will find when you grow a bit.’
He took the younger boy’s hand and pulled it on to his prick. Nelson, not looking, was aware of dry soft flesh and wisps of thin hair but most of all he was conscious of the size, so much greater than his own.
‘No.’
‘Come on,’ Rivers insisted, pulling hard to restore contact.
Nelson stood up and tried to edge past him, only to be grabbed and pushed until his back was against the end of a barrel, with Rivers, now upright, trapping him.
‘It’s nowt but a bit of play.’
Nelson pushed him hard, to little effect. ‘Go play with yourself, damn you.’
Rivers laughed, a throaty sound. His square face and button nose were so close that the saliva on his lips gleamed. The fist that took him on the ear didn’t inflict much pain, but it surprised him, and he took a half-step back.
The follow up blow caught him on the lip, which split and began to bleed. Rivers had his hand to it, which muffled the string of curses aimed at the back of his escaping victim.
Breeches fully undone he couldn’t follow.
CHAPTER 4
The rest of the day had an endless, surreal quality, full of confused imaginings, not least about what might have happened if he hadn’t fled. Part of him had wanted to stay, he knew that; to experiment with what had only ever been the subject of hushed discussions or inaccurate jokes. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that part of Rivers was still there, in his hand, which induced mixed emotions.
Nelson felt even worse in company than he was alone. He was convinced that every member of the berth had an inkling of what had occurred, which made him examine every remark to try and glean if it was innocent or barbed, which made him appear moody and suspicious. Rivers, subdued at first, soon latched on and proceeded to heap on his head a stream of insults.
Nelson had yet to learn that the berth was split: a few liked Rivers and actively encouraged him; the rest laughed at his sallies for fear of seeming weak. Dobree remained aloof: he just smiled at the references to pretty blond catamites being perfect for the Captain’s servants, to jokes about being stretched across a gun for a thick whip, or the best way to trim the wick on the Captain’s candles.
Faced with a silent, stone-faced victim, Rivers grew bolder. Allusions to ‘bum boys’, and the pleasure they gave their superiors, came thick and fast. The others watched the victim closely, supposing through his occasional shudders that he was taking it badly, unaware that in reality he was wondering if Rivers’s slurs were true. There had been pleasure mixed with terror in the depths of the ship, and he wasn’t sure where one had begun and the other ended. He tried to block the images from his mind, glad that the table hid the effect of memory, but he couldn’t block out the abiding question: had he run from fear of Rivers or for fear of his own inclinations?
Examining the faces of the others produced a confused answer to that question. His shipmates refused to meet his eye. Was that from disgust? He couldn’t know that they were waiting for the inevitable outcome: a sobbing plea to be left in peace.
That didn’t happen. When Nelson’s self-control shattered, he dived across the table to attack his tormentor. For the second time Rivers was taken by surprise and absorbed half a dozen blows before he could retaliate.But, given their respective height and weight that mattered little. Nelson was soon knocked to the floor, with his opponent stepping in to boot him. ‘You snivelling little shite,’ Rivers spat, as his foot swung.
Trapped by the bulkhead, Nelson tried to rise, only to be knocked back by another blow, more of a heavy slap than a punch. Following through, Rivers called for the others to join in. His friends, especially Makepeace, had already moved forward. Nelson grabbed Rivers’s foot and pulled hard, sending the older boy flying. That gave him enough room to begin to rise until Makepeace
He took the younger boy’s hand and pulled it on to his prick. Nelson, not looking, was aware of dry soft flesh and wisps of thin hair but most of all he was conscious of the size, so much greater than his own.
‘No.’
‘Come on,’ Rivers insisted, pulling hard to restore contact.
Nelson stood up and tried to edge past him, only to be grabbed and pushed until his back was against the end of a barrel, with Rivers, now upright, trapping him.
‘It’s nowt but a bit of play.’
Nelson pushed him hard, to little effect. ‘Go play with yourself, damn you.’
Rivers laughed, a throaty sound. His square face and button nose were so close that the saliva on his lips gleamed. The fist that took him on the ear didn’t inflict much pain, but it surprised him, and he took a half-step back.
The follow up blow caught him on the lip, which split and began to bleed. Rivers had his hand to it, which muffled the string of curses aimed at the back of his escaping victim.
Breeches fully undone he couldn’t follow.
CHAPTER 4
The rest of the day had an endless, surreal quality, full of confused imaginings, not least about what might have happened if he hadn’t fled. Part of him had wanted to stay, he knew that; to experiment with what had only ever been the subject of hushed discussions or inaccurate jokes. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that part of Rivers was still there, in his hand, which induced mixed emotions.
Nelson felt even worse in company than he was alone. He was convinced that every member of the berth had an inkling of what had occurred, which made him examine every remark to try and glean if it was innocent or barbed, which made him appear moody and suspicious. Rivers, subdued at first, soon latched on and proceeded to heap on his head a stream of insults.
Nelson had yet to learn that the berth was split: a few liked Rivers and actively encouraged him; the rest laughed at his sallies for fear of seeming weak. Dobree remained aloof: he just smiled at the references to pretty blond catamites being perfect for the Captain’s servants, to jokes about being stretched across a gun for a thick whip, or the best way to trim the wick on the Captain’s candles.
Faced with a silent, stone-faced victim, Rivers grew bolder. Allusions to ‘bum boys’, and the pleasure they gave their superiors, came thick and fast. The others watched the victim closely, supposing through his occasional shudders that he was taking it badly, unaware that in reality he was wondering if Rivers’s slurs were true. There had been pleasure mixed with terror in the depths of the ship, and he wasn’t sure where one had begun and the other ended. He tried to block the images from his mind, glad that the table hid the effect of memory, but he couldn’t block out the abiding question: had he run from fear of Rivers or for fear of his own inclinations?
Examining the faces of the others produced a confused answer to that question. His shipmates refused to meet his eye. Was that from disgust? He couldn’t know that they were waiting for the inevitable outcome: a sobbing plea to be left in peace.
That didn’t happen. When Nelson’s self-control shattered, he dived across the table to attack his tormentor. For the second time Rivers was taken by surprise and absorbed half a dozen blows before he could retaliate.But, given their respective height and weight that mattered little. Nelson was soon knocked to the floor, with his opponent stepping in to boot him. ‘You snivelling little shite,’ Rivers spat, as his foot swung.
Trapped by the bulkhead, Nelson tried to rise, only to be knocked back by another blow, more of a heavy slap than a punch. Following through, Rivers called for the others to join in. His friends, especially Makepeace, had already moved forward. Nelson grabbed Rivers’s foot and pulled hard, sending the older boy flying. That gave him enough room to begin to rise until Makepeace
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