The Secret Catamite Bk 1, The Book of Daniel Read online

  "Where is your name card?"

  Simon's resolve left him faced with Miss Harvey at close quarters. Shaking, he explained.

  "I can write my name without it now, please Miss."

  Miss Harvey looked at Simon's paper. He had got as far as the first three letters.

  "Sim!" Miss Harvey exclaimed. "Sim!" she repeated, equally dramatically. Simon cowered. "Is your name Sim?" she demanded.

  "No, Miss," said Simon, barely audible.

  "No? Then why have you written 'Sim', boy?"

  Simon instinctively knew that it would be unwise to explain to Miss Harvey that this was just the beginning of the word 'Simon', and wondered what it was about some grown ups that made them forget such obvious things, yet were ready to blame children for forgetting quite difficult things.

  "Dumb insolence now," was Miss Harvey's response to Simon's reticence. "What makes you think you are different from everybody else?" she demanded.

  Somehow, Miss Harvey had hit upon the great unresolved problem of Simon's life. It did serve though to reinforce the knowledge that he was somehow different from ordinary boys. Simon had no answer for himself, let alone Miss Harvey, and so he remained silent. This enraged an already fearsome Miss Harvey. She took hold of Simon's ear, and twisting it and pulling, forced Simon out of his seat, down the aisle to the front of the class. Miss Harvey turned to face the class.

  "Now you will see what I think of disobedient children who are very rude as well," she said. Simon looked miserably at the class. The sea of faces intimidated him a bit. All those eyes! He could see that most of the children were clearly nervous, some of the girls looked upset. One or two of the boys, like Barry Spence, were obviously going to enjoy watching Simon, their favourite target for both verbal and physical bullying, suffering at Miss Harvey's hands also. A strange alliance, Barry Spence and Miss Harvey.

  "Bend over, boy!" came the inevitable command. Simon tried hard not to cry as the bamboo cut across his buttocks, but the pain of six successive strokes, even through his grey flannel shorts and pants was too much, he didn't even have time to go out of himself to protect himself by letting it happen to his other self and he returned to his seat with tears running down his small face to the sniggers of the Spence gang and the frightened, averted gaze of most of the others. Still crying, he got out his name card, with Mrs. Hastings' beautiful italic script on it, and completed writing his name.

  There was no respite for Simon the next day, either. Mrs. Hasting was still absent and Miss Harvey was taking the class again. Her irritation at this was plain. Simon's next crisis came at lunchtime. It was salad for school dinner. This meant an assortment of grated lettuce, grated tomato, grated carrot and worst of all, grated cheese. Simon could not stand the smell of cheese, and the taste made him feel desperately sick. He forced down the various grated components of this meal, except the cheese, which he tried to distribute over the surface of the plate so that its presence would be less noticeable. He placed his knife and fork together as Mummy had taught him, signifying that he had finished. Barry Spence saw his chance. Thick blond hair and sharp blue eyes, his angelic face bathed in righteous indignation, he put up his hand to attract one of the kitchen ladies.

  "Please Miss, Simon hasn't eaten his cheese."

  "Barry, you're rotten," whispered Cynthia Jackson.

  "Shut up, cow," snarled Barry Spence, "or I'll bash you in."

  Cynthia Jackson shut up.

  "Why have you not eaten your cheese?" demanded the figure in the yellow overall coat.

  "Please Miss, I don't like it," said Simon.

  "Miss Harvey, this boy won't eat his dinner," called yellow overall across the dining hall. With sinking heart, Simon heard Miss Harvey's footsteps coming across to his table. In the hush, he was aware of the black dress next him, and of Miss Harvey's powerful presence.

  "It's you!" proclaimed Miss Harvey to the rest of the school. Simon wondered how he could ever not be him. Miss Harvey lowered her voice, but without any loss of threatening power.

  "Eat your meal," she demanded. Simon knew that resistance was pointless. Miss Harvey would never understand the effect that cheese had on him. Slowly he started to force the abhorrent gratings into his mouth, and down his throat. With each swallow, his bile rose even more, and the tears started down his face again.

  "It's no good just playing with it," said Miss Harvey. "Good men died to bring us food in the war. I'm going to stand here until it's all gone."

  Simon knew that she would, and tried to hurry up to shorten his ordeal. Suddenly, he could contain it no longer. He felt the uncontrollable rush into his throat, opening from within. Unthinking, he turned to the side and vomited all down Miss Harvey's black dress.

  "You vile little boy!" she shrieked. "You did that deliberately, you wicked child!" Miss Harvey seized a cloth from yellow overall, and frantically wiped at her dress. Boiling with rage, she then seized Simon and dragged him to the front of the dining hall. Simon stood shaking, the taste of vomit still in his mouth, still feeling sick through cheese and fear.

  "Bend over, you nasty little boy," demanded Miss Harvey. Simon bent. The force behind the strokes seemed far greater than the earlier beating and for Simon, whose counting was not the best anyway, there seemed to be more than the earlier six.

  Simon spent the afternoon standing in the corner of the classroom, because Miss Harvey said she could not bear his face. For Simon this was a blessing because he did not want to have to sit, and while he was standing in the corner, he could not get into trouble about his work. It was probably the safest place to be, only returning to his place at the end of the day to put his chair up and say the prayer.

  1952/3 Going home

  On the way home, Daniel asked Simon about the beatings. Simon tried to explain what had happened, and how Miss Harvey had beat him because he was different. The two boys took a short cut home through the wood. In fact, it was slightly longer than going by the road route, but it was more fun.

  "Did she hit you hard?" asked Daniel as they walked through the trees.

  "Yes," said Simon, "very hard." He knew that his face still showed the signs of his tears.

  "What will your Mum say," asked Daniel, still curious.

  "Don't know," replied Simon.

  "Did it hurt?" asked Daniel.

  "It was horrible," answered Simon, the memory starting to bring back his tears. Cross with Daniel's incessant questioning, he said, "Look."

  Simon stopped, and looking along the path to see if anyone was coming, he dropped his gabardine mac to the ground, pulled his shirt out of his shorts, and slackening the front fastening, eased his shorts down sufficiently to expose much of his buttocks. Looking over his shoulder, Simon could see from the expression on Daniel's face that there were marks in plenty.

  Daniel gently lifted Simon's shirt a bit more with one hand, and with the other, tugged Simon's shorts down to reveal his bottom completely. Simon felt reassured by the tenderness of his friend's touch and so allowed this. Simon felt his gentle hand run smoothly and lightly over his hips and buttocks, but did not resist his friend's advance. Daniel broke the brief spell of the moment.

  "She didn't half whack you," he said. Simon nodded, pulling up his shorts. "I'm glad I'm not different, if that's what you get," said Daniel, thankfully.

  When Simon got home, he started to tell Mummy about it, oblivious of her warning glances. Daddy came into the room, and Simon realised his mistake.

  "What have you done?" demanded Daddy sternly.

  "Leave him, he'll be alright," said Mummy.

  "He must have done something," said Daddy, then, glaring at Simon, "Well, what was it?"

  Simon didn't answer, unsure of what response any answer would bring. Daddy insisted on examining the marks on Simon's bottom. Simon did not like this, but was no position to refuse. In the end he got away with being sent to bed early.

  1952/3 Daniel in the Den

  A few days later, at the weekend, when Simon and D
aniel were discussing what had happened, Daniel thought it was unfair.

  "It's not your fault," he said. "Did old Harvey really hit you because you were different?"

  "I think so," said Simon, "But I don't know how I am. I don't look much different to anyone else do I?"

  "Not really," said Daniel, "but you are a bit odd sometimes."

  "I'm the only one the biguns call 'bastard'," said Simon, "but I think I'm the same as everyone else, like you."

  "Don't know," said Daniel, "let's have a look at you, and I'll see if we are different."

  It was decided that they should both compare themselves. They set off into the small wood, known as the Spinney, that lay beyond the allotments at the end of the street. Simon felt an unexplained thrill of anticipation as they searched together for a suitably hidden place.

  "I know a place," said Daniel, "Come on." Simon followed as Daniel led the way across a bombsite and through the trees, and down into an overgrown depression that was hard to see unless one knew it was there. The warm sunlight cast speckled green shadows over the two boys' faces as they sat in a small clear area, almost totally concealed by the bushes from any casual passer-by.

  "It's my den," announced Daniel, looking at Simon with the pride of one who has shared a great secret, and yet seeking Simon's approval. Simon beamed back at him, and looked around the den.

  "It's a super den," said Simon.

  "Our secret den," said Daniel.

  "Yes," said Simon simply.

  For a few moments, the two boys sat in the warmth of the den and each other's company, the communion of their eyes saying more to each other than their limited vocabulary could ever have done.

  "We could be soldiers in the war," suggested Daniel.

  "A secret base against the Germans," added Simon. Neither boy was exactly sure who the Germans were, but both knew that they were to be feared, even though they had been beaten in the war. Simon knew about the war, because Daddy had been in it, and had shown Simon some photographs of him in uniform. Daddy's RAF uniform still hung in the wardrobe and the medal was in the top drawer. Sometimes, some men would come to the house, and they and Daddy would drink a lot of beer and then start talking and laughing about what they had done in the war together. Simon thought the war must have been great fun, even though the Germans had obviously tried to spoil it. Maybe that's why we fought them, to stop them spoiling the war.

  Daniel suddenly threw himself onto his stomach, holding an imaginary rifle.

  "Quiet, men!" he commanded. "The Germans are close."

  Simon lay next to Daniel, and both boys stared out through the leaves and trees to where the houses could be seen beyond the allotments. One or two men could be seen digging in their allotment patches, but in the minds of the two boys, these were the real Germans, out to kill them.

  The Germans made no attempt to advance and do battle, in fact they seemed unaware of the British soldiers lying concealed in the wood. The boys lay increasingly uneasily, each waiting for the other to admit first that the game had lost its sparkle. Daniel eventually gave way.

  "What shall we do now?" he asked, tacitly admitting the lack of co-operation afforded by the allotment diggers.

  "We could light a fire," suggested Simon in a moment of inspiration. He had watched Mummy light the fire at home, using paper and sticks to get the coal burning, but it occurred to him that he had no paper, sticks, coal or matches.

  "You burn wood," said Daniel, looking around the den.

  "We haven't got any matches." said Simon finally.

  He remembered then why they had come here, and asked Daniel The Question.

  "What's a bastard?" asked Simon. Daniel thought for a moment.

  "Don't know," he said. "Why?"

  "I asked Mummy, but she didn't tell me."

  "I'll ask mine," offered Daniel, "and then I'll tell you. Why do the biguns call you that?"

  "Don't know," said Simon. "I don't know what it is."

  "Why are you different?" persisted Daniel. Simon thought about this. He was always aware that he was somehow different from the others, that they knew this. They laughed at some of the ideas he came up with, at the way he talked, at Mummy and Daddy, and at him because of the 'Bastard'. Now Daniel too knew that he was different, and Daniel was his friend. He was older, and knew lots of things. Sometimes he even played with the biguns.

  "Don't know. I don't want to be. I've looked in the mirror, and I can't see what's wrong," said Simon.

  "Let's have a look," said Daniel, assuming an air of authority that Simon found somehow exciting, yet feeling compelled to oblige. He looked around the wood from the concealed den to check that no-one was about. Daniel stood up.

  "It's all right," he said. Simon started to undo the buttons of his shorts. Watching him, Daniel felt his dominance over his younger friend growing, and felt he had to assert it.

  "Take everything off," he commanded. Simon stripped off, conscious of Daniel watching him, and felt a stirring of excitement at what they were doing.

  "Socks as well," said Daniel, and Simon obeyed. He sat naked on the soft grass in the hollow, arms round his drawn up knees, buttocks feeling the warm grass. It felt good. Daniel knelt beside him and gently pushed Simon so that he was lying down, face up, looking at the overhead canopy of green, with the blue sky peeping through here and there. Daniel looked over Simon's body. He gently ran his hand over Simon's skin, and as his friend made no move, established mastery of the relationship by caressing Simon's most intimate parts.

  "I think I know what it is," he said. "It's your cock."

  Simon lifted up onto his elbows and looked at his penis.

  "What about it?" he asked.

  "It's different," said Daniel. "Look." Daniel quickly undid his shorts and pulled them and his pants down. Slipping them off and his T-shirt, he lay next to Simon on the grass. Simon could see the difference. The end was different from Daniel's. Simon looked at his circumcision and wondered. He looked at Daniel frightened and puzzled.

  "How do they know?" he asked.

  "Who?" asked Daniel.

  "The biguns and Miss Harvey and all them."

  "Don't know, but I won't tell", said Daniel. "Are your marks still there?"

  Simon rolled over and Daniel examined the fading bruises. He again ran his hand round Simon's body, over his buttocks and through his legs. Simon felt the softness of his touch and was glad for it. He felt the warmth of Daniel's body close to him and felt something of the comfort he got from Mummy. Simon was glad he had a friend who knew how he was different, and still wanted him. Simon was happy.

  They lay there for a while, as the day cooled, then dressed and went home, Daniel for a piano lesson, Simon for tea, each happy with their time in the den, each for their own reasons.

  1953/6 Coronation

  The Coronation was a memorable event for Simon. It was going to be on television! Daddy had always said television was a waste of money and radio was much better. But then it said that the Coronation would be on television. Daniel's family were going to get one, a point raised one day when all four were at home having tea.

  "Daniel's Daddy's getting a television," announced Simon. He had no real hope that this would produce a 'yes, let's get one too' moment, but felt compelled to say it.

  "Maybe Daniel's father can afford one," said Daddy, sharply.

  "I think Jennifer's going to get one too," said Frances. "She says I can go and watch the Coronation at hers if I want."

  "Can I come?" asked Simon quickly.

  "Definitely not," said Frances curtly.

  "I'll go to Daniel's then," said Simon.

  "Good, at least you won't be bothering me," retorted his sister.

  "Children, stop it," said Mummy. "Frances, you must wait to be asked by Jennifer's mother, not just by Jennifer. Same goes for you Simon. Wait to be asked properly."

  "I'll get Jennifer to ask her," said Frances.

  "And I'll get Daniel to ask," said Simon not wishing to be ou
tdone.

  "For heaven's sake, stop it," said Daddy crossly, glaring at Simon. Was it just because he had been the last to speak, or was because Frances was older. Whatever, Simon fell quiet.

  "I expect it'll be on the radio," said Mummy brightly.

  "Help Mummy clear the table," said Daddy, getting up and leaving the dining room.

  "That meant you," said Frances to Simon, also getting up.

  "Ask to leave the table properly," said Mummy. Frances sat down again, but tensed ready to get up again.

  "Please may I leave the table?"

  "Yes dear," said Mummy.

  "Why isn't she going to help clear up?" demanded Simon indignantly.

  "Yes," said Mummy to Frances, "you can help."

  "Mum!" whined Frances, "I'm going to Jennifer's and I've got to get ready and I'll be late if I don't get ready now."

  Simon often wondered why Frances took so long to 'get ready'. This was some feminine ritual that was completely incomprehensible. She would disappear for ages and then come out again, looking to Simon's eyes pretty much as she had when she went in. Simon would just get up and go out, it saved a lot of time. But Mummy fell for it. She spent a lot of time 'getting ready' too.

  "Well, you do it next time," said Mummy.

  "Thanks Mummy," said Frances, already half way out of the dining room door.

  Simon looked at Mummy crossly. "It's not fair," he said. "I bet she doesn't do it next time."

  "Come on, love," she coaxed, "we'll do it together, you and me."

  It was the Wednesday tea time before the Tuesday of Coronation Day when the van came to the house.

  There was a knock at the door.

  "Ah," said Daddy, who had come home early for some unexplained reason. He got up, smiling broadly. Mummy was smiling too.

  Simon and Frances exchanged glances, they were suspicious of these parental conspiracies.