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    Rigby Taylor
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Mortaumal - 15. Impersonation

Perdita remained in the car with the radio blaring pop music while her son ran upstairs. Marshall sat quietly while Mort gave as detailed an account of the afternoon as possible, considering his anguish, with Angelo recording it on his video camera.

‘She’s a dangerous woman,’ Marshall said angrily. ‘I reckon she organised those two louts hoping you’d be so damaged she’d be given access to you and the inheritance she’s so sure you have.’

‘That also crossed my mind. She certainly wasn’t pleased when I got rid of them, so I want to make a Will leaving everything I own to charity in case I have an accident, the car crashes or… so at least she won’t get the money. Can we do it now?’

‘Mort! You’re not going! It’s too dangerous. She’s got no proof. It’s blackmail. We’ll go to the police and…’

Mort stopped him. ‘I’m going. It will be an adventure. You know as well as I do that mud sticks and the cops in Queensland are probably helping her... they certainly won’t be on your side. Let’s make that Will.’

‘Ten minutes later it was signed, witnessed and sealed, with Marshall as the executor and Angelo the second witness, it was perfectly legal as neither were beneficiaries. As an added security measure, Angelo had recorded everything including Mort’s statement declaring his freely held desire to make whatever charity Marshall decided, the beneficiary of his estate.

It was a sombre group who prepared Mort’s suitcase, watched him dress in his best clothes, and bid tearful farewells. Marshall wanted to go out and confront Perdita, but Mort convinced him to remain inside, because he had a plan.

‘I’ll tell her I haven’t told you anything. I’ll say I came in and said I was going, but before I could say anything else you said it was a good idea. And then I realised you didn’t really want me now you have Angelo. And Angelo was extra pleased because he also didn’t like having me around now you two are an item. So I’ll pretend that I’m happy to be going because I suddenly realised I’ve outstayed my welcome and I’ve never been to Brisbane so it’ll be an adventure—-that sort of thing. I’m pretty good at making stuff up on the run.’

‘Don’t underestimate her. She’s cunning and stupid, the most dangerous combination.’

‘Thanks. I’ll remember. I’m certainly not going to give her any reason to gloat or act on her threat. I’ll promise to do exactly as she says, and stop being such a smart arse—she hates me using big words.’

‘You know that wherever I am, will always be your home, don’t you?’ Marshall was weeping openly.

‘Yes. And I’ll love you always.’ He turned to Angelo. ‘Please take care of him. He is the best man alive on earth.’

Angelo promised, and after one last hug, Mort ran downstairs, stepped out the door and slammed it shut behind him as if very angry. His face was dark with annoyance when he threw his bag in the boot and got into the car.

‘Problems?’ Perdita’s smile was not pleasant.

‘Those fucking bastards! When I said I’d be going to stay with you I expected they’d try to stop me! But they didn’t. You could see they were pleased. Marshall couldn’t wait to tell me what a sensible decision I’d made; as if he was worried I’d change my mind. And that two-faced Angelo. Just stood beside Marshall and nodded, telling me what a sensible young man I am. Fuck them! And here I was getting all teary down at the beach, saying how happy I was, and didn’t want to go with you because they wanted me to stay with them! How could I have got it so wrong? They couldn’t wait to help me pack my bag and kept promising to send everything on as soon as I wrote them where to send it!’ Mort subsided into his seat, head down, mouth a hard line, a picture of angry, rejected youth.

Perdita smiled and said nothing.

‘And I’ll bet that you and Elbert also want to get rid of me after a while. That’s been my whole bloody life! Grandma hated me. Grandad suicided without giving a flying fuck about me. Amy hated me. Leo suicided too once he got to know me! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ ‘

You’ll be all right,’ Perdita said cheerfully. ‘You’re more like me than you realise. Tough.’

Mort looked up at her as if she was his new idol. ‘I hope so! I really and truly want to be like you.’

 

Five minutes later they were back in the basement car park of the hotel. This time they exited the lift at the ground floor where the reception desk was busy with the arrival of a busload of tourists.

‘Elbert was going to send me the plane tickets; I have to pick them up at the desk. Wait here.’

Mort watched in mounting depression as she argued with the clerk, waved something at him, then thrust her credit card angrily. She was frowning as she came over.

‘We have to stay here the night. Apparently Elbert could only get tickets for tomorrow. That cheeky bitch at the reception was difficult about letting me keep my room. Come on.’

The room looked as neat, sterile and immaculate as before, but with an added sense of menace.

‘Where do I sleep?’

‘Here, with me.’

‘Sharing a bed?’

‘You can sleep on the floor if you like, but you’re not getting any blankets.’

‘Does the Hotel know I’ll be staying?’

‘I’ve paid for a double room. They expect two people to be sleeping in it.’ She went to the windows and stared out. ‘Come here.’

Mort joined her.

‘Look…’ She pointed. ‘Over there, between those Norfolk Island pines.’

‘That building? Yes. What about it?’

‘Perdita took a pair of binoculars from the desk drawer, handed them to Mort and told him to look.

‘It... it’s Marshall’s roof. I can see the shrubs and the edge of the spa pool. You took photos from here?’

‘Clever boy. Marshall shaved his pubes last week; his boyfriend has a long foreskin and sometimes wears a cock ring. But of course you already know that.’

Mort handed the binoculars back thoughtfully. ‘And you showed me this because...?’

‘Because I’m not completely convinced by your tale of woe. I don’t yet believe that you really want to come and live with us in Brisbane. If I suspect you’re having us on, the deal’s off. Those photos and videos will be sent where they’ll do the most damage.’

‘How can I prove it’s true, that I do want to come with you?’

‘By looking more cheerful for a start. By obeying me without question. I know what I’m doing, and you don’t, so I will get very, very irritated if you argue with me. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Perdita.’

‘Good. So off to the shower with you and wash your hair thoroughly. I want it soft and silky for tonight.’

‘What’re we doing tonight?’

‘Dinner and dancing on the roof garden.’

‘Of this hotel?’

‘Yes. They have an orchestra, there’s a spectacular view, and occasionally some handsome men.’

‘But I can’t dance.’

‘Of course you can. Everyone can dance, especially if they’re led.’

‘I don’t know how to lead.’

‘You won’t have to, you’re going as my sister.’

Mort opened his mouth to protest, saw the look in Perdita’s eye, closed it again and dropped onto one of the armchairs.

Perdita sat opposite him in the other. ‘Tell me, Mortaumal, would you consider yourself to be a happy person?’

‘Mort frowned. ‘Basically, yes.’

‘Do you see living as a serious occupation or as mainly a fun thing?’

Mort’s silence was longer this time. ‘I guess it’s always seemed pretty serious. I’ve had some fun, I suppose, but living usually seems a pretty serious business.’

‘Elbert was an orphan, adopted by an English couple who died or got sick of him or something, so he went to a series of foster homes, a bit like you. He said the worst part was never being able to relax. Kids who live with their parents never feel worried when they’ve been naughty that their parents will take them back to the shop. They never question their parents’ commitment to them, and they usually don’t feel guilty if they’re not perfect. But foster kids are always on edge, worried, never really relaxing because they know the people looking after them are doing it as an act of kindness, whereas real parents are doing it because they wanted the kid in the first place. So life for foster kids is a serious thing.’

‘Yeah…’ Mort nodded in silent agreement. ‘Even though Grandad said he wanted me, Grandma was always threatening to sell me if I was naughty. Not in a funny way, but seriously. I believed her so I was always a good boy. It was the same with Leo. I was never sure if he wanted me to live with them to amuse Fystie, to annoy his wife, or what. It’s the same with Marshall. He told me several times he was looking after me because he liked my grandfather. So… yeah, life’s been a pretty serious business one way or another.’

‘So isn’t it time you relaxed and did things just for the fun of it? Wouldn’t it be a fun, crazy thing to dress up as a girl and fool all the men? Go and have a long, hot shower and think about it.’

Deliberately not thinking about the evening ahead, Mort tried to relax in the hot water followed by the freezing needle shower and soft towels, but... ‘I don’t want to be a girl,’ he whispered to his reflection in the large mirror. ‘I don’t look like one. I haven’t any tits. My shoulders are straight. My hips are slim, I’ve got a cock and balls. So I can’t sit in a restaurant and go dancing dressed like a girl. What if someone asks me to dance and he shoves his groin against me?’ The thought triggered a smile. ‘Mmm. Maybe it mightn’t be so bad if he’s slim and handsome. And girls are allowed to turn boys down, so I don’t have to dance if I don’t want to.’

He turned and looked at himself from each side, made a sexy face as if kissing, stroked and kissed his shoulder, and began to think it might be an adventure. ‘I’ll be a secret agent in disguise. Escaping from a mafia whore planning to shoot me. And girls manage to be girls so it can’t be that hard. Yeah… I will.’ A shiver of excitement ran through him. ‘But if I don’t look really good I won’t.’ He frowned. ‘And it just might be a test to see if I’m really pleased to be with her instead of Marshall.’ His sigh was deep and sincere. Why did life always have to be so complicated?

Armed with a sense of adventure and a somewhat deliberate insouciance, he sallied forth to tell Perdita.

The room was empty. The earth had turned in the last hour putting the far end of the room in shadow. Both suitcases were still there so she must have gone down to the bar, or shopping. What to do? He hadn’t even brought an eBook to read. ‘I wonder what she wants me to wear,’ he muttered, opening the wardrobe and flicking through the dresses. There were nine. Most were flimsy little things with thin shoulder straps and skimpy tops that needed breasts.

He carried out five pairs of shoes and put them on the carpet. They weren’t real shoes, only sandals, some with flat soles, others with little spiky heels. He tried a pair with heels. They fitted perfectly but he nearly twisted an ankle when his foot wobbled. He walked up and down several times until he got the knack.

A leather trouser suit looked promising, until he tried it on. The shoulders were too narrow and the trousers so loose it looked as if he was wearing a sack. The one dress that could conceal falsies had a straight skirt with slits up each side to mid thigh. He stepped in and pulled it up carefully. ‘Like a glove,’ he muttered. ‘But my cods stick out like dogs’ balls. Even if I wore underpants I’d look ridiculous. He removed it and hung it again carefully.

Standing in front of the full-length mirrors, he gazed at himself critically. Turned sideways. Pressed his penis down, then held it up. Faced the front and pulled it down between his legs. His balls got in the way.

 

‘One of my boyfriends was a female impersonator.’

Mort leaped in the air with fright. ‘Who? What? Perdita! Where are you?’

She sat up. ‘I felt like a lie down.’

‘I didn’t see you under the covers. You’re in shadow and… have you been watching all the time?’

‘Yes.’

‘How embarrassing.’

‘Not at all. He used to push his balls up into his belly, sort of. All you could see were two slight bulges.’

‘That happens when they get cold, the bag shrinks and... I’ll show you.’ He pressed gently under his testicles, they slid into his abdomen, and the scrotum all but disappeared. ‘But what about my cock?’

‘He dragged it between his legs into his bum crack.’

‘Sounds simple.’ And it was. Mort stood proudly in front of the mirror, legs tightly together. ‘How's that?’

‘Convincing. Can you walk?’

‘A bit. Short steps. As long as I keep my thighs clenched tight.’

‘Hang on, there’s one final touch.’ Perdita took an eyeliner pencil and drew a soft edged line. ‘There, now you’re a girl.’

‘I’ve got a twat!’

A knock at the door. Mort froze.

‘It’ll be Beatrice bringing tea and biscuits. She’s a sweetie. Let’s see if she realises you’re not a girl. Stay exactly as you are! That’s an order!’

Mort began to sweat.

Perdita opened the door a crack. ‘Ah Beatrice, my sister’s trying on dresses so she’s naked. I hope you don’t mind?’

A mumble from the corridor.

‘I knew a woman of the world like you wouldn’t be shocked, come in. Pop the tray on the desk will you?’

A scrawny woman in a pale blue housecoat placed the tray carefully on the desk.

‘This is my sister, Magda. She’s refusing to come out with me tonight because she says her breasts are too small. Can you convince her they aren’t important when you’re only fourteen.’

Beatrice turned. ‘Goodness!’ She said with obvious surprise. ‘What a beautiful girl. Your sister’s right. With your figure and face you don’t need breasts to attract men. Look at me! As flat as a pancake, yet I found a husband and had two lovely children.’ She stepped closer, lightly cupped her hand under Mort’s left pectoral and lifted slightly. ‘They’re definitely growing. I can feel the beginnings. So don’t be impatient. Go out and enjoy yourself.’

‘Thank you, Beatrice,’ Mort said softly as she returned to the door.

There was a haunted look in Beatrice’s eye as she turned. ‘Even your voice is beautiful, Magda. To see you standing there naked and pure, restores my faith in life. Thank you.’ She closed the door behind her.

‘Silly Beatrice, I knew she’d fall for you.’

‘Argh!’ Mort wailed, spreading his legs in relief. ‘I got butt cramp from squeezing my cheeks. Then I worried my sweat would make my new slit run—that’d be funny. I can just hear her: “Magda! Where is your slit? How do you piss?” But how come she wasn’t shocked to see me naked?’

‘She cleans the room and does all sorts of extra things for nothing, and as I’m always naked when here alone, she’s got used to me.’

‘Perhaps she fancies you?’

‘Probably, but doesn’t realise it. Most women are partially lesbian.’

‘Do you fancy her?’

‘That had better be a joke!’

‘Yeah, it was. But... do I really look like a girl?’

‘Not at all. We’re the same height and you’re obviously no longer a boy. But nor are you a man. You still have a layer of puppy fat under the skin. Women keep this, which is why they usually look softer and smoother than men, whose fatty layer disappears. Beatrice mistook your chest muscles for budding breasts, because you look smooth like a girl, but also nothing like one, if you get what I mean.’

She studied her son as if for the first time and seemed a little surprised at what she saw. ‘Your face is quite different from a girl. You’ve a visible jaw line and cheekbones, firm lips, dark eyes that seem to be thinking and understanding the world around you—girls only think about themselves and understand nothing because they seldom actually listen. Thicker lashes than any girl, good teeth, a long neck, and your bodily proportions are more male than female. You’re sexually confusing but probably attractive to both men and women. In a couple of years you’ll be indistinguishable from other men and no longer competition.’

‘Competition against who, for what?’

‘Against females for males. In all cultures and ages many men have found androgynous boys irresistible. You have the smooth firm body they wish they still had, a future they’ve squandered, a vitality and curiosity never found in females. And boys are not cunning like girls; they have a nice tight hole and no risk of pregnancy. But there’s a more important, evolutionary reason for boys your age looking neither male nor female while they’re developing their skills and muscles. If you looked masculine too soon, then older men would get jealous, you’d get into fights and probably be killed or maimed. On the other hand, if you stayed looking quasi feminine too long you’d get raped. As you are, you present no challenge so are left alone—usually.

Mort was silent for several seconds. ‘That word, and…andro something.’

‘Androgynous—a combination of the Greek words for man and woman.’

‘I thought you hated big words. How do you know that?’

Perdita’s laugh was genuine. ‘At a party someone told me I was androgynous. I was furious and threw my drink at him—glass and all. It broke and he’s still got a scar over his eye.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘How did you discover the meaning?’

‘I went to a library and looked it up—the first and last time in my life I did anything like that, which is probably why I remember it. I never could remember any lessons at school. It wasn’t as rude as I imagined. I think the poor prick was trying to flatter me. Elbert told me he’d often been taken for a girl after his foster parents kicked him out when he was twelve; said it was how he managed to survive because lots of men fancied him.’

‘Do you think he’ll fancy me?’

‘I imagine so; he’s a normal male. But he probably won’t do anything about it. He’d certainly never force anyone to do anything they didn’t want’

‘So... I look like both a girl and a boy?’

‘Not at all. You’re something else altogether. An in-between stage of human male development.’

‘And a fine example of it.’

‘Conceited prick. Now, let’s get you dressed for tonight. First, a support so you can dance without revealing your guilty secret.’

Perdita’s thong-bikini did the trick perfectly, dragged tightly into his butt cleavage with the side tapes tightened firmly. Mort danced around and everything remained in place, his groin profile flat enough if it was covered.

‘Comfortable?’

‘Yeah. No worries. Might get a bit sweaty, and I don’t want to get a hard on, but yeah, it feels fine.’

Perdita sewed a couple of cotton-wool pads in the bodice of the blue halter-neck dress. With silver spike-heeled sandals he looked very sexy. Pale lipstick and a little eye shadow, a necklace of gold loops with matching earrings, and a side parting that allowed his hair to fall over one eye completed the picture and added at least seven years to his age.

Mort, however, was no longer so enthusiastic. The narrow sheath of the dress unpleasantly restricted his movement, despite the slits up the side. The hair was a nuisance as he had to keep flicking it away, and the lipstick felt sticky and unpleasant. Perfume he refused.

‘I’m a man, not a flower. Women use too much perfume, it gives me a headache.’

Perdita, who looked sexy in a filmy shift that left little to the imagination, led the way to the rooftop restaurant where, together with about a dozen mainly elderly patrons, they ate something unmemorable on uncomfortable chairs in semi darkness, while a man in a white suit tinkled nothing in particular on a piano. The roof garden was long and narrow, with the restaurant at one end, a dance area in the middle and a garden of pot-planted palms occupying the rest.

Perdita drank a bottle of wine on her own, then they wobbled along to the dance area and sat at a table drinking coffee. A small orchestra arrived to play waltzes and quicksteps, and groups of no longer so young, but not yet middle aged patrons who obviously knew the quality of the food, arrived and drank and danced. Dress was normal informal: females made up like tarts—perfumed, and festooned with cheap jewellery, wearing cunning confections that concealed nipples and vulvas and exposed just about everything else, escorted by males in shapeless drab with only hands and faces exposed.

Those men are looking at us,’ Perdita whispered. ‘I hope they’ll come over. I want to dance.’

‘Why don’t you go and ask one of them?’

‘They’d think I was a cheap slut. Men have to ask, and women can refuse. But if a woman asks a man, he is not allowed to refuse.’

‘That’s stupid.’

‘That’s the way it is. Ooo! See that group of blokes? I’m pretty sure I know them. Yes, the tall one’s coming over.’

‘So is another bloke from the other end of the bar. Oh, no he isn’t. Can’t seem to make up his mind.’

‘You can have him, he’s got a scar down his cheek.’

Despite himself, Mort felt a surge of excitement. Was this what girls felt waiting to be asked? Always nervous they’d be left on the shelf. Hoping for a handsome one but seeing him go to another girl with no right to press her case. Not pleasant, he decided. ‘Perdita!’ he whispered in panic. ‘The guy with the scar’s my Maths teacher, Mr. Gauchpied. What’ll I do?’

‘Dance with him, get him to kiss you then tell him who you are.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘You’ll never see him again, have some fun for a change... we’re leaving tomorrow.’

Perdita’s chosen male strolled casually to their table, grinning.

‘Miss Perdita, I believe?’

‘Master Aaron, I think.’

‘What’re you doing back here? I thought you’d made it big in Brisbane?’

‘Going back tomorrow.’

‘Harry’s getting hooked again, so there’s a stag party, wanna come?’

‘How many of you?’

‘Nine.’ He waved an arm towards the bar. ‘They're all over there.’

‘How many girls?’

‘Just you.’

‘What will your friends think if you bring me?’

‘It was their idea... you know them all… intimately. They thought it might be fun to renew the bonds of love—or whatever it was called. Can you still manage nine on the trot?’ His grin was lecherous.

‘Only nine? Scarcely worth the trouble.’ She grinned. ‘Might as well. I’m bloody bored here.’ Perdita turned to Mort and handed him the hotel room key card. ‘I’ll be late back. Let yourself in and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ She picked up her bag, took possession of Aaron’s arm and joined the others who, having observed Aaron’s successful trawl for a whore, were ready to leave.

As soon as she was gone relief poured through Mort like a healing balm. He took a deep breath and consciously relaxed in what felt like a bath of euphoria. When he opened his eyes, Mr. Gauchpied was gazing around as if looking for someone. Every few seconds he’d look at Mort, take two steps towards him, then change his mind and wander a few paces away again.

Mort began to sweat. Obviously his teacher had recognised him and was deciding whether to confront him; maybe even announce to the whole room that he was a fraud. But surely he wouldn’t. He was too gentle. His classes were usually pretty noisy because kids took advantage of that. Most of them had no idea what a brilliant teacher he was and didn’t respect him. He’d take enormous pains to explain things, even after school if you needed help, for as long as it took to make something clear. Mort always sat at the front, listened, did all his homework and never caused trouble, but the teacher never seemed to notice he was different from the others.

‘Ah fuck. I’ll get it over with,’ he decided. ‘I’m sick of being a girl anyway.’ So the next time the teacher looked at him he gave a wave and what he imagined was a rueful grin, to show he accepted that he’d been caught out.

Mr Gauchpied frowned, looked behind him to see who was being waved to, realised it was himself, and gave a tentative smile and nod.

Mort smiled again.

The teacher approached his pupil warily, as if unsure of his welcome.

Just as Mort was about to confess all, Mr. Gauchpied said shyly, ‘Hi, I’m Julian.’

‘I’m Magda,’ Mort replied, annoyed with himself for not having the courage to correct the misunderstanding. He was very, very sick of being a girl.

Julian stood in silence as if announcing his name had consumed his courage. ‘It’s hot,’ He managed finally.

Mort decided to be courageous—in for a penny, in for a pound. He pulled a face. ‘I thought you were going to ask me to dance.’

‘I was, but... would you really like to?’

‘Yes, if you’ll teach me.’

‘Gosh. Yes... yes... I’d like to very much.’ Taking Mort’s arm he led him to the floor. A few minutes later they were sailing almost gracefully around the oval space.’

‘You didn’t need teaching, you’re a natural,’ Julian enthused.

‘You’re a natural teacher.’

‘Oh! Is it that obvious?’ he said sadly.

‘No, I meant you’re a natural dancing teacher.’

Julian brightened.

‘But why are we dancing so far apart?’ Mort enquired guilelessly, ‘Other couples look as if they’re glued together.’

Julian blushed. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was forward.’

‘I won’t.’

With groins, chest and occasionally heads touching, they completed several more turns of the floor. Only once was Mort’s sandalled foot crushed under Julian leather sole. The music slowed and became sentimental.

‘You’ve got an erection,’ Mort whispered.

Julian immediately pulled apart. ‘I know, I’m sorry, I can’t help it, I’m…’

‘I like it,’ Mort said placatingly. ‘It feels sexy when you press it against me.’

‘Really? I thought girls hated it when men did that. They’re always criticising men for only being interested in sex instead of their minds.’

‘What’s wrong with sex?’

‘Nothing... except that… you know... I’ve never met a girl like you before, you’re so honest.’

‘Is that good?’

‘It’s wonderful!’

The music stopped, along with the conversation.

‘Shall I take you back to your table?’

‘Sick of me already?’

‘No! No… quite the contrary.’

‘Let’s look at the view and then we can dance again. I love it. When we’re dancing close together it feels as if we’re one body with four legs.’

Julian’ countenance was transformed as he led the way to the railing and they stood staring vacantly out at the black sky.

‘You’re very beautiful,’ he said to the passing clouds.

‘And you’re very handsome.’

‘I’m not, and I hate this scar.’ He touched it lightly.

‘It looks sexy. Makes me think of a pirate captain whose face has been slashed by a scimitar while fighting off other pirates who want to steal his treasure.’ Mort reached out to touch it.

Julian froze and pulled his face back.

‘Sorry, I was wondering what it felt like.’

‘No no. I’m sorry. No one has ever wanted to touch it before. It repels most people. Girls I teach call me Scarface and reckon I give them nightmares. That’s why I was so slow to ask you to dance in case you would be put off. Of course you may touch it... if you really want to.’

Mort ran his fingers along the scar that ran from beside the right eye down to his chin. ‘It feels smooth, especially compared to your stubble. That’s sexy too.’

Julian turned to face Mort. His eyes were moist. ‘Why are you like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘So nice. Has someone set you up to make a fool of me? I stupidly told a colleague when I was feeling depressed that I was a virgin, imaging she’d keep it a secret, but the next day the whole staffroom knew.’ He stopped, face ashen. ‘Fuck! Now I’ve told you. I’m such a fool.’

‘Yes, you are a bit,’ Mort said kindly, ‘but a nice fool. I was taught at a very young age never to trust a woman with a secret, and I never will…’ He stopped, realising what he’d said, but Julian seemed not to have understood the implications and they stood in companionable silence. The orchestra started up.

‘Let’s dance some more.’

During the next break they wandered down to the garden area. Every second bench was occupied by kissing couples. They found one in deep shadow at the far end and sat.

‘May I kiss you?’

Mort giggled. ‘According to the books I’ve read, if you have to ask, then your partner doesn’t want to.

‘What do you mean?’

‘When both parties want to kiss, it’s like a magnetic attraction and they just do it without asking.’

‘I see.’

Silence.

Mort leaned towards Julian until their faces were almost touching. Julian turned with a look of surprise, then with an idiotic grin on his face, lightly brushed Mort’s lips with his own. His next forays were decidedly more energetic and it was several minutes before they came up for air.

‘Thanks…’

‘And never thank anyone for a kiss,’ Mort interrupted. ‘It’s mutual, so both are pleased. If you let a female think her kisses and caresses are worth more than yours, she’ll think you’re nuts and start to use them as currency. Before you know it you’ll be constantly buying her things to get her to do what she really wants to.’

‘How do you know all this? You’re only young. How old are you?’

‘Old enough. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-four.’

‘Tell me, Julian, Why did you choose me tonight?’

‘I don’t know… At least I do, but it seems silly. When I looked at you I felt relaxed. You reminded me of someone I teach... Works hard, intelligent and never makes trouble.’

‘What class is she in?’

‘Oh, it’s not a she, he’s a junior. When he’s in the classroom I feel relaxed, even when the others are noisy. Handsome kid; the sort I’d like to have for a son if I ever marry, which is unlikely as I’m going off the idea—unless you’ll have me?’ His smile did not project optimism, and Mort began to feel very guilty. ‘Which brings me to the difficult part.’

‘Difficult? Why?’

‘Because I’m shy, I suppose. OK, here goes. Can I see you again?’

‘I’d like that, but tomorrow I’m leaving for Brisbane.’

He grunted a laugh. ‘Well, at least you’ve restored my faith in women. I’d given up hope of ever meeting one I could feel something for.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘Thanks for a wonderful evening. I’ll treasure for the rest of my life the first woman’s kiss I have ever enjoyed.’

Mort also stood, took his hand, looked into his eyes which were moist, and said softly, ‘Say that last bit again.’

‘This is the first time in my life that I enjoyed kissing a woman.’

‘Are you sure you really want a woman?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t be upset, but you seem too nice for... for what you say you... the sort of partner you’re looking for. You think you’ve found her in me, but you haven't. You don’t know me really. I’m not what I seem.’

‘I don’t believe you were just playing a game.’

‘I wasn’t. I like you and everything about tonight, but... women are mercenary, demanding, and aren’t interested in making men happy. Have you considered? Look, I don’t want to have this conversation here, it’s too important. Come to my room so I can explain privately.‘

‘But…’

‘Either follow me or don’t, it’s up to you.

*****

‘We’re both sweaty from dancing, and I want to wash this lipstick off my face. The shower’s in here.’ Mort led a silent and wary Julian into the bathroom. ‘You get in and I’ll join you. It’s not a trick, it’s the way I want to tell you the truth. Go on!’

Julian shyly removed his clothes and stepped into the shower while Mort stripped and scrubbed his face clean, keeping his back to the shower stall, from where Julian marvelled at the perfection of Mort’s slim, muscular body, sexy bum, smooth neck, flawless skin.

‘I’m coming but I don’t want you to see me yet, so I’m switching off the light. OK?’

‘This is all very strange.’

‘It gets stranger.’ Mort switched off the light and joined Julian, pressing his back against him. ‘Ha! Your erection indicates you’re not that nervous.’

‘It’s stiff from fear.’

Their eyes had adjusted to the light from the street and Mort turned his head to look over his shoulder. ‘Kiss me.’

Julian obeyed, and pulled Mort to him, letting his hands wander.

‘You will notice a decline in the volume of my breasts,’ Mort whispered.

‘I’ve never been a fan of big tits.’

‘But they’re compensated for lower down.’

Julian’s fingers groped then froze and he shoved Mort from him, but maintained a firm grip on his shoulders. ‘Who are you?’

‘Mortaumal, from your class. But this isn’t a joke. It’s serious and I have to explain. I’ll get out if you want.’

‘We haven’t soaped ourselves yet,’ Julian replied.

It was half an hour before they reappeared in the bedroom, clean, dry, naked and physically satisfied.

‘Bed or chairs?’

‘Bed.’

During the next forty minutes Julian was told the bare bones of Mort’s life to date.

‘I feel like an innocent child listening to a worldly-wise adult,’ Julian said at last. ‘You speak and think like someone much older and wiser than I’d imagined a fourteen year old could ever be.’

‘Fourteen year olds have ruled countries, led armies, fathered children, been made Cardinals. Our society infantilises both men and women. ‘

‘But how did you learn to be like this?’

‘I’ve spent my life with a few intelligent, free-thinking adults, none of whom have ever spoken to me in any words or terms different from the way they speak to each other. No subject was deemed inappropriate, no words too difficult, no thoughts too complicated. More importantly, I’ve read books—hundreds of books. I’ve always been given responsibilities that were meaningful. I thought I was playing, but it wasn’t child labour, I was having fun and feeling useful. I wasn’t given useless toys, pointless games, dumbed down entertainment.’

‘That’s amazing. I’m sure I could never have thought so... so conceptually at your age.’

‘Kids my age are capable of conceptual thinking, of making decisions about right and wrong, morality and so on. The only thing we lack is experience—but so do most adults. I’ve kept my eyes and ears open all my life and seen what a mess most people make of their lives and relationships because of woolly thinking, lack of planning, and a refusal to accept that there are consequences, sometimes harsh, for mistakes.’

‘Why did you decide at the last minute to tell me who you really are?’

‘When you said you’d never enjoyed kissing women, I realised you had no idea of your sexuality and were about to make a terrible mistake. I hoped that if you learned it was a male, albeit a somewhat androgynous one, whose lips you were enjoying, you might not make the mistake of shackling yourself to a female.’

‘I am so lucky to have met you.’

‘And I was lucky to have you as a teacher.’

‘I don’t want to go, I’d love to stay with you all night; but guess I’d better be off, when will that woman... your mother, be back?’

‘How long does it take nine men to fuck one woman? And she’s never been a mother to anyone, least of all to me.’

‘Surely she isn’t letting all those…?’

‘As far as I can gather I was conceived in one of those orgies. She reckons she has no idea who my father was, but I don’t trust her.’

‘Then why are you going away with her? You’re doing so well at school.’

‘I have no choice, believe me. But... I wonder if you’d do me a favour?’

‘Anything.’

‘Julian! Have you learned nothing in your twenty-four years? Don’t make promises before you know what you’re letting yourself in for.’

‘I trust you not to ask me to do something wrong.’

Mort laughed. ‘Trust no one! You are incorrigible! You’ve got to get tougher, with the kids in class too. They aren’t sweet little innocents who don’t know better. They know bloody well how to behave, they just go as far as they can get away with. Put your foot down.’

‘That’s all very easy to say... but how?’

‘By looking them in the eye when you tell them not to do something, and holding their gaze until they look away. It’s the law of the jungle, the weaker one looks away first to show he isn’t aggressive.’

‘I never thought of it like that, it makes sense. I thought they’d appreciate a teacher who wasn’t aggressive. But enough of me, what can I do for you?’

‘Tomorrow, or as soon as you can, go and see Marshall Trimm, the lawyer. He was my guardian, and is concerned that I’m making a mistake going away with Perdita. Tell him everything that happened tonight. Leave nothing out, and leave him with the impression that I’m well, happy, and confident that all will be fine, and he is not to worry about me.’

‘Tell him everything? Even…?’

‘Unless you’re ashamed of it, which you shouldn’t be. You’ve been the perfect gentleman throughout. Marshall will admire you for your honesty. The important thing for me is that you allay any fears he might have about my safety.’

‘Why don’t you phone him?’

‘Because even though I’m not worried about the future, I miss him already and I’d cry. And then he’d really be worried.’

‘I’ll go tomorrow.’

‘Thanks. One last cuddle?

Copyright © 2018 Rigby Taylor; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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Have patience,  young man. All will be revealed one day. Didn't your mother tell you not to read too fast? You'll get mental indigestion; you're supposed to read slowly, savouring the delectable prose. :P

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"She's cunning and stupid, the most dangerous combination." Yep, she could be a politician and run a country with those qualifications, and filling Parliaments and Congress and Senates as well. I'd have to add 'conniving,' to the 'cunning and stupid.'

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Well, I have been savouring the delectible....

 

The dark subterranean swirls of chaos do not seem to be clearing at all. Certainly not for this reader and I suspect for Mort as well. I feel neither he nor I are prepared for the Hades inspired depths of pain and depravity that I feel is about to engulf us....

 

Your mind Mr @Rigby Taylor is a very deep well... keep pulling up those buckets, I really need to know where this is headed!

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Very lucky teacher, getting to share that intimate experience with Mort. I find myself embarrassed to be so attracted to Mort as I know it would be considered taboo.  But he’s so wise and intelligent.  Intelligence, conviction, and curiosity to know more are all traits that I find most attractive.  Physical appearance doesn’t matter to me.  But someone who can challenge me in a debate, or expand my perspective in life is always extremely attractive to me.  I dare say Mort would have me wrapped around his finger all too quickly. 

 

 Now, if only the nasty mother would be killed from being over sexed by the nine men lol.  I believe she would enjoy being sexed to death!   

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9 hours ago, skyacer said:

"She's cunning and stupid, the most dangerous combination." Yep, she could be a politician and run a country with those qualifications, and filling Parliaments and Congress and Senates as well. I'd have to add 'conniving,' to the 'cunning and stupid.'

Oh, very well put - couldn't agree more - I'd add 'Sociopathic' to the list. 

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6 hours ago, Canuk said:

Well, I have been savouring the delectible....

 

The dark subterranean swirls of chaos do not seem to be clearing at all. Certainly not for this reader and I suspect for Mort as well. I feel neither he nor I are prepared for the Hades inspired depths of pain and depravity that I feel is about to engulf us....

 

Your mind Mr @Rigby Taylor is a very deep well... keep pulling up those buckets, I really need to know where this is headed!

I'm so pleased - and relieved - to have my mind compared to a well rather than a cesspit - wells are usually potable at least.- Dark subterranean swirls of chaos.... --- you are a poet, sir, :worship:

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6 hours ago, Okiegrad said:

Very lucky teacher, getting to share that intimate experience with Mort. I find myself embarrassed to be so attracted to Mort as I know it would be considered taboo.  But he’s so wise and intelligent.  Intelligence, conviction, and curiosity to know more are all traits that I find most attractive.  Physical appearance doesn’t matter to me.  But someone who can challenge me in a debate, or expand my perspective in life is always extremely attractive to me.  I dare say Mort would have me wrapped around his finger all too quickly. 

 

 Now, if only the nasty mother would be killed from being over sexed by the nine men lol.  I believe she would enjoy being sexed to death!   

No need to be embarrassed, Okiegrad, appreciation of high quality goods is laudable! It surely isn't taboo to be attracted to a smart, intelligent honest  lad? That would be crazy. Yes, he has already wrapped me around his finger, which is why I had to tell his tale... Worry not, in this highly moral tale everyone gets what they deserve. :P

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