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Subject: Last of the Line – Chapter 122 Last of the Line by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn’t your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you’ve come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable – you’re in the right place. Don’t leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty – these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. fty/donate.html NOTE to the reader: “Peter Brown” aka badboi666 is, as you might guess, not in the first flush of youth: indeed he is well into the you’ll-die-if-you-get-this-fucking-thing age cohort. If he gets a nasty cough and a temperature he will post a synopsis of what is still to come. Then, if he snuffs it, you can at least have some idea of what befell Dab in the end. The good news is that he has had his first Pfizer shot. =============================================================================== Chapter 122 Hester and Jack spent a very busy 36 hours in Inverthrum that spring and came back with a long list of things to be done, and crops we would grow. Hester reckoned there was time during Jack’s summer holidays from college for him and “as many able-bodies workers as we can spare”, as she put it, to prepare the ground and plant a first crop. Jack explained patiently why it needed a first crop, rather than whatever we would grow there permanently. I was pleased that he knew, and pleased that he took such pleasure in telling me. “It’s worth it, then, all the money I’m coughing up,” I said. He grinned, “every penny, Dab.” Apparently clover does something useful for poor soil. “We plant lashings of clover then when it’s time to plant whatever it is we decide to plant we – I – plough the clover in.” “Who decides?” “Hester and me. We talked to Mrs McCallum, remember, but the climate’s different from what it was fifty years ago.” I decided to let the experts get on with it, much as I did with the vineyard and the brewery. There’s no point in having people paid to do what they know about if you get in the way. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Stewart got back half an hour ago. They’d been away five days and I’d been worried – he’d said it would take only four. Jack had told me not to worry, but it’s hard nowadays to stay calm. Gregor had sent two locals with him and the three of them had gone to report to him first. It made sense, I suppose. Right now Stewart is in a hot bath – he stank after so long out in the hills. “I promise I’ll tell you everything, Dab, but I need to get the smell off me first.” Hamish took him a mug of coffee and sat with him while he gradually relaxed. “Was it OK?” he asked, “Gregor’s two, I mean.” Stewart nodded, “we got on fine. Gregor made it pretty clear that I was in charge and they were there to show me the land. The older one – Iain – didn’t say much at first but when we got talking in the tent the first night he opened up a bit. I think if we set up a guard of some kind he ought to be in it. His son Finlay – he’s about 20 – is keen to be involved too. I’ll tell Dab all about in when I’m done in here.” “Were they happy for you to be in charge? Iain can be a bit prickly.” “I can be a bit prickly too, Hamish, and Gregor put me in charge. ‘He’s the expert, Iain, and though he looks like a lad he’s seen more fighting than you or I – or anyone we know. Show him what he wants to see, and tell him what he wants to know. Don’t cross me, Iain,’ he said. With instructions that clear Iain could be as prickly as he liked.” Stewart grinned. “We did talk a bit about what I’d done in Carlisle with my grandfather. I think that helped.” An hour later he had told me his plans. “And Gregor knows all this?” “No, not in as much detail, but I told him the outline. I think you and he should meet soon and the two of you – the big local bosses – can decide what to do. Gregor respects power and you and he both have it. My guess is that he’s only too happy to have a plan to carry out. I have the knowhow, you have the power to set the ball rolling and Gregor has the manpower to supply what’s needed on the ground.” “What makes you think that any of this is needed?” asked Jack, “there’s been no trouble here for years.” Stewart looked at him. “I have no idea what may happen tomorrow, Jack, and nor have you. My job is to make sure that if something does happen we’re not going to suffer – us here in this house and all the folk in Lairg.” Was I as confident when I was 15, I wondered. Jack was, I recalled. ***** Two months later the boundary was secured. Six men were constantly on patrol for eight hours at a time. Gregor had recruited 20 locals, putting Iain in charge under Stewart. “He may be a lad, but he’s killed more marauders than all of us put together, so forget his age and think of his experience.” It helped that when Stewart drilled them with rifles there was never any doubt after the first few minutes. Finlay was almost as good. ***** Once Stewart had got back and made his reports he told me he felt he could relax. Gregor had agreed to his suggestion that the roads to the south and to the east should be watched – if there were going kilis escort to be raiders that’s where they would likely come from as the country north was hardly occupied at all. We were to the north-west of the village and could watch that direction, but there too there was nothing for dozens of miles. Stewart said that he was leaving the watches to Iain. “It will give him even more authority, and that’s a good thing, believe me, Dab.” I asked him what he meant and he treated me to a potted history of how Stubbs had come to dominate Carlisle when things really started to go wrong in the 2060s. Stubbs, it seemed, had done his fair share of killing too. It was like being back in the Dark Ages 1300 years earlier when England had been little more than a collection of warring tribes. “What really soured things, my grandfather told me, was the massive crop failures. The summers just got hotter and drier, and all the stuff people had grown for hundreds of years just withered. If there had been ways of communicating with other countries maybe farmers could have found out what to plant, but there wasn’t anyone to help.” I remembered only too well. We’d been lucky – no, we (Hester, Jack and I) had seen which way the wind was blowing. Selling the arable land in East Anglia had just been the start of our move towards a Mediterranean plan. The vines were well established before we planted olives and oranges. It would have been hard for Hamish’s grandfather Charlie to believe, but by the time Hamish was 60 he could eat an orange grown on our land in Sutherland. Jack had insisted that we build cool-houses so that we could grow stuff that wouldn’t grow outside because it was too hot – green vegetables, mainly. (This was in Uttoxeter – we never needed them in Inverthrum.) It sounds heartless to say it, but the flooding in the 2049 storm, which made large parts of London uninhabitable and the social breakdown that followed, led to a big reduction in the population. There was little access to any kind of medical help beyond basic first aid, and this meant that – as Malthus had predicted – the old and the weak basically didn’t survive very long. By 2070 the rumour was that this island, once the home to almost 70 million people, held well under than half that number. The thirty years since then had been harsh, with some years of near-drought, and the population must have been even less by now. “That’s all very well, Dab,” said Stewart, “but the ones that are left are a bloody sight more desperate. That’s why we’re a target. We’re well provided for and if invaders can kill us there’s food here for years.” It’s quiet here for the moment. It’s early February 2100 and a nice 65 degrees outside. I have time to bring my memoir up to date: I don’t think it will take long. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Jack led a party of four when he went up to Inverthrum in July. Zeke had been taught by Rivers what he needed to do to a tractor – I’d bought one for £500 from a local farmer who was desperate, with the promise that I’d get Zeke to work out whether he could sort it and give him another £500 if he could make it work – and the two of them spent hours on it. Eventually it was coaxed back to life and the farmer got his £500. Zeke was fairly sure he could deal with any other reasonably modern tractor to be found in Lairg. Hamish had written to his father on my instruction to see whether there were tractors to be bought, and a letter back had said that they were useless but if we could find a way of making them work we would be welcome with open arms. Jer, whose reason for being sent with them was muscle power during the hours of daylight and company after dark, was excited at the thought of weeks miles from anywhere with Zeke to keep him warm. Billy and I smiled to ourselves as they set off in an old pre-electro car we’d bought which Zeke and Rivers had converted to run on diesel. “I hope they make it,” he said. The smiles were less about the journey than what they would find at their destination. The sling room had been put to good use here, but Jack and Hamish had kept quiet about the large bedroom at Inverthrum. We looked forward to hearing all about everything when they got back at the end of August. It was decidedly odd being just the two of us: we hadn’t been without company since Jack and Dodo had come all of eight years ago. ***** The four of them appeared one afternoon six weeks after they had set out, all of them brown and fit-looking. Jack shooed the other three upstairs while he and I went into the office. “Well?” I said. “Very well, Dab. The whole place is ploughed and sowed with clover. If you can find someone who wants about 1000 tons of rock you’ll be a millionaire. You own four tractors and your name is spoken in reverent tones because there are now six working tractors in Lairg. You may have to share the glory with Zeke though. He’s done wonders keeping them all working. Hamish’s father was really impressed. Hamish’s mother took to Jer immediately. ‘You look as though that Dab doesn’t feed you properly’, she said and Jer – thank goodness – just grinned like he does. I know you like your boys skinny, Dab, so prepare to be shocked. Come on, you’ll enjoy it,” and picking kıbrıs escort up a beer each as we went he led me upstairs. Hamish was in the shower in our bedroom. “Hello, Dab!” I heard from within. In the other shower Zeke and Jer were washing each other – at least I had to assume it was Jer. The creature in there with Zeke was no skinny waif any more: we had a boy a good stone heavier in all the right places, and – as he emerged dripping – one who was tanned virtually all over (as were Zeke and Hamish, we discovered). Work had been carried out wearing as little as was necessary to stop hot tractor seats from burning arses. Jer dried himself. “You never told us about the sling. Not having to creep downstairs after a wet session is a great improvement. Just leaping into bed is a lot better.” “You didn’t leap that often,” said Zeke, now towelling himself, “you were usually far too shagged out when you got out of the sling to so anything as energetic as that.” I grinned. “It was a nice surprise then.” Two dry boyfriends hugged me, one on either side. “Thanks, Dab, we love you,” they both murmured. I cuddled them both, unable to speak. That night was memorable in so many ways. Mrs Morley had managed, with only four hours’ notice, to put on a truly splendid meal. I had raided the cellar and the entire household (sans Mrs Morley who said she would be there in spirit but that the food needed her more) joined us in the library for welcome-home champagne. Hester was keen to hear all the details, but Jack said it would take all night. “Put it this way, everything is done and now we have a few months to plan the proper planting. How about we sit down tomorrow with Dab?” Hester and Dab thought that was a good idea. Miss Weelkes sipped her Krug knowing that her work-load was about to increase dramatically. Pam and Dunstable found the change in Jer a subject of interest. Rivers cornered Zeke and there was much technical talk involving tractors. Hamish was keen to tell Billy and me all that had passed between him and his parents. “Mum knows,” he whispered, “about me and Jack. She thinks he’s lovely.” This was a surprise. “Lovely how?” said Billy. “She came up to Inverthrum one day and the four of us were working, We were only wearing jock straps it was so fucking hot. Jack was on a tractor, sweat pouring off him. He saw her and whistled for us all to come. What I saw was my boyfriend – my lover – black and shiny and hot and all the things I love about him; what my mother saw was a beautiful body in its prime – at least that’s what she told me later. “Your father was like that at that age,” she said. I must have blushed. She turned to me – it was just the two of us – ‘are you happy with him?’ she said. I must have blushed a lot more and she put her arms out – I was all sweaty too. ‘If you love him and he loves you then I’m happy for both of you. In this strange world love is even more precious than it used to be.’ ‘What about Dad?’ ‘Leave him to me, Hamish, don’t worry. It’s the same with Dab and Billy, isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘And the other two – Zeke and Jer.’ You don’t mind me telling her, do you?” “Of course not,” I said, “we’ve never kept it a secret.” He moved off to go to Jack. I saw him tell him something whereupon Jack turned towards Billy and me and raised his glass. We raised our glasses solemnly in reply. As I said, dinner was something special, but you don’t want to hear the details. The night was even more special, and the details of that will remain behind our bedroom doors. Suffice it to say that the travellers were welcomed home with great enthusiasm and tenderness, and pairs who had not shared each other’s bodies did so in all possible ways. Even Zeke and Jer, who as ex-professionals were presumably more accustomed than the rest of us to prolonged and multiple fuckings, were knackered by 2 am. The business of tractor conversion locally took off. Word quickly got around that ‘up at the Estate’ there was expertise and we had a steady trickle of farmers seeking Zeke’s help. The steady trickle didn’t last long, however, and when it became a torrent Rivers had to step in. He came to get advice one morning about a month after Zeke had got back. “Can you do what’s needed? Does it take long?” I asked. Rivers said he was only too happy to work on tractors if I had no objection. “None at all – besides it’s good to be able to do something for the folk nearby. One day we may need their support if there’s a crowd of jillies.” “That’s what I was thinking,” he said, “you never know what’s out there. Zeke can fix a recent one – anything built in the last 10 years or so – in two hours. He’s got it down to a fine art now. Older ones are much trickier, though really old ones – more than 40 years, and there’s still a few of them around – don’t need anything apart from a damn good clean. Anything between 10 and 40 years old needs individual work, and some of it takes days until we’ve worked out which bits we have to by-pass.” “Are we charging them?” “You bet we are, Dab. They were so pleased to have a machine that worked that the first two fell over themselves with gratitude. ‘How much?’ they asked. Zeke and I hadn’t given it any thought, so we didn’t say anything. One of them said kırıkkale escort ‘will £250 be enough?’ so we looked at each other and both nodded. It was £250 more than we’d expected. So £250 is what we charge for a 2-hour Zeke job. We tell the farmers with the problem tractors it’ll be £500 and so far they’ve all jumped at it. We could probably have asked for a lot more.” “It’s good that you didn’t. The locals will feel pleased that we’ve done them a favour. Word will get around – farmers are good gossipers. One day goodwill may keep us all alive.” “There’s something else,” he said. “Zeke talks to me, just like you used to when you were little. He and Jeremy are all over each other – it’s rather sweet to hear him talk. There’s no restraint when it comes to what he tells me. Zeke has settled in here: he’s found something which he’s good at, and which he loves doing. One day he and his love of machines will be the only thing standing between us and the collapse of every bit of kit in this house, and up in Scotland too. Jeremy’s different. He works hard, but toiling away on the land doesn’t excite him like engines excite Zeke. They’re happy together, and they are both so grateful to be here, together and safe, but Zeke’s aware that Jeremy isn’t as happy as he is. Does that make sense, Dab?” “Of course it does. I didn’t know. I’ll talk to Jer about what he’d like to be doing. Thanks for telling me.” I knew where I would find him. It wasn’t cocoa weather that August, but Hester always kept her office fridge well stocked with a wide variety of refreshments. At midday the fridge was bound to be open for business. When I got there Jack had a beer half empty in his hand. “No Jer?” I said. “He’ll be here in a minute. He and Hester are out in the small greenhouse. Is there anything the matter?” I shook my head, “no, I just want to talk to him. We don’t get the chance to talk upstairs.” He grinned. “He’s unstoppable, that one.” “What’s he like as a worker?” “He does what he’s told to do – he’s a lot stronger than he was a year ago – and he’s works hard. There’s no slacking, and if there was Hester would put a stop to it. So would I, come to that. No, he’s fine, Dab. Why? Has he said he’s not happy?” I shook my head again. At that moment the other two appeared. “You justify opening something a bit fancier than beer,” she said. Jack said that he would stick with ‘Dab’s brew’ so Hester and I enjoyed a glass of wine. “When will yours be ready to drink?” she said. I said the man in Sussex had suggested that the first bottles – ‘purely as a trial’, he had said – should be with us by November. “I have no idea about the process. One day I must get to grips with what happens, but Inverthrum’s been a bigger priority. Sussex can manage without me for the time being.” I was pleased to see Jer helping himself to a pint. He raised his glass to the three of us. “I only have one at midday, Dab,” he said. “When you’ve had your meal come in and have a chat, Jer, and maybe I’ll give you another. That’s unless you need him to plough straight furrows, Hester.” She laughed, “we don’t plough in August, so he’ll be OK.” There was a knock on the office door an hour later. In came a nervous-looking boy. “There’s nothing wrong, is there, Dab?” “No, of course not. Come and sit down. A beer – I’m having one?” We sat in armchairs either side of the empty fireplace – I wanted him to feel relaxed. “Zeke’s having a whale of a time fixing all the tractors for miles around,” I said, hoping he would pick the ball up. “Yeah. He’s loving every minute; he’s like a little kid on Christmas Day.” “And that makes you happy.” He nodded, “I love him, and I love it when he’s happy. It’s funny – it makes me happy too.” Familiar stuff, I thought. “What makes you happy, Jer, apart from that?” He paused … the pause grew longer … then, “can I say something, Dab?” “That’s why we’re here, Jer. What’s up?” “I don’t feel I’m doing anything useful. I work at what Hester and Jack tell me, and I like it, but anybody could do those things. I’m really only here because Zeke’s here and … I don’t know …” I got up and stood behind him, my arms round his shoulders. “You’re here because this is your home now, for as long as you want it to be. You don’t have to be ‘doing anything useful’, as you put it. Without the work you do out there we wouldn’t grow as much as we grow. Not everybody has to be an expert, Jer; you’re young still and if you haven’t come across whatever it is that will fire you up with excitement – like engines and Zeke – there’s years in front of you. Trust me, I’ve seen this before. When Jack came here he was just 12 and the garden thing didn’t happen overnight. His brother Dodo had no idea he’s be working in a shop selling sex toys until he met Seb. One day you will discover your ideal job. Until then relax, work on the land, love Zeke and be happy with the rest of us. OK?” “Yeah. Thanks, Dab. I’ll stop worrying.” He put his empty glass down. “I’d better get back. I’ll have a piss first.” I decided I would join him. It was some time since I’d been in the sling room with only one other person, and I hadn’t been in there with Jer since the spring. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 123 as we pass a happy hour before Jer goes back to work. Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. ===============================================================================
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