Dom and Sandro Ch. 01

Chapter X Dom: Dom's last Candlemas term

The Candlemas term slipped by rapidly. I was extremely busy with both lectures and revision, and apart from our twice-weekly squash games and our once-weekly swimming at the Fitness Centre, we did not go out much, apart from a concert or film about once every two weeks. We did go to the Rialto a couple of times with Jennifer, but she was now preoccupied with her new man. We used to tease her that it was important for us not to meet him or he might find us more attractive than she was!

Sandro was also busy in the lab. Sunday evenings we kept free after dinner in college to go out drinking with my computer studies colleagues, but on Tuesdays after dining in college, we returned home for coffee and were occupied with academic work. One evening though, we were sitting together reading on the sofa in the flat when Sandro suddenly reached out and started to unzip my jeans. He put his hand inside and felt around until he had got hold of my cock. Being played with is a delicious sensation and I grinned with delight. I could feel my cock steadily stiffening as he pulled it out of my underpants. He then pulled my underpants and jeans down over my knees and then did the same to himself, kissing me all the time.

I thought he was going to suck my cock, but to my surprise he just got hold of it, and used his other hand to grab my hand and lay it on his own steadily stiffening dick. "Take your shirt off!" he whispered, "and then take mine off." Clearly the intention was to give each other a hand job, and we had to lie back on the sofa so that any spunk we might squirt hit our own bodies and not the upholstery or floor. We snuggled our two bodies together as closely as possible, so that we could feel each other's breathing and began work on each other's tool, while kissing continually. Our dicks got slimier and slimier and the hand motion more and more lubricated, and our breathing got faster and noisier until with a shout, Sandro discharged his white blood across his chest. It was a couple of minutes before I in turn came, and I kept my boy's balls cupped in my hands until the male miracle happened to me, and my belly was in turn coated with come. To avoid any mess, before we stood up, we licked each other's come off his belly and swallowed it.

Then we hastily adjourned to the bathroom and cleaned ourselves up. We resumed our seats with underpants and jeans back in place, but got no further work done that night. "That's the first time we've had non-penetrative sex for ages!" I whispered. "It just goes to show that if you love someone you don't always need to fuck or suck or even rim." When Jon came in that evening and found us drinking coffee without our shirts, he grinned. "I can guess what you two have been up to!" he said.

We did decide though that I would spend most of the Easter vac at home, as I could work there without social or sexual distractions. If that evening had been any to go by, my revision could have been seriously disrupted by too much time spent on sex!

Chapter XI: Sandro: A foundling

One Sunday afternoon, early in March soon after the end of term, before Dom had gone home for Easter, he and I went for walk alongside the Camwell. As we left the city limits, we passed an open field gate, and heard a noise of someone crying. We entered the field and heard the sound coming from a barn. We pushed the door open and were greeted by the sight of a boy of about nine or ten, clad in filthy clothes, with a black eye and bruises on his face, crying bitterly. He ran towards us and threw his arms round Dom's waist. "I'm hungry!" he cried. He told us that he had had nothing to eat or drink for a day and that he had spent the night wrapped up in hay in the corner of the barn.

"What's your name? We'll take you home to your mother and Dad!" said Dom.

"No you won't! They've beaten me already! They'll just hit me harder than ever! I'm not going back to them EVER!" shrieked the boy.

"You'd better come home with us then," I said. Twenty minutes later we were climbing the steps to our flat in Fountain Street. The boy had stopped crying some ten minutes before and was looking around with great interest. He told us that his name was Tommy. We got him into the flat and took him to the bathroom. I got out a clean towel, some soap and shampoo and showed him how to turn the shower on and off and control the temperature. Then we left him to clean himself up, leaving an oversized towelling robe for him to put on. We knew that any attempt to clean him up ourselves might lay us open to charges of assault or abuse.

Twenty minutes later, he called us and he looked a lot better. His clean young body was bruised and scarred, and he had obviously been the subject of abuse for a long time. We told him to put the bathrobe on and I took his clothes and put them in the washing machine. While I was doing this, Dom was frying bacon and egg. We sat the boy down, gave him a knife and fork and cut two thick slices of bread. He obviously didn't know how to use the knife and fork, so I put a rasher of bacon between the two slices of bread, cut into the egg, put some strips of white on the bread and spread some egg yolk on the bacon and so made a sandwich for him. The boy began to eat it ravenously. I poured him a glass of milk, which he drank without taking his mouth away from the glass.

At that moment Jon came up the stairs. The boy looked frightened when Jon came into the room. "It's OK," I said, "this is my Uncle Jon."

"So, who's this?" Jon asked.

"This is Tommy, and he has run away from home," I said.

"I'm not going back to be beaten up again!" said the boy.

"We'd better ring social services," said Jon. "They will know what to do." Armed with the meagre information that the boy had divulged about himself, Jon rang Camford Social Services Department. All he got was a recorded message saying that the Department was closed until the next day, and inviting callers to 'leave a message after the tone.' Jon said that we had staying with us a ten-year-old boy who refused to tell us where he lived, as he had run away from ill-treatment at home. He left our address and phone number. "So, young man,you are going to have to spend the night here with us. Luckily, we have a spare bed for you." Tommy looked quite happy at this, and we offered him some more milk and a few biscuits, which he rapidly demolished.

I took Tommy's clothes out of the washing machine and put them in the tumble drier. "It's not too late to slip out to the supermarket and buy him some pyjamas and a couple of pairs of underpants," I said. I took his old underpants with me to get the size right, and came back half an hour later with the clothes. "Now you've got something to sleep in," I said to him. I had also bought him a toothbrush and we took him to the bathroom to pee and clean his teeth. About 7 pm, we popped him into the bed in the small bedroom that I had had when I first arrived in Camford. He had obviously not slept well in the barn, because he fell asleep straight after kissing all three of us goodnight.

Next morning the doorbell rang at 8 am while we were all having breakfast. It was a lady from Social Services and another lady who introduced herself as Police Child Welfare Officer. Tommy had refused to tell us where he went to school, because he said that the school would ring his parents. The lady from the police said that no child had been reported missing, but that they would be able to trace Tommy's school by the afternoon by checking the names of all the children absent that morning from all the city's schools. In the meantime, they would take Tommy to a temporary foster home, but first they had to arrange this, and to get him seen by an expert in child-abuse injuries. So we agreed to look after him until a place had been found for him.

When they both had gone, Jon said to me, "Where's that old mobile phone that you stopped using when Dom gave you your new iPhone? I'm going to give it to Tommy along with my card, with my phone number and the charging unit. I've got a spare pay-as-you-go SIM card that you can put in. When his credit runs out, he can ring me and I'll put some more cash on it. Then if he gets sent back to his parents, he can ring us and we can rescue him. I don't think that Social Services would be silly enough to let him go back when he has well documented injuries, but I distrust bureaucracy and officialdom!"

Jon took Tommy into the sitting room, sat him down and told him what was going to happen. He gave him the phone and showed him how to charge it and how to make a call. Then he said, "Keep this hidden. Never show it to anyone and never let anyone see you when you put it on charge. You're only to use it to ring me if you get sent back to your parents or if you run out of credit. In the meantime, I'm going to take some photographs of your injuries. Please take you shirt off." The boy did as he was told, and Jon took photographs of his face, his arms, shoulders, chest and back. "You will almost certainly find that the Social Services or the Police will also take photographs," he said, "but we need independent evidence, just in case."

"I would really like to stay here, and live with the three of you," said Tommy, "but as long as I don't get sent back to my parents, I don't mind too much. I hope they will let you come and see me, though." As it was vacation, Jon had no teaching that day, so he and Dom were able to keep an eye on him during the day when I was in the lab. All of us would have loved to have Tommy living with us, but it was impossible. We all of us had jobs to do, and would never have the time to look after a nine-year-old, the age that Tommy finally admitted to. We packed a small bag with the phone accessories and the few clothes we had bought him, and late in the afternoon, Social Services called and collected him. They rather reluctantly gave us the address where the boy would be staying and the phone number. We also managed to get the contact details of the lady who was handling his case. As I snuggled up against my sweet Dom that night in bed, I said to him, "I hope that boy ends up in a nice home. I would hate to think of him in some kind of institution. He needs to live with a family who will give him love and support."

Chapter XII Dom: Sandro's birthday

Early the same month, we went for a weekend in London to celebrate Sandro's twenty-third birthday. Unlike my boy, I had plenty of money, and rather than stay in Sandro's uncles' flat, as we had originally planned, we booked into a fancy West End hotel at my expense. The restaurant there was highly thought-of, and we thought that we would eat there, and go to Sandro's Italian restaurant on the Saturday. We got there about 6-30, and after unpacking and sussing out the room, we went down to the bar, where we discovered to our amazement that they had two kinds of cask beer. We settled down each with a pint of a beer called 'Landlord' while we perused the restaurant menu. It looked good, and we both were quite hungry, so about 7 pm, we took our seats in the restaurant. As we were consuming our soup, I noticed that a woman eating at a nearby table with a middle-aged man was staring at me. I thought nothing of it and continued my conversation with my lover. I was telling him that I had a present for him that I would give him later.

The waiter poured our wine. I was probably regarded as a barbarian by ordering an Italian wine, Barolo, but it is just about the peak of Italian quality wines. Like the Singleton-Scarborough family, I was gradually getting obsessed with things Italian. While we were sipping our wine and awaiting the main course, the woman who had stared at me came over to our table. "Excuse me for interrupting your meal, but I know someone who must be your father," she said. "I don't think that I've ever met you, but the resemblance is unmistakable. You must be Lord Batley's son." "Yes, I am," I said, "I'm Dominic Ovenden, and who are you?"

"I'm Arabella Jordan, wife of Lord Junkelthorpe" she replied. "I suppose that you would call me an old flame of your father's. We went out together for a while when we were both students at Camford. I was one of the first women students at Boni's. How is your father?"

"He's fine," I replied.

"We lost touch when we finished our degrees. Your father stayed on to do a Ph.D., I went out into the wide world and got a job," she said. "So he's not a Marquess yet?"

"No, my grandfather is still quite fit, and my father is a professor."

"And what you going to do when you finish your degree?"

"I'm hoping to stay on to do a Masters in computer studies," I replied. "This is my friend Alessandro. He's a fellow student at Boni's." At this point to my relief, the waiter brought our main courses and the lady had little option but to go back to her table. "What a nosy person!" I said. "I was very reluctant to introduce you because although I am proud to be gay, I don't want to go proclaiming it to strangers! As you know, I'm not a very sociable person. I hate the social world of the nobility. They all think about getting a titled husband or wealthy businessman for their daughters! Let's talk about something else. She would not be put off even if I told her I was gay. She would still be after a title for her daughter. I'll bet Lady Junkelthorpe is a grocer's daughter."

"But she doesn't know that you are Lord Ovenden," Sandro pointed out, "You might be one of your younger brothers."

We continued our meal, but decided to take coffee in our room. We told the waiter, and he said that he would arrange for Room Service to deliver it. After it had arrived, in a large pot with two cups, we locked the door after putting out the 'Do not Disturb' card. I went to my bag and brought out a box. Sandro opened it and found a gold multi-link bracelet inscribed on the inside: To my darling Sandro with my eternal Love, 14.3.20— He put it on his wrist. It glowed against his brown skin.

He smiled happily and said, "My darling Dom, thank you, thank you" before wrapping his arms round me and kissing me passionately. "I'll wear it all the time except when I'm involved in a dirty job on the track," he said.

"Do you want a fuck?" I asked him.

"YES!" he replied, "I want you to ride my dick!" The organ in question was making a massive bulge in the front of his trousers. We undressed hastily and Sandro lay on his back on his bed with his rock-hard cock sticking up in the air. I rolled a condom over his manhood, coated it liberally with a thick layer of lube and straddled his body, squatting down and lowering my arse until his dick was pushing its way into my crack. He started to push it upwards, and it passed my sphincter and entered my rectum. I held on tightly to the bed head and began to work myself up and down while Sandro continued to push upwards. It was fantastic. Every so often Sandro's tool hit my prostate and sent me crazy.

The books never tell you how you can have the most profound mental experiences during sexual intercourse. Although most people never discuss such experiences with third parties, my gay relatives did tell me that for many, sex is a spiritual experience in which the supreme joy of being human demonstrates the power of God's love. Certainly the unique closeness of two human beings during fucking is probably the most wonderful thing that mortals can experience.

Eventually Sandro came violently and shot his load of man-juice upwards into my gut. By now my legs and knees were getting uncomfortable, so I gently lifted myself off his fast-shrinking cock and collapsed in the king-size bed beside him. He immediately climbed on top of me and began to smother my face and chest with kisses while gently fondling my cock, which rapidly got hard. He rubbed his belly against it, while continuing to kiss me and I could feel my foreskin engaging with the hair on his treasure-trail. The friction got stronger as he continued rubbing, my foreskin was being pushed down and pushed up again as he moved. I could feel the tension building up in my crotch, and finally I came and covered both our bellies with two big squirts of fuck-juice. I hastily jumped out of bed and got a moist flannel from the bathroom to clean ourselves up. "We mustn't leave spunk on the sheets!" I whispered, "The main evidence against Oscar Wilde was the chambermaid at the Savoy finding traces of jism on the sheets in the room where he had slept with Lord Alfred Douglas."

"Well, this is neither the Savoy nor the Cadogan," grinned Sandro, alluding to Betjeman's famous poem about Wilde's arrest.

"However, I do have this in common with Douglas: we both have a Marquess in the family!" I said. He snuggled up against me, kissed my chest and we both rapidly fell asleep.

Chapter XIII Sandro: Tommy's future

A few days later, Jon rang the Social Worker and enquired about Tommy. She told him that he was with a foster family, that he had started a new school near their home and that Tommy's parents had been traced. They wanted nothing more to do with the boy: they said that he had been beaten because he had stolen food. When Social Services raised the subject of him being taken into care, the parents jumped at the offer, and said that they would give their consent if he were put up for adoption. A month later, Jon telephoned and asked if he and I could visit Tommy. The Social Worker said yes, so Jon rang the boy's foster parents and asked if two of us could come and see Tommy. They asked Tommy and he said yes, and when the two of them arrived, Tommy greeted them with great affection and enthusiasm. "This is Sandro, who rescued me when I ran away from home!" he told his foster mother. We took him for a short walk, and the boy told us that although he was quite happy in his present home, he would still rather come and live with us.

Jon called a family council: myself with Dom (who was now at home) and David on a three-way call on Skype. During a lengthy discussion, we addressed the possibilities of offering a home to Tommy. Neither Dom nor myself was in a position to take on a father's role, so we agreed that our two uncles should apply to adopt Tommy. Even though Jon was now in his late fifties, he was fit and wealthy, and David, who within a year or so would be back in England full-time, was about fifty-two. We did not consider this too old to bring up a nine-year-old, provided that Social Services and the Family Court agreed. Jon could rearrange his college teaching to coincide with school hours, and when David retired from the stage, he also could arrange his activities to ensure that there was always someone at home to feed and look after the boy.

It was important though to contact Luke and Cathy and ask them how they felt about the possibility of them acquiring a new little brother. We contacted them both at once via Skype and both agreed with enthusiasm to getting a new family member. Like us, Tom and Luke were not well enough established in their careers to consider parenthood, nor was Cathy. Both Luke and Cathy had been brought up to accept the family wealth as a burden or responsibility, rather than a source of gratification, and were quite happy at sharing the cash burden with a new brother, should the adoption bid succeed.

Jon went to see the social worker and discuss the possibility. At first she was reluctant to consider adoption, because the boy was settling in happily with his new family. "Suppose I come with you to see him," said Jon, "and we'll see how he reacts. Obviously he must live with his present family until any legal formalities take place. You will also need to meet my partner, David Singleton-Scarborough, so that you can judge his suitability. He is five years younger than me, and at present is abroad a lot, but he is retiring from the stage in just over a year and then can become a resident father. Also the fact that we have two previously adopted children, now grown up, must surely weigh in our favour." By now Jon's charm was beginning to have an effect.