joy, had become intolerably ordinary. Their jokes seemed flat and childish; when he looked at Harry nothing happened in his eyes, Anne’s schoolgirl flirtatiousness was a silly bore, and Belinda’s attempts at weary sophistication were simply ludicrous. When the lemonade was served he took a few long gulps of it and put some money on the table.

“I’ve got to go. C. B. has a sort of cousin staying with us.”

“Family. How too utterly sick-making.”

“It’s not that kind of family. Actually, he’s about our age. You’ll be meeting him. He’s a good guy.”

“Good-looking?”

“Of course. C. B. says he looks like me.”

They all made suitable noises of mockery and pain as he left them. He felt guilty at having left Peter so long and was eager for a fresh glimpse of him. When it came, he was stunned by its impact. All the muscles of his face lifted, something happened in his chest, and he began humming a tune. Peter looked terribly alone and there was strained anxiety in the way he sat. Charlie felt the tender protectiveness welling up in him and spreading into his arms so that he wanted to hold him. When Peter saw him approach, his face was transfused with delight, dazzling and undisguised. Charlie handed him the racket as he slid in beside him.

“Well, that was quite an experience,” Peter said. “I didn’t know it was possible to want to be with somebody so much.”

“Did you miss me, baby?” He put his hand on Peter’s knee. Peter brought his legs together and gripped it.

“God, it kills me when you call me that. I’ll say I did. It’s frightening.”

“I got stuck with some stupid kids.”

“Are we going home now?”

“Yes.” Charlie already had the car in motion.

“Thank goodness,” Peter said fervently.

Charlie parked the car in front of the house, and they got out. Peter’s shorts were stiff and wrinkled. Charlie handed him the racket.

“Carry that in case we run into anybody.” They entered the house and climbed in silence to the top. As soon as they reached the safety of Charlie’s room, their arms encircled each other and they exchanged a long, breathless kiss. Charlie was the first to draw back. “Come on, now. Into the shower with you,” he ordered.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.”

“Will you take a shower with me?”

Charlie looked at him and smiled. “If that’s what you want to call it. We’ll probably drown.” They both undressed, Peter with his back slightly turned. He held his shirt awkwardly before himself when he was done. Charlie stood unconcernedly naked before him. He saw Peter’s eyes go to his sex. He looked down at himself and laughed.

“You see? You’re not going to get your wish all that easily.”

“It’s wonderful I do that to you.”

“Come on. Let’s see what I do to you.”

They went into the bathroom and turned on the shower and stood together under it. The were totally absorbed in each other. They soaped each other more than was strictly necessary for hygienic purposes but as their roving hands grew more purposeful, Charlie called a firm halt.

“It’s time to get dressed. C. B. expects me every evening at six. Anyway, we’ve got the whole night ahead of us. I’ve never been worn down by sex yet, but then I’ve never been with anyone like you before.”

“I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for,” Peter giggled.

Charlie noted with approval the playfulness, an emulation perhaps of his own carefully imposed casual approach. Peter allowed himself to be dispatched to his own room. Charlie dressed. He was almost finished when Peter returned. Charlie’s face fell. He was wearing a seersucker suit that was shapeless and baggy, his saddle shoes were scuffed, his tie was twisted, and his collar was too tight.

“You’ve got to pay more attention to the way you dress,” he scolded. “You don’t do yourself justice.”

Peter blushed. “I was hurrying. Anyway, my family doesn’t give me much money for clothes.”

“Well, what’s the point in our being twins? Come on. Take all that off, and we’ll dress you properly.” Peter stripped down to his jockey shorts while Charlie went to his closet. He had an ample wardrobe, largely provided by C. B. He went through it selecting things he thought would suit Peter. “We didn’t get as far as our feet, but they look about the same. Try these.” He handed over socks, trousers, shoes, shirt, and light silk jacket as Peter put them on. “C. B doesn’t insist on ties for dinner. Try this scarf.”

When he was finished, Peter stood self-consciously, an expectant little smile playing around his lips.

“My goodness.” Charlie surveyed him with possessive pride. The clothes made him an extension of himself, his creation. He felt an identity with him so close that they might have been wearing each other’s skin. “I certainly wouldn’t let you out of my sight when you’re looking like that.”

“Am I all right?”

“You sure are.”

They laughed together, their eyes swimming deep into each other, and left the room and went down to C. B., touching hands secretly while the coast was clear. She threw up her hands when they appeared on the veranda.

“Good heavens. What a stunning pair.” She rose and took each by the hand so that they were obliged to stand shoulder to shoulder, and looked searchingly from one to the other. She nodded her head with satisfaction. “I was right. You are very alike. I thought I’d been mistaken at lunch. Stunning. Come. Let’s have a drink.”

She released them and went to a table laid out as a bar. She favored fanciful concoctions. Charlie drank little, and Peter refused anything when asked. “Oh, come, now.” She turned to him with a winning smile, a hostess so concerned for her guests’ well-being that it would have been unthinkable to resist her. “You must have something. A man looks so comfortable with a drink in his hand.”

“All right. I’ll take anything you’re having.”

She turned back to the bar. “Where’s my grenadine? It must be in the cupboard in the dining room. Dearest, would you get it for me? Henry’s out watering the hydrangeas.”

Recognizing that the request was directed at him, Charlie went. As he was crossing the living room, she pattered up behind him and took his arm. “I had to talk to you,” she said in conspiratorial tones. “I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but I’ve never seen such a transformation. Just since lunch. He has so much more poise. And such style. Are those your clothes? What a brilliant idea to dress him. His little things are so sad. He obviously worships you. Don’t discourage him. I know how hurt one can be at that age.”

“There’s nothing to discourage. He’s very nice.”

“Then you do like him? I’m so glad. You’re a dear. Thank you for being kind to him.”

“He’s not as young as you think,” Charlie said, a defensive note creeping into his voice.

“Isn’t he? You’re both supremely young. It’s the best life will offer you. Take advantage of it. It doesn’t last forever, unfortunately.” She made a rueful grimace and hugged his arm to her generous bosom. “We must outfit him. That college shop in the village has quite good things. We’ll develop his clothes sense so that he won’t be able to bear the sight of a uniform.”

Charlie laughed. “I don’t think you’re going to have a very tough campaign. He’s already told me he hates the idea of West Point.”

“You see? You’re already exerting an influence. Now that he’s met you, he’ll want to go where you went. If only we’d taken charge of him sooner.”

“You’re losing your touch, C. B.”

“How could anybody guess that he would blossom in an afternoon? We may work something out yet.”

In her preoccupation with Peter, her grip on his arm was growing uncomfortable. He freed himself discreetly and leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You’d better get on with your plot. Don’t you want me to get your grenadine, or was that just an excuse?”

She looked up at him with a beguiling tilt of her head and laughed. “I couldn’t wait to find out if you really liked him.”

He laughed with her. “Well, I do, so you don’t have to worry about that.” She made everything so easy.

They returned to the veranda hand in hand. Peter rose at her entrance. Charlie’s eyes dropped to his crotch with pride of possession, and he thought of the night that awaited them.

“Darling Peter, I haven’t asked you yet if you don’t think he looks like me,” C. B. said.

Age and familiarity had obliterated C. B.’s face from Charlie’s mind so he was always slightly embarrassed by this inevitable question. How could anybody say? When he thought of what she looked like, an overall impression came to him: impish and vaguely simian, prominent nostrils, a long upper lip, the luxuriance of wiry gray hair that sprang vigorously from her brow. As a child he had always been fascinated by her complicated arrangement of her hair before she had had it cut short. “I might as well warn you there’s only one acceptable answer to that question,” he said. “Though why anybody should want to look like me is a mystery.”