‘Can we stop in Schull for ice creams, Martin?’
‘No need. We can get them in the shop at the caravan park.’ He didn’t sound like the others. His voice had an authority that made him seem almost like a parent.
‘Does that shop have a freezer?’ Carmel didn’t sound convinced.
‘I thought you had to wait for the ice-cream van out at Trabinn,’ David added.
‘What sort of a shop at a caravan park doesn’t sell ice cream? Trust me.’
They had driven through Schull.
The trees thinned out and there were glimpses of the sea beyond the faded green of the fields.
‘Nearly there,’ Bernie said to fill the silence.
The car came down a steep incline and then around a corner before Martin turned into the dusty car park.
‘It’s not as busy as I thought it would be,’ David said, looking out at the cars dotted around with no sense of order.
‘Schools have gone back,’ Martin said. The others made various noises to indicate the logic of this but also to confirm how little school timetables impinged on their lives now. Connor felt self-conscious. Even though his schooldays were also behind him, the others being a couple of years older meant they had an air of adulthood that made him feel as if he was still the schoolboy. He pawed at the door handle and let himself out.
The group stood beside the car, unsure of how to proceed. Without the breeze blowing through the car windows the afternoon heat seemed to have taken them all by surprise. Martin addressed the others as if issuing a statement.
‘I want to head over to the other side below the cliffs. I’m going to dive.’
Bernie emitted a guttural moan to indicate her revulsion at this suggestion.
‘I’m not getting my hair wet. I already said. A bit of sunbathing down on the sand will do me, thank you very much.’ She folded her arms and looked at David expectantly.
‘I’ll stay here with you, pet.’ He took Bernie’s hand.
‘Me too,’ Carmel chimed in.
Linda said nothing. Neither option was appealing at this point but at least the beach didn’t involve a hike across the dunes and clambering over rocks.
‘Please yourselves. Has everyone got everything?’ Martin asked.
David reached into the back seat and grabbed some towels.
‘That’s us.’
‘Right.’ Martin locked the car and started to walk towards the dunes while the others shuffled in the direction of the beach.
Connor stood and looked both ways, unsure of what he was meant to do.
‘Connor?’ It was Martin, looking over his shoulder. ‘Fancy a swim?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ He jogged the few paces to catch up with the older boy, who had kept walking. They made their way in single file. Connor could hear Martin whistling tunelessly as he swung his bag.
At the far end of the dunes there was a ridge of dark rocks.
‘Mind yourself,’ Martin cautioned as he began to pick his way down towards the thin strip of pebble beach that led towards the low cliffs. Connor had been here only once before. He had been no more than nine or ten years old and his father had brought him to see the seals sunning themselves on the rocks. He remembered their laboured breathing as they rolled themselves into the sea and the way their slick black bodies had become one with the swell of the ocean as it pulled back and forth from the cliffs.
Now Martin reached the end of the pebble beach and climbed up a seaweed-covered escarpment of rocks that looked like a stack of torn pages. He turned and called back to Connor, ‘It’s just here.’ And then he disappeared down the other side.
Connor followed and when he reached the top of the rocks, he saw the dark rolling sea nudging the impressive boulders at the foot of the cliff. Martin was standing on a large flat rock with his bag at his feet. Had he seen something? He was standing very still, but then in one smooth movement he had removed his shirt and let it fall to the ground. Connor stopped and stared. Next Martin kicked off his shoes before undoing his belt and sliding down his jeans and underwear as one. First his right leg, then the left. The jeans sat squat and empty to one side while a tall naked Martin, legs slightly apart, stood staring out at the sea. Connor followed the line of the spine down the pale smooth back to the crack of the ass, and then the dark shadow between the gap of the thighs. He had seen naked men before in the changing rooms at school, but this was something entirely different. This wasn’t someone going through a practical routine of swapping one set of clothes for another, it was a display. Martin had to know that Connor had climbed the rocks by now, that he was watching, running his eyes across every contour of shameless flesh. Connor wasn’t sure what he should do. Cough, to remind Martin he was there? Continue down the rocks as if he hadn’t noticed the nakedness? Before he had to decide, Martin bent down to his bag, retrieved a pair of red swimming togs and peeled them on.
Relieved, Connor carefully climbed down to the flat rock.
‘There you are!’ Martin smiled, as if he had been wondering where he had got to. Maybe he hadn’t been putting on a show? Perhaps this had nothing to do with Connor at all? It might be that this was just a man being entirely comfortable about putting on his swimsuit in public.
‘It’s great here. You dive in from this bit and then you can climb out over there.’ Martin pointed at the far end of the flat rock they were standing on. Then, without warning, he dived into the black sea and disappeared. Connor scanned the water, looking for him. He thought he spotted a pale sliver of flesh just below the surface. It reminded him of trying to find the remains of the soap in murky bathwater. Then with a plume of spray Martin’s dark hair emerged. He manoeuvred his body around to grin at Connor.
‘It’s amazing. Get in!’ he called back to the rock.
Connor slipped his feet out of his trainers and took off his rugby shirt. He tried to forget that Martin was looking at him. The weird hairs around his nipples. The soft swell of his belly. Quickly he sat and peeled off his socks. From his rucksack he pulled out the towel and draped it over his lap. Wriggling, he pulled down his jeans and Y-fronts. Untangling them from his feet he was very aware of being naked below his towel. He willed himself not to get an erection. Martin was laughing.
‘Shy, are we?’
Connor had no idea how to respond so he just bent his head to his bag and pretended he hadn’t heard. He got his shorts on as fast as he could and then stood, letting the towel fall. It felt like a mini-triumph to have got changed in front of Martin Coulter without humiliating himself. He walked to the edge of the rock and dived in.
The chill of the water was delicious. He swam beneath the surface for a few strokes and then poked his head through the slow swell of the water. The sea looked like ink and watching his own arms and hands cutting through it felt unexpectedly sensuous. He scanned the waves for Martin but couldn’t see him. Connor swam a little bit and then rolled his body in the water, enjoying how free it made him feel. He saw now that Martin was lying on the rock, head thrown back, drinking from a bottle. The sun bounced from his pale wet body making it look glossy, almost plastic. Connor plunged below the surface once more, not wanting to seem overly keen to sit with Martin. He tried opening his eyes but couldn’t see anything apart from a sepia mist.
Slowly he swam back to the end of the rock Martin had shown him. He placed his arms carefully above his head and back into the water, remembering his swimming lessons, conscious that he was being watched.
The rock was warm beneath his feet and he picked his way over to where Martin lay beside their bags. He stretched his towel out a couple of feet away from Martin.
‘Cider?’ The bottle was held aloft.
‘No thanks.’
‘Please yourself,’ Martin said and took another long draught.
Connor wondered if he should explain that he had made himself violently sick when he was around eleven or twelve drinking stolen cider with his friend Fergal. Now, just the smell of it was enough to make him feel a li
ttle queasy. He decided against sharing the story. Let Martin think he wasn’t thirsty.
They lay in silence for a few minutes. Connor had a theory that he couldn’t get sunburnt while he was still wet. Once he dried off, he would dive into the sea again. The heat was wonderful. He could feel his body relaxing into his towel.
‘So, who are you?’
Martin’s voice broke the silence. He raised the bottle to his lips again and drained it. Connor wasn’t sure if he understood the question, so chose to repeat it.
‘Who am I?’
‘Yeah. Like what do you want to do? Are you happy in Mullinmore? Do you like music? Do you read books? What’s your story?’ Martin was squinting at him but then reached for a second bottle of cider from his bag and twisted it open.
Connor considered his answer. He knew that Martin was studying medicine so whatever he said was going to sound lacklustre in comparison.
‘I don’t know. I did the leaving last year. Didn’t do brilliant. I thought I might move to Cork.’
‘Oh, the big smoke.’ Martin’s tone was gently mocking.
‘For starters like. Then maybe Dublin,’ Connor said defensively.
Martin took another drink and propped himself on his elbows, allowing his face to be bathed by the sunlight.
‘Have you a girlfriend, Connor?’
With that question the mood shifted. Connor felt himself redden but Martin was still looking skyward.
‘No.’ He hoped that he sounded nonchalant but there was a dryness in his voice.
The water lapped at the edge of the rock and somewhere in the distance seagulls sounded mildly alarmed. Connor thought he should go for another swim, but before he could get up, Martin spoke.
‘Are you still a virgin, Connor?’ He continued to face the sky, his neck arched backwards.
‘Yes.’ That sounded pathetic. ‘Sort of.’ Connor added, hoping that it made him sound less prudish and a little more worldly.
Martin turned his head and smiled.
‘I’d say you do a mad lot of wanking then.’ He laughed.
Connor joined in, glad that Martin didn’t seem to be judging him.
‘A fair bit all right.’
In their jollity, it felt like a shared moment. Boys together.
Martin rolled onto his front and used his hands to hold up his head.
‘Did you ever have a blow job?’ His voice sounded lower. A secret was being shared. There was a glint in his eye. Connor wanted this conversation to end but he was also enjoying it. Just talking about these forbidden things felt like a sexual act.
‘What?’ He edged a little closer.
‘A blow job. Please tell me you know what a blow job is?’ Martin grinned and playfully reached across to slap Connor on the shoulder.
‘Yes. Yes of course I do.’ He had heard boys talking and laughing about blowies.
‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘Did you ever have one?’
Connor paused as if trying to remember any blow jobs that might have slipped his mind.
‘Not really, no.’ He felt this was fair. He had been loosely connected to an actual blow job because a boy he knew had played in a match against the Presentation Brothers up in Cork, and afterwards a girl from Mount Mercy gave him a blowie in Fitzgerald Park.
Martin rolled onto his back again and closed his eyes to the sun.
‘They’re amazing. The best.’
Connor imagined a head of long lustrous hair moving between Martin’s legs. He pulled the corner of his towel up to hide his obvious erection.
‘Yeah.’
It became very silent. Their breathing seemed to be the only sound. Even the waves appeared to have been stilled. Connor could see that Martin was also aroused, but he seemed utterly unembarrassed. What should Connor do? Was he meant to say something? An involuntary tremble rippled through his body. He hated how excited he was. He knew he should just get up and walk away.
Martin, his eyes still closed, wet his lips and then said, ‘I have an idea.’
Connor held his breath, waiting to hear what it was.
‘If you give me one, I’ll give you one.’
Connor felt like he was caught in a trap. Martin was trying to trick him. He looked around anxiously to see who else was in on the joke.
‘Nobody can see us down here. Don’t worry.’ Martin was looking into his face now. ‘Come on. Just lads messing. It feels fantastic. Come on.’
It was too much. This couldn’t actually be happening. It was the stuff of his fantasies.
Connor shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on. Help a lad out.’ With one hand Martin tugged down the front of his trunks and with the other took a firm hold of his erection and pointed it at Connor. Connor just stared, frozen, unable to decide what the best course of action might be. Was there any way this could end well?
‘Just do it for a bit.’ Martin paused. ‘Then I’ll do you.’
Slowly, like a wild animal being tempted from its lair, Connor found himself leaning forward.
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Martin encouraged him.
Then it was in his mouth. It was colder than he thought it would be. He could taste the salt water and an unfamiliar mannish musk.
‘Oh my God,’ Martin groaned and threw back his head.
Connor moved up and down. He wondered if he was doing it right.
Martin flinched. ‘Mind your teeth.’
After a couple more movements Connor felt he had done enough and tried to get up, but Martin held his hair. ‘Just a bit more. A bit more.’
Connor shifted on his knees and continued.
‘Good boy,’ Martin sighed and it struck Connor that it sounded as if he was being spoken to like a dog, but he still enjoyed it as praise. He was doing it well.
‘Take the whole thing.’ More groaning.
The gagging was sudden and unpleasant. Connor wanted to stop, but his hair was being clenched too tightly. The way that Martin was thrusting himself into Connor’s mouth was making him feel sick. He tried to pull back but, Martin just intensified his grip. His jaw ached and he squirmed to get away, but the pounding just got faster and more violent. Despite the unpleasantness, though, Connor was still being careful with his teeth, trying his best, wanting to please this man. The intense breathing through his nose meant it had started to run and he could feel his eyes beginning to water. Suddenly he heard Martin almost whimper, ‘Jesus. Jesus. Fuck.’ And then Connor’s mouth was full of hot acrid liquid. Martin released his hold and fell back. ‘Oh my God.’
Connor reached for his towel and as he wiped his face, spat what he could into it, though the bitter taste stayed in his mouth. He was relieved it was over but also excited because now it was his turn. He got up on his knees and pushed down his shorts. Martin glanced at him.
‘Well, you look like you really enjoyed that.’ He sounded mildly disgusted.
Connor was unsure of how to proceed. Had Martin forgotten their bargain?
‘You said you’d do me,’ he said quietly.
‘What?’ Martin was incredulous. ‘I’m not putting my mouth on that fucking thing.’
‘But you said …’ Connor’s voice trailed away.
‘I’m not some stinking poofter like you. I’m not going to suck anybody’s cock.’ He was pulling on his shirt.
‘But you …’ Connor struggled to understand how what he had done made him gay but that somehow Martin remained firmly heterosexual.
‘Look, we both know that you wanted to do that. You’re a little cocksucker. You got what you wanted, so now you can fuck off.’ Martin stood up with his jeans in his hands.
‘No,’ was all Connor could think of to say. Martin was lying. This wasn’t fair. The sense of the injustice was physical. It rose from his stomach. He felt that tears were not far away, but he knew he mustn’t cry. ‘No,’ he repeated, this time a little louder. Panic was overtaking him. He felt sick. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone
, are you?’
Martin was zipping up his flies.
‘Tell anyone? Why would I? They’ll all know soon enough. You’ll go to Cork, get AIDS and die. Sure, everyone will know you’re a little queer then.’ He bent and picked up his bag and the half-drunk bottle of cider. ‘Now hurry up. The others will be waiting.’
Connor watched him pick his way over the seaweed-covered rocks and then disappear down the other side. He looked around and noticed that it was getting late. The colour had drained from the sky and the sea had turned to liquid slate. Connor slumped by his rucksack and wept harder than he had since he was a little boy. This was, without doubt, the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
2019
I.
It wasn’t to his taste, but Bill had to admire the work that young Shane Dunphy had put into the place. The little café he had opened back in his day was long gone and replaced by this much larger structure designed to look as if it was sprung from nature. Twisted tree trunks were dotted about as pillars supporting a ceiling of honey-coloured rough wooden planks. Outside, the walls were covered in bark and ivy and the roof was a sloping lawn of grass. It looked more like Middle-earth than Mullinmore. Through the misshapen panes of glass in the window he could see people in their finery starting to arrive. He should make a move.
‘A cheeky glass of prosecco, Bill?’
It was Ellen Coulter at his elbow holding up a thin flute of golden bubbles.
‘I won’t, Ellen. Thanks all the same. The doctor has me off the sauce entirely.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I am, I am. Shane just wanted me to see the place all decked out. You’ve done a fantastic job.’
Ellen and old Bill Lawlor looked across the room, each round table topped with stylish hurricane lanterns waiting to be lit and surrounded by a riot of flowers.
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