Dahran

The Time Line by Gerry Taylor This is the fourth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery. Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, sex, submission If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage now. ============= The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/ ===========

Chapter 4 -- Heroism

It's a man's world I have come to realise. That may be an opinion worthy of Nicolas Chauvin, but it struck home when it dawned on me that when a man is known for his courage or valour, he is credited with heroism. However, when a woman has similar courage, she has to use the man's word and she cannot be credited with `heroine-ism' or a unique badge of honour attributable only to females.

All of this, as I say, struck home on the day before I was due to fly back to Dahra.

Upon returning to my hotel after a most convivial meal with Ryan Smith and his wife, I found that a letter had been forwarded by courier from the Bank for me. As I walked in, the night porter handed it to me.

The Sancerre and the Fleury had made a good impression on me to say nothing of the post-prandial Cointreau and I was feeling pleasantly happy with the world and my own internal state of mind.

As I waited for the lift, I stuck my thumb under the flap of the letter and opened it. There was a single sheet of letter-heading inside addressed to me, care of Deckams. It was dated that very day and as I stepped into the lift, I read:

`Jonathan,

A blast from the past, no more, no less. I rang your head office this afternoon to find out where in the world you were now based and to my surprise I was told you were in London for a meeting but flying out tomorrow.

Please ring me no matter how late this evening. I need to speak personally with you urgently tomorrow morning.

Yours sincerely,

Caroline Black

P.S. 29th March Cambridge and Oxford now seem so long ago!'

I was still reading when the doors of the lift opened on my floor. I was looking at the letter as the doors started to close again. The wine, or was it the Cointreau, was not helping my brain function.

Who was Caroline Black? I didn't know a Black. Who was Caroline? The handwriting was firm and cursive, almost spidery. On the top of the letter was an address in Surrey followed by a telephone number. It didn't make sense. What was the reference to Cambridge and Oxford? I had been to Oxford but not to Cambridge. On one thing, I could agree, Oxford did seem such a long time ago, all of twenty five years ago. Over half a life time ago. I knew no Caroline Black that I could remember. The date 29th March meant nothing.

Then the thought struck me in my wine-befuddled state that women often change their name when they got married. But that still did not help, as I still did not know a Caroline.

I was about to bin the letter in my room when something stopped me. This woman was writing as if she definitely knew me. But I did not know her from Eve.

I would settle this quickly, nutcase or whoever she was. I picked up the phone and rang the number on the top of the page. I looked at my watch according to which it was two thirty in the morning, but really only eleven thirty London time.

The phone rang twice and a soft voice said `Hello'.

`Caroline Black, please.'

`This is she.'

`Jonathan Martin speaking. You left a note for me.'

`Oh, Jonathan, thank God! You got my letter. I dropped it at the Bank when I heard you were in town.'

`Sorry, hold on. Do I know you?'

`Jonathan, it me Caroline. Caroline Black. The Sugar Plum Fairy, silly!'

Oh, God! Oh, my God! The memories came flooding back like a tsunami washing away everything on every shoreline and banishing every thought of the here and now leaving only the rubble of memories of a quarter of a century or so previously.

Henley 1986! The night of the Oxford-Cambridge boat race! Cambridge had won and a young Oxford freshman dressed up as a cowboy, the only outfit he could afford to hire, had gone to a fancy-dress ball afterwards which was being held `come win or lose' as the publicity said. It had rained on Oxford's chances by seven lengths in the race but the publicised ball went ahead. And here was the Sugar Plum Fairy on the other end of the phone!

`Sugar Plum, is that really you?'

`Yes, cowboy.'

That clinched the ID.

`Sorry, it's Caroline is it? I never got your name.'

`You remember the pink champagne?'

`I drank it from your shoe sitting on a bale of hay in someone's barn.'

Oh, my God! How could I remember that now? The dusty smell came wafting back after all those years.

`Jonathan, I need to talk to you. It is important.'

`I'm sorry, Sug...I mean, Caroline. I am only in London today and tomorrow morning. I'm flying out in the afternoon. Can I ring you in the morning? I have just come in from dinner and what with the wine from the dinner and the time difference, my head is spinning.'

`It is urgent, Jonathan, otherwise I would not have written.'

`How did you know my name?'

`Jonathan, please. You were as drunk as a lord and told the world that if Jonathan Martin had been rowing that day, Oxford would have won. I think you shouted that mantra for about five minutes before passing out for the first time.'

I closed my eyes. I could not remember. The pink champagne bit, I did. The rest I did not. I have never been one to drink a lot and that night there had been more than just a lot.

`Eh, Caroline, I am staying at a hotel in London as I usually do. Can I invite you to a late breakfast in the morning and we can talk?'

`Thank you, Jonathan. I'll take an early train up. I'm in Surrey. Shall we say nine thirty. Where are you staying?'

I gave the Sugar Plum Fairy of 1986 the name of my hotel and the address, and we agreed on breakfast at nine thirty.

As I did not trust myself after the amount of wine at dinner, I put in an alarm call for half eight with reception.

The following morning I walked down the stairs to breakfast some five minutes early so as to get a decent table. As a regular, I was given one by a window with a view of The Strand. I had left Caroline's name at reception and when she was ushered in by the manager, there was no doubt but that it was the Sugar Plum Fairy of Henley of so many years ago. The very thin waif who had dressed up in a tutu like a character in Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker ballet was now a very thin elegant lady with a distinctive two-inch streak of grey hair disappearing back through a carefully coiffed hairstyle.

I remembered her vaguely as small and vivacious. I thought that she was still so as I took in her firm approach. She was smiling as she came through the breakfast room towards and extended a small hand.

`Jonathan! You really have not changed a lot.'

`I must say the same, Caroline. A quarter of a century has not changed you at all.'

`Flattery will get you everywhere, Jonathan. That night it did. You still have much the same angular features. Still the same build.'

I indicated a chair. The manager was still hovering and pulled it back to allow my guest to be seated, and with one fluid motion, put a morning menu on the side plate.

`Whenever you are ready to order, Sir Jonathan. The staff will take your order.'

I looked at my guest who was making no attempt to look at the menu. As I viewed her, I saw the still unflawed beauty that so vaguely reminiscent of that elfin, ethereal and waiflike figure. But she had aged differently. There were deep black marks under her eyes which careful makeup had been unable to cover and some worry lines to the side of her eyes. Crow's feet as they unkindly called by some. But Caroline's forehead had not a line or wrinkle on it.

Please,' I said to Caroline indicating the menu on the side plate. Let's order.'

`Thank you, Jonathan, but I had some tea and toast on the train up. I'm quite happy. But please, take your breakfast.'

I looked at her, caught the eye of one of the staff and ordered `the small English breakfast and tea for two'.

The menus were whipped away.

`At least, you can take another cup of tea. But tell me, Caroline, what have you done with your life since....'

She laughed `...since the fancy dress and the barn dance?'

`I don't remember much dancing in the barn.'

She laughed again and said, `well, I finished Cambridge, attended the congregations, got my degree, a good upper second in biology. I started teaching at a public school in Surrey and have been there ever since, ending up as Deputy Headmistress.'

`My congratulations. Did you marry?'

`No, I never married' she replied somewhat seriously.

I was about to say something, when she continued in a lighter vein, `...while you completed your business degree at Oxford, never rowed for the dark blues and joined a Bank.'

`That's about it. In a nutshell.'

She was looking at me, half-smiling, `yes indeed, Jonathan, a lifetime summarised.'

Now she was serious and continued, `thank you for seeing me at what is the shortest notice ever given any friend. I appreciate it.'

`Not at all. What...what can I do for you? You made it sound important.'

`For me, Jonathan, nothing. For the very simple reason, that I am dying and dying very fast at that.'

There are moments when the temperature of a room changes and one feels a chill. This moment was one of them. No one jokes lightly of impending death, perhaps flippantly, but never lightly. Caroline must have seen the question etched in my face or demeanour.

`It's cancer. A very fast moving melanoma. It started off six months ago as a little ugly brown spot on my wrist and now it is everywhere, even in my brain. Last week, they told me that it could be anything from two weeks to two months.'

`But, Caroline, you look fine. In fact, you look marvellous.'

`Courtesy of cosmetics. My legs are beginning to swell and I am constantly tired. I can only accept the diagnosis of a raft of oncologists. The chemo did not work and they tell me any more is useless. So, that's me in summary, Jonathan.'

`Caroline, what can I say?'

`Nothing, Jonathan. But you can do me a favour.'

`Yes, of course,' I said automatically.

`I would like you to meet my son. Our son.'

I could only stare at her.

The waitress had come with my breakfast and I waved it away, saying, `thank you, but I have changed my mind. Just leave the tea.'

Caroline waited for the waitress to depart and said, `29th March 1986, conceived in a barn at a fancy dress dance. Born 29th December 1986 exactly nine months to the day, a boy Richard Martin Black.'

I heard my voice say `why didn't you let me know? Why didn't you tell me?'

It was my voice but the words were expressing puzzlement together with astonishment. Strangely enough at the back of my mind, there was no anger or annoyance, not even disbelief, but amazement and surprise and wonder all wrapped into one.

`Why? I have asked myself that, Jonathan, more than a couple of times, I can tell you. I really did not know you. You were obviously a poor student with no means. You even had to take a ride in the back of someone's car to get to the fancy dress ball that evening. And if the truth be told, I did take advantage of you, I must confess.'

I was looking at the Sugar Plum Fairy of all those years ago. Yes, I did remember riding in the back of a banger to get from Henley out to the barn in the countryside in a fuzzy hazy way. And I could remember waking up totally naked under a rug behind bales of hay and my clothes neatly piled beside me, and a hangover to end all hangovers, and something vague in the recesses of my mind about empty champagne bottles on a plank of wood.

It must have been my silence that made Caroline continue.

`You passed out after I do not know how much champagne and I covered you with a rug. An hour later you were still passed out and I got under the rug with you and over the following four hours our son was conceived.'

There are those who undoubtedly protest in such `you are the father of my baby' situations. I did not seem to have the ammunition of protest to hand.

`Was I ever conscious?'

`Sometimes. I'm sorry, Jonathan. I should not have done it. But those were the times and I was wild. Now, I just want you to meet Richard.'

`And then what?'

`That will be up to the two of you. I just wanted to make the introduction. Within sixty or so days, I shall be gone and I did not want to die without at least making the attempt.'

I looked up and saw that the breakfast room had emptied considerably.

`I don't know what to say, Caroline. This is a total shock. It never ever occurred to me that anything like this.....'

Words failed me.

`Don't worry, Jonathan. I am making no demand of you, other than that of meeting Richard. He is making no demand of you.'

`He knows? When did you tell him?'

`Yes, he knows. I told him the full truth only last week when I got this final piece of news. I have always told him that I had met his father at university and that his father knew nothing either about his birth or about him.'

`Did he not ever ask?'

`Some years back for quite a number of months. But I always resisted. I heard on the grapevine that after Oxford you had joined Deckams, and then out of the blue, some years ago, I saw your name on the honours list, and I was so, so proud that my cowboy was now a knight.'

I could only smile at the poor attempt at humour.

`When can I meet....eh, Richard? I can cancel my flight today and get another.'

`That may not be necessary, I asked Richard to meet me here at ten, to wait for me in the lobby of the hotel.'

I instinctively looked at my watch and it was two minutes to ten. Reaching for the untouched teapot, I said `You and I have two minutes to take a quick cup of tea. Caroline, you may not need it, but I certainly do.'

I poured ourselves two cups and passed over the milk, and in silence, I sipped a lukewarm cup of English tea.

`Shall we go and see if Richard has arrived,' I finally said. Caroline nodded and we got up and went out into the lobby.

I don't know what precisely I was expecting. I could feel the change of air from the poorer air-conditioned breakfast room to the cooler lobby where there were various high-backed Queen Anne chairs scattered round in clusters of two's and three's.

From one of them, a young man rose, and if a horse had kicked me in the gut, I could not have been more surprised. There are those who demand DNA testing to prove paternity and go to the legal ends of the earth to avoid such claims. In my case, there was no such need. My younger self of twenty five years ago crossed the lobby towards us, glancing at Caroline and at me, and then said `Hi, Mum' kissing Caroline on the cheek.

From my university days, I have kept a few, not many photos. I had never been into keeping snaps, but whenever I have glanced over them in the intervening years, I saw myself as I was then, young and confident, thin and always with a quiff of hair which was never quite under control.

The young man had come across the lobby with my step and kissed his mother on her cheek, and looked at me, and as he did so automatically brushed back his quiff as I have done umpteen times during my life time.

`Richard, this is your dad, Sir Jonathan Martin. Jonathan, this is our son.'

Normally, I am not fazed by the events of life, but it took me a second or two to get my thoughts in gear after seeing a younger doppelganger of myself and hearing the words our son'. At least, Caroline had not introduced him as my son' or `your son'. It was joint and severally, all at the one time, as we say in banking parlance.

`Richard, I am very pleased to meet you,' I said extending my hand.

His grip was firm.

`I am pleased to meet with you as well, sir'.

`Please, Jonathan, it is,' I said looking both at him and at Caroline.

We were just at the Head Porter's desk, so I turned to the porter and asked `are any of the small conference rooms free?'

`For three, Sir Jonathan? Yes, indeed. Come this way.'

The head porter ushered the three of us down a corridor off the lobby and let us into one of the rooms which doubles as a small boardroom with a conference table and six leather chairs. The air was still but cool, and the concierge flicked a switch and put on the indirect lighting and the air-conditioning.

`Thank you.'

`Not at all, Sir Jonathan.'

I indicated two of the chairs and we all sat down. I could not take my eyes off my son, Richard.

I am delighted to meet you, Richard,' I said almost stupidly. I truly did not know that you existed until less than half an hour ago.'

`I know, si..Jonathan. Mum only told me last week who you were and that you were my father.'

I looked at Caroline who seemed for some reason withdrawn into a cocoon of her own.

`I had no idea at all.'

I knew my dad had been at university,' Richard said, looking at his mother, but who you were, Mum never said.'

There was a moment's silence and Caroline continued looking at both Richard and myself, `you're not angry, Jonathan, are you?'

I could only shake my head as emotion modulated from key to key inside me.

`Tell me what you have done with yourself?' I finally managed.

`I went to the University of Surrey in Guildford, close to where we live, to study economics and now I am working with a think-tank here in London and doing a Master's part-time at the LSE.'

`Bright lad,' I said to Caroline who was now looking with deep satisfaction at her, at our, son.

`Very bright, Jonathan, a scholarship to the university and a better degree than either of us, and his firm is paying half his Master's fees by way of a bursary.'

`Mum, please!' he said half in protest, but very softly to a mother whom he clearly loved dearly.

Caroline was not trying to sell Richard's achievements but rather to state them with a mother's pride.

`And you, Jonathan? May I ask what do you do? Mum says you went into banking.'

`Yes, the same Bank since university. I have worked my way up and am a partner in one of the branches in the Middle East, in Dahra.'

It is so difficult to make small talk in any situation like this that the silence of seconds can seem like hours. It was nothing more than the surprise of the previous half hour which was scattering all thoughts in my head is a totally uncoordinated manner.

`One of the international banks?'

Caroline had obviously told Richard as little about me as I had been supplied with information about him.

`No, a private Bank, Deckams.'

`Wha..? The Deckams Bank as in Lord Deckam?'

`Yes, Charlie Deckam is our senior partner and Chairman. Do you know him?'

`No, si... Jonathan, not personally, but we, I mean the firm, did a report for him and Deckams on monetary policy a few months back.'

I looked at Caroline and she said, `I told you he was bright, didn't I? Jonathan, if you will excuse me, I have a return ticket on the eleven thirty to Guildford. I can only apologise for not having been in touch with you previously, and I apologise to you, Richard, as well. With hindsight, I think you would have enjoyed knowing your father earlier than this.'

I was looking at Caroline and I thought the rings under her eyes had deepened in their blackness over the previous half an hour.

`Jonathan, thank you for seeing me, for seeing us, at such short notice. I hope you and Richard keep in touch. The two of you are so alike in so many ways. I can see it now and it is as I remembered you from that night. I will say goodbye, Jonathan, because it is goodbye. One of my doctors said I am actually on borrowed time.'

I think I was too much in shock at the whole morning to do little more than walk Caroline to the front of the hotel and see her into a taxi for the railway station.

As she was getting in to the taxi, having kissed Richard on either cheek saying that she would see him the following day, she turned to me and whispered in my ear `Jonathan, those four hours were among the best four hours of my entire life and I have no regrets.'

The taxi pulled out into the flow of traffic.

I had met the Sugar Plum Fairy once in my life. I had met the real Caroline Black once. And between those two meetings, I had found myself a son.

Richard Black was standing beside me on the kerb and I turned to the young man, the `young me' in so many ways and mannerisms which flowed as easily from him as they did from me, to such a degree that it was frightening.

`It's a bit early, Richard, for a drink, but I know I could do with something. May I invite you in to the bar?'

`Thank you, Jonathan.'

We walked in to the bar and I asked him what he would have, and smiled when he said what I always said in such situations `A glass of anything they have on draught.'

We took a table and the waiter brought us two glasses of draught Carlsberg. I looked at Richard and I could not take my eyes off him. It was like looking in a mirror which was curving back time.

`I'm sorry for staring. It is all very much of a surprise.'

`For me as well, Jonathan. You're not....you're not denying any of this? Sorry to put it that way, but I don't know how else to put it.'

`No, Richard. When I look at you, I see myself a quarter of century ago. There is no denying it. You look and even act like a younger version of me.'

He smiled and said `does that mean I am going to look like you twenty five years from now?' with a cheeky grin.

`Cheers' I said lifting the half-pint.

I caught the barman's eye again and asked for a phone. Richard was looking at me.

`I'll cancel my flight back.'

`No, please don't for my sake. I am in overload at the moment and I can't really think straight even though I have known about you since last week. I always took that Martin was my second name or something. It never occurred to me that it really was the first of two surnames, and I always thought it was a mistake on my birth certificate.'

`Are you sure about the plane? I can easily get another.'

`No, please, Jonathan. When you are back in London, here let me give you my card, you can ring me and we can meet and talk.'

I looked at the card with `Richard M. Black BA -- Economic analyst' on it together with the name of the think-tank where he worked.

I reciprocated with my own card.

`If you are sure, Richard, I am here every third Monday of the month for a board meeting, but perhaps, I could take a break come and visit. Please let me know, however, how Caroline is getting on. I forgot to ask earlier, is there anything I can do? Any extra second opinion she can get or clinic she go to?'

`No, Jonathan, thank you. It is pervasive. Her oncologist is a world-class specialist here at a Harley Street clinic. He told her not even two months.'

`Let me know anyway, Richard. It may sound strange but I have only met your mother twice in my life and on both occasions she disappeared out of it within hours.'

Again there was silence, which I broke by saying, `But tell me about yourself. Do you like your work? Where do you live?'

`I share a small rented apartment with a chap who works in insurance. It's a half an hour from work on the Tube. As for the work, I love it. They are very good to me. And the weekends, I go down to Guildford and for the past couple of weeks, I have been taking the Friday off as well. As I say, they are very good to me at work.'

`Can I help financially? I can't say it any other way.'

Richard looked at me and I knew the look because I had invented it and had graded it scientifically decades ago.

`This meeting today wasn't about money, Jonathan,' he said softly.

`I know that. I can see that. But I would like to help. Caroline may need a few small extras in her final days. I don't know maybe extra palliative care that the insurance, or whatever she has, does not cover. Please let me help. After all, I am now family.'

I smiled as I said it and the younger me mirrored back the smile.

`Do you know, Richard, it took me over two decades to learn how to accept a gift gracefully? I have always worked my way up in the Bank and never depended on anyone. You still have a long time before you to learn the lesson that the gift is of more value to the giver than to the receiver. By the way, do you have a car?'

`No, Jonathan,' he replied slowly.

`But you do know how to drive?'

`Yes, I have my license.'

`Let me give you something for yourself. Get yourself a car. It will get you around more quickly in the coming weeks. Get Caroline anything she needs or even hints at wanting. Get her whatever this specialist she sees suggests or the palliative nurses advise in the latter stages. I can't guarantee to be back more than a couple of times a month at the most.'

Richard was at least nodding agreement. I took out my chequebook and wrote him a cheque.

When he took and looked at it, I saw a frown.

`Half a million?'

`Richard, consider it a first lesson on how to please the giver and on how the receiver learns to accept with good grace.'

He looked at it again, and said `I feel very small. At the same time, I feel very proud that you love Mum that much and even more proud of the fact that you have not rejected me.'

`Richard, I know you cannot buy love and I am certainly not trying to do that. I feel so proud of you for what you have achieved under your own steam. It may seem strange to you that although I have only met Caroline twice I am sad to be losing her again. You are losing her for the first time and your loss will be greater. But, at least, you will remain for me, and I will remain for you: that I promise you. Just one thing, make sure there are always a couple of bottles of pink champagne on ice in Caroline's house. That was our drink when we did not know any better.'

`I'll see to it.'

`Now put that cheque in your pocket. Use some of it as well to buy yourself a flat or whatever.'

Richard was looking at me.

`Jonathan, would you mind if instead of calling you Jonathan that I simply called you Dad?'

`I think I could drink to that,' and we raised our glasses to finish off the half-pint.

Richard did not delay in leaving, citing the need to get into work. We hugged at the hotel entrance and I gave him a kiss on the cheek and with the promise of keeping me informed, he was gone.

I thought of Caroline and in a way I admired her heroism in the face of her own impending death. I admired her courage in doing things her way in her own life. I admired her decisions. It was not for me to criticise the manner of their making.

I looked at my watch and it was eleven. In an hour and a half, part of my life had been re-written. A Muse on Mount Parnassus must have been laughing as she re-wrote the chronology and changes into my life and a second Muse must have smiled as she reminded me of the extraordinary pleasure of creation. In my case, it had been the creation and the discovery of my first and only known son, Richard Martin Black.

On the flight back to Bahrain, I broke a golden rule of mine and asked for an alcoholic drink.

`Would you by any chance have pink champagne on board?'

Sentiment, I thought to myself, is the great luxury of emotion, and my heart and mind were certainly filled with the emotion of fatherhood. End of Chapter 4 =========== Contact: e: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com w: http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/ w: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories If not on the YahooGroups mailing list, simply send a blank email to Erotic_gay_stories_subscribe@yahoogroups.com The Dahran series -- a fictional adventure story about the life and times of Sir Jonathan Martin -- comprises the following novels to date: 1. The Changed Life 2. The Reluctant Retrainer 3. The Market Offer 4. The Special Memories 5. The Dahran Way 6. The Dahran Rebuttals 7. The Seventh Desert 8. The Dahran Sands 9. The Time Line These novels are all serialised on Nifty (Gay -- Authoritarian) and on YahooGroups http://groups.yahoo.com/group/erotic_gay_stories