he in in ights arr owe
The Min Min Lights
I
SPURRED
on my horse as the creatures gained on me. I
cursed my stupidity as my horse flew through the scrub,
almost unseating me as he jumped fallen trees and swerved
to avoid scarcely seen acacia bushes. If I hadn’t been so
impatient, I would have spent the night in Brewarrina, but I
had been traveling for months by this time and the thought
that my final destination was but fifteen miles away gave rise
to my daring.
Not that I was a daring man by nature. Exactly the
opposite, in fact, although I had undertaken the journey
from Surrey in England to what they called the outback of
Australia. I was more than five hundred miles to the
northwest of Sydney, close to the Queensland border, to
escape the opprobrium of my father. I was the youngest of
three
sons
and
two
daughters
and
the
biggest
disappointment of the clan.
Traditionally the youngest son, who had no expectations
of inheriting either title or property, opted for a career in the
church. My brothers had, as expected, gone into politics and
the other into the military. But I had no inclination, though I
was of a bookish nature—another major disappointment to
my outgoing and physically active father—toward a career at
the behest of a supreme being that I could neither worship
nor even believe in. That was more than a disappointment to
my family; that was a scandal.
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Perhaps the creatures pursuing me were a punishment
from God. I rejected that idea immediately. Nevertheless I
was terrified. I was in a new land, and who knew what
strange creatures lurked there. The land was much explored,
I knew, but there were many in nature itself that remained
to be named and catalogued. And a country that had given
birth to the weird platypus and the kangaroo had also given
birth to the creatures that were pursuing me. I knew not
what their provenance was, which made me more fearful,
and I could not see them clearly, so I could not confront
them or my fears. They were playing with me like a lion plays
with its prey before tearing it to pieces.
The ghost lights first appeared hovering above the
horizon. But they followed me and sped up as I increased my
speed. I turned to confront them as they sped toward me. I
held the reins tight lest the horse get skittish, but he reacted
as if they did not exist. Even as they catapulted toward us
and I drew my pistol to scare them off, my horse ignored
them and was startled only by the discharge of my gun when
I thought the ghost lights were too near. It scared them, and
they disappeared.
Perhaps they were part of my fevered imagination,
because it had indeed been fevered since I had first met
Robert Cruikshank. That fateful meeting, as I now thought
upon it. The man I loved, though I had never had a chance
to reveal my feelings for him. A man I had traveled halfway
around the world to be with, a man who had never promised
me anything but friendship. Now I was scared out of my wits
by phantoms.
he in in ights arr owe
I
WAS
in this situation because months earlier, I had read in
a London newspaper of a position as teacher and companion
to the young sons and daughter of an Australian grazier
which paid handsomely, although the advertisement had
spelled out honestly but to its own detriment the promise of
hardship and loneliness. That the position was on the
opposite side of the world from my torment appealed to me,
and I wrote off immediately, little expecting anything other
than a curt rejection. My credentials were meager and my
expectations even less so.
I was surprised when I received, long after I had
expected even the courtesy of a rejection, a summons to
London to meet the grazier who was then in the country on
business. I had traveled up by train and taken great care
with my clothes and my toilet. I had heard rumors of the
coarse manners of these antipodeans, so I was very
surprised to be met at the rather expensive hotel in Regent
Street by a man of some stature and elegance. Robert
Cruikshank did not look the rough man of the land that I
had expected, except that his face was brown from exposure
to the sun and his body much stockier and more muscular
than English men of my acquaintance. He stood at over six
feet, a good three inches taller than myself. His hands,
admittedly, were callused and his fingernails chipped, but
his manners came as a pleasant surprise. I’m not a snob by
any means, but I was secretly pleased to see that here was a
man of some breeding.
He opened the door to his suite himself and apologized
at the lack of formality. I immediately liked the style of him.
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Excessive formality has always been a bugbear of mine and I
told him so. He had no servants with him and had the
sleeves of his shirt rolled up and the top buttons near his
neck unfastened to reveal a brush of dark hair across his
chest. I had caught him unawares, he had been so engrossed
in some business or the other, and after begging my pardon,
he withdrew to dress. On his return he sought my
permission to take notes of our meeting as a reminder, as he
had seen upwards of a dozen applicants. He told me he had
sifted through the chaff applicants before narrowing it down
to the dozen he had seen and that I was his final interview.
He was returning to Australia on the ship that left
Southampton the following day so had to make a decision
quickly, and he was hoping the successful applicant could
follow shortly afterwards. I assured him that would be no
problem for me. As he explained in more detail what would
be required of the successor to the job, I scarcely listened to
the actual words, so taken was I by the sonorous nature of
his voice: deep and seductive. He was quick to laugh, and
his enjoyment was infectious. He was a good-looking man, to
my mind in his early forties, and his ruddy complexion was
offset by dark hair that hung down to his collar—not then
the fashion in London, but it suited him—and piercing hazel
eyes that looked directly at you, unlike the men of London,
whose eyes tended to focus on your forehead.
“Of course, I have made a preliminary check of you, Mr.
Collins, I hope you are not offended as some of your
countrywomen have been?” he said.
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“I would expect no less when you would be entrusting
your children to me for their education,” I replied, although I
was troubled by what he may have discovered.
“You are an interesting young man, Mr. Collins. I might
add, a fascinating young man,” he smiled. “You are the least
qualified for the job.”
“And yet you still wanted to interview me,” I said stiffly.
“No offense, sir. I meant academically qualified, which,
although important, is not all I seek. Tell me, why did you
not enter the clergy?”
I could see the job loosening from my grasp the longer
the interview lasted, and I felt unrestrained in telling the
truth. “I find it impossible to devote my life to a concept I
find alien and based on little more than superstition and self
interest.”
His reaction astonished me. He slapped his sides and
bellowed his laughter. “Well said, Mr. Collins. Well spoken.”
I had expected to be shown the door, but instead he
asked if I had any plans for the evening.
“I was expecting to return to Surrey tonight as I have no
other business to keep me in town,” I said.
“I was hoping you might accept an invitation to dine
with me,” he said.
“Well,” I stalled, “my father will not be concerned if I do
not turn up. I can always stay at a hotel overnight and
return in the morning.”
he in in ights arr owe
“Nonsense,” he said. “You will stay here as my guest. If I
am to inconvenience you, then it is up to me to make it up to
you.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
I suspected he was testing me and had done likewise to
the other applicants.
“Are you hungry, Mr. Collins?” he asked.
I had not eaten since a hasty breakfast that morning,
and my stomach grumbled its dissatisfaction. He smiled and
said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I blushed at my unseemly behavior, and he noticed.
“I understand your embarrassment, young man, and
such niceties do you credit, but Australia is a new country
and there are new rules to suit the climate and the grueling
conditions, and if your sensitivities are too fine-tuned, you
will find it not to your liking.”
“I am mortified, sir, that my belly should be so
uncivilized as to answer for me and in such a vulgar manner.
I, myself, would have expressed my appetite with more
finesse,” I said, and wondered whence this familiarity and
jocular manner emanated.
We did not dine in the hotel as I expected, the first of
many expectations I was to find shattered under the
influence of this mesmeric man. The doorman hailed a
hackney cab for us, and during our journey my host pointed
out some of his favorite buildings and spots. I was
nonplussed, however, when we turned into the lugubrious
streets of Soho in the West End of London, a place of low
music halls and theaters and perversion of all types.
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Cruikshank was watching my reaction carefully. Was he a
debauchee who was merely seeking company? Was he a Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde split personality like the character in
Robert Louis Stevenson’s controversial new story?
The carriage pulled up in front of an unprepossessing
eating-house in Old Compton Street, the sounds of opera in
Italian accompanied by a piano, whose tone was not quite as
pure as the voices, tumbling into the surrounding streets
from an upstairs room. I couldn’t help but smile, and Mr.
Cruikshank nodded his approval.
“Not frightened to try something new, are you, young
man?” he asked as we alighted.
“I’m always open to adventure,” I volunteered, although
I was far from convinced of the truth of that statement. The
noise level inside the inviting establishment was higher than
on the pavement outside, but it was the sound of men and
women and not a few children enjoying themselves.
Cruikshank was obviously well known here and was greeted
by a plump, dark woman who flung her arms around him
and gave him a kiss on both cheeks and, after a brief
introduction, did the same to me. She sensed my reticence
and stood back to look at me and then whispered to
Cruikshank, and they both laughed.
My father would have found all this an abomination, so
I decided I would endeavor to enjoy myself as much as my
natural conservatism would permit. We were shown to a
table away from the more raucous sounds but still within
earshot of the music coming from upstairs. I looked about
for a bill of fare, and Cruikshank pointed at the slate on the
wall where unfamiliar foodstuffs were listed. I glanced about
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the adjoining tables and recognized the thin strands of what
was called spaghetti being devoured with much gusto. My
father’s tastes dictated that meals in our home consisted
largely of copious quantities of cooked fatty meats,
particularly New Zealand mutton, accompanied by potatoes
and other bland vegetables awash in a stodgy stew.
“You have never eaten Italian cuisine, Mr. Collins?” said
my host.
“Never,” I answered truthfully, “but I am eager to try it.”
“Good,” he said. “If you will permit me, I will order for
both of us, and I think you may find it to your liking.”
He called over a waiter and gave the order, during which
I heard a string of unfamiliar names, ‘foreign muck’, my
father would have called it. While we were waiting, a few of
the patrons, obviously on familiar terms with Cruikshank,
stopped by the table, and I was introduced. I was always
included in the conversation though my input was limited
because of my lack of familiarity. But I think I managed to
hold my own. The food arrived, a light minestrone soup,
followed by osso buco, Cruikshank said it was called, which
consisted of braised veal shanks with a gremolata of
cinnamon, allspice, bay leaf, parsley, garlic, and lemon peel,
all washed down with a fine Chianti, a wine I had never
tasted before.
I’m afraid the wine was a little strong for me, and I
became very light-headed and indiscreet. Cruikshank
encouraged me by filling the glass every time I drained it,
and his questioning took on a decidedly personal tinge.
While we were eating, I studied him more fully for things I
had missed in my efforts to impress. He socialized
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gregariously, far more comfortably than I ever could, and
even strangers went away impressed by his masculinity and
his easy friendliness.
Robert Cruikshank was a man to admire. A man to
emulate. A man who made my heart skip. That thought
invaded my mind, and I was shocked. I had sublimated my
feelings. I was obliged to for my own survival, but this man
was forcing them to the surface. Cruikshank must have
sensed my distress.
“Are you not enjoying yourself, Mr. Collins?” he asked.
“Immensely,” I said.
“Are you thinking of some sweetheart whose company
you would rather be in at this moment?” he said.
“I have no sweetheart,” I answered.
“You are young.” He smiled. “You have plenty of time
yet.”
“I doubt I will ever marry.” Realizing I had said too
much, I pushed my wine glass away.
Cruikshank kindly did not pursue the matter as he
could have. “Many young men say that but change their
minds as they grow older.”
“I fear I shall not,” I said and wished my mouth would
just shut up.
“Is this why you are distanced from your family and
your father in particular?” he asked.
“I had not realized I had been so open about my family.”
I heard myself slurring the words slightly.
he in in ights arr owe
“You were not, Mr. Collins. You have been the soul of
discretion. I am but interpreting from what you have told me,
from my background check, and from your behavior today
while in my company.”
Was I so transparent? I blushed. Then a great sadness
overcame me as I saw my chances of escaping the drudgery
of my English life fading.
“I think perhaps I had better leave, Mr. Cruikshank,” I
said, attempting to summon up a skerrick of dignity, most of
which seemed to have been stripped from me.
“Yes, time waits for no man. I have much to occupy my
mind this evening in preparation for my departure. I hope
you enjoyed the meal as much as I have enjoyed your
company, Mr. Collins.”
“I cannot remember an occasion that I have enjoyed as
much as this.” I beamed at him.
“I hope, at least, that I have opened your eyes to other
possibilities.”
I mumbled that he had, although I had no idea to what
he was referring.
“Thank you for the meal,” I said. “And thank you for
your delightful company. I beg you to forgive my disgraceful
behavior, and I wish you a safe journey back to Australia.”
“Thank you.” He smiled as he paid for our meal and
indulged in much back-slapping with a few men at the door,
some of whom looked me over. “But you will be staying at my
hotel tonight.”
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I remonstrated that it would not be necessary, but he
took my elbow and steered me into the street. As we walked
toward the theater district, we were accosted by painted
whores who thought us easy targets. But Cruikshank merely
smiled and turned them down – politely. Ominously, as we
passed one dark doorway, a young man, rough and working
class, blocked our way.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Looking for a bit of
fun?”
Cruikshank stopped and played along. No need to
antagonize someone who may have friends lurking nearby.
“What sort of fun did you have in mind?” Cruikshank
asked.
“Well.” He looked around carefully before he continued.
“Your young friend looks inexperienced-like. I could teach
him a few tricks to satisfy even the most jaded of appetites,
sir.”
“Are you inexperienced, Mr. Collins?” Cruikshank
asked.
The truthful answer would be “yes,” although that was
my private affair. My extreme shyness when it came to
women was because they were as foreign to me as that
night’s meal. And my experience with other men was
fumbled and fleeting. In fact, it was that more than anything
that had caused consternation in my father. He had caught
me in a youthful indiscretion with a young stable hand, and
he was more shocked that my taste was in boys from the
lower orders than in the activity itself in which we were
indulging.
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He had thrashed the stable boy and peppered me with
insults and threats once back in his library. He suggested
that such behavior was an abomination at my age and that I
seriously contemplate whores for practice and marriage as
soon as possible. Looking at the young man who had bailed
us up on the street, I doubted my father had meant whores
like him.
“Is that any concern of yours, Mr. Cruikshank?’ I said.
“It might be.” He winked.
“In that case, good sirs, I could perhaps interest you in
a show. Myself and one of you gentlemen, either to show the
young gent what can and cannot be done or so the young
gent can experience it for himself.” Our accoster was
becoming lewd.
“Very tempting,” Cruikshank said.
“And I am not averse, good sirs, in sharing my good self
with two gents such as yerselves, together if that be your
delight.”
Cruikshank roared with laughter. “I fear you are
shocking my young friend, Mr. Collins, but you are a very
comely lad indeed, and I would that I had more time, but I
am otherwise occupied tonight.”
“Another night then, sir. You can always find Alfie
hereabouts.”
Cruikshank took some coins from his pocket and
pressed them on Alfie, if that was his real name. The young
man was shocked. “That is very generous of you, sir. And I
mean that. These streets are dangerous, and I would be glad
to ensure your safe passage, if you will allow me, sir.”
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“Your company is more than welcome, Alfie. Lead the
way.”
Alfie proved to be amusing company and prevented our
being pestered, or worse, robbed or murdered, before we
reached the West End theater district, where he hailed a
carriage for us. As I got into the conveyance, I saw
Cruikshank and Alfie conversing secretly, and I saw more
money change hands. I was heartbroken that he would
prefer a man like Alfie, with all his experience, to a man like
me. I knew then I had failed tonight’s test. I would not be the
one chosen to start a new life in Australia.
We rode back to Cruikshank’s hotel in silence, and on
arrival at the entrance, I demurred about sleeping there
overnight.
“You have a difficult decision to make this evening, Mr.
Cruikshank, and I would be a disturbance,” I said as a
reason for my going to stay at my non-existent club.
“Nonsense, there are ample bedrooms. You will not
disturb me,” he said. “If you stay you will be the first to hear
of my decision.”
“I could not bear it if the decision goes against me,” I
said. “In the short time I have known you, I have….”
Cruikshank clapped me on the back and steered me
inside. I could not break free without causing a scene, and
suddenly I was weary and fatigued. He asked at the front
desk for tea and light refreshments to be brought to his
suite. He relaxed once we were in private and told me to be
seated. He wanted to speak to me.
he in in ights arr owe
“You know you could have gone with Alfie if you’d
wished,” I said, although it pained me to do so. “Or brought
him back to the hotel.”
“I am not sure why you are telling me this, Mr. Collins,
whether you are attempting to put me at my ease over what
you perceive as my sexual preference or whether you are
attempting a maturity you do not really possess,” he said
without any sarcasm.
I went to protest.
“Alfie is a very attractive young man,” he said. “But he is
not my type. Oh, I am a lonely man, Mr. Collins. I live a very
great distance from culture and company on my homestead.
Yes, I am a wealthy man, but that is no satisfaction when I
go to an empty bed at night. But Alfie….”
“Your wife,” I interrupted.
“She died giving birth to our beautiful daughter,” he
said wistfully.
“Then you are not like Alfie?” I said.
“In fact, Mr. Collins, I am like you.” He raised his hand
as I began to refute his observation. “Hear me out. You are a
young man beholden to an ungrateful father who cares little
for your happiness and who wishes only that you obey him.
But you have spunk, enterprise, independence. I admire
those qualities. Only the brave possess them. I wish I had
had your courage when I was your age, but instead I obeyed
my father and I married. It was against my nature, but I had
a loving companion and she loved me. More than I deserved.
The reason we settled where we did was that temptation be
unavailable.
Too
late
we
discovered
temptation
is
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everywhere. Mr. Collins, I was faithful to my wife but at
dreadful cost to my soul.”
“Mr. Cruikshank,” I said. “I think perhaps you have had
too much wine this evening and you forget yourself. Your
confidence could do you great harm.”
“Would you use it against me, Mr. Collins?” he asked.
“Of course not,” I replied.
“Does it embarrass you?”
“No.”
“Then why do you not want to listen to my confession?”
he asked.
“Because it breaks my heart,” I said simply.
He stood and walked over to where I was seated. He
stroked my hair and sat on the arm of the chair. “You are a
very handsome man, Mr. Collins.”
I shook my head. I could not speak.
“You will tempt me sorely, Mr. Collins,” he said, and I
smiled. “But the job I offer is not conditional. There are no
strings. The successful applicant will be employed only for
the education and companionship of my children. I hope you
understand that.”
“Yes,” I said weakly, lest my voice reveal my true
feelings. He put his arm around my shoulders and drew me
to him. He was powerful, and I could feel his heart beat
when I placed my head gently against his chest.
“You would be so easy to love,” he said, and lifted my
chin so that I looked directly into his eyes. I wanted this man
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so badly, but my inexperience held me back. He leaned
toward me, and I closed my eyes, not daring to breathe. I felt
his lips on mine, and my heart pounded. I felt his tongue
prize my lips apart, and I opened my mouth to welcome him.
He was gentle but insistent as I sucked his tongue and slid
my own against his. I felt heat in my britches unlike any I
had ever felt before.
I was shocked. I had never heard of love as a possibility
between two men. It had been beaten into me that two men
sharing was akin to animals.
Cruikshank
saw
my
startled
look.
“You
are
inexperienced, Mr. Collins,” he said kindly. “But I have no
wish to be your teacher. Many young men meddle with these
experiences from a want of moral fiber or from a situation in
which their natural bent is unavailable. Some men put great
store in the seduction of new converts, but I feel it is best left
to natural inclination.”
He pulled away from me, although I was reluctant to let
him go. My brain was feverish with desire for him, my prick
inflamed.
“I must bid you good-night, Mr. Collins. Reluctantly.
Most reluctantly. You are a maiden; I am too much a man of
the world. I don’t wish to frighten you. I will be in touch with
you shortly,” and lest I get my hopes up too much, he added,
“One way or the other.”
I spent a restless night even after I had pleasured myself
twice with thoughts of Robert Cruikshank’s kiss. I had
hoped to see him one last time, but it was not to be. He had
already left the hotel on business and had left instructions
that I was to be given anything I wanted by way of breakfast.
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I ate leisurely, wanting to prolong the moment, but he did
not return, and I made my dismal way back to the family
manor. No one had noticed my absence.
T
HE
next weeks passed in misery. I had expected to be
contacted before Cruikshank left the country, but there was
no such letter. I could not sleep; I was inconsolable. I locked
myself away in my room or else slipped up to London and
walked the streets of Soho. I walked by the eating-house
where I had spent such an enchanting evening hoping to run
into Alfie. He was my only link with Robert Cruikshank.
My father’s interference in my life became insistent, and
he was vehement that I marry and began casting around for
a suitable bride. I gave him no encouragement and I made
plans to escape. I had a little money of my own, left to me by
my grandmother, but it was insufficient to support me for
long. I spent time at the homes of friends, but I was such
poor company I was not asked to stay long, and I was not
invited back. It was into this parlous state of affairs that a
letter arrived from Australia.
My father was bursting with curiosity as to my receipt of
such a letter, and I lied and told him that a friend of mine,
one that he had branded a thief and a wastrel, had
emigrated there.
“He should feel right at home among the criminal class
that populates that foul continent,” he spat, and his interest
in my correspondence ceased.
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I took it to my bedroom trembling. I tore open the
envelope and unfolded the precious letter, almost too afraid
to read it. It was dated weeks before. I skimmed the
preliminary paragraphs to get to the crux. I found what I was
looking for “…therefore I am offering you the position….” My
heart was thumping in my chest, and I had to sit down to
regain my composure. I could put my detested life behind
me. I would walk away without so much as a backward
glance.
It was not until later that evening when the house was
still and everyone was in bed that I opened the letter again to
read it thoroughly. I sniffed it for a trace of Robert, but there
was none, although he was there in the strong handwriting. I
traced over his signature with my fingers, wishing it were he
that I was caressing.
If I expected personal endearments, I was disappointed
but resigned myself with the knowledge that a man in his
position could not afford to put pen to paper to reveal his
secrets. That way lay blackmail and prosecution if it were to
fall into the wrong hands.
It was enough that he gave instructions on which ship I
was to travel and that I was to spend a few days in London,
at his expense, settling my affairs, at which place his agent
would issue me with tickets and traveling expenses. I packed
a few trunks with essentials, which hardly escaped the
notice of my father, who paid the servants to spy on the
household and one another. Even his foul temper could not
dampen my spirits, but I pleased him by lying that I was
spending a few weeks with a friend in Scotland whose sister
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had expressed a more than passing interest in me. That lie
made my final days under his roof more peaceful.
I had one of the servants drive me and my luggage to
the station, and I did not once look back at the family
manor. It did not grieve me to go knowing I would never set
foot inside it again. No matter what lay ahead in Australia, I
would make my life there either with or without Robert
Cruikshank. That much I had determined. On the train I
looked out on the countryside and bid it a silent farewell. My
heart had always been light on my trips to London, the
reverse of the heaviness that engulfed it on my return
journeys. This time there would be no return.
In London I consigned my heavy luggage direct to
Southampton in preparation for my imminent departure. I
took one small suitcase to the hotel, the same where I had
met Robert Cruikshank some time before. My room was
smaller but equally well appointed and spacious enough for
a few days. I was expecting Robert Cruikshank’s agent the
following afternoon so I did some last minute shopping for
things I thought I might need and looked for some books to
read on the long journey, including anything on my soon-to-
be adopted homeland. I did not want to be totally ill-
prepared, as I was ill-prepared enough in other, more
personal, ways, and I determined that night I would seek out
Alfie again.
My search of the streets of Soho revealed only the dregs
of society, and I fled back to the comfort of my hotel. I slept
soundly though, being a natural worrier, I did concern
myself with my reception at Robert’s homestead. Not so
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much with the children, whom I was sure I could win over,
but Robert himself.
At four o’clock the next afternoon, I answered the door
to what I supposed would be Robert’s agent and was
surprised to see Alfie, looking quite the gentleman in a new
suit. I was so glad to see him I dragged him into the room,
forgetting all about the imminent arrival of my official visitor.
Alfie was his usual cheeky self, but I was so glad to see
him I flung my arms about him and kissed him full on the
lips.
“Please stay, Alfie,” I begged. “So much has happened to
me since we last met and I’m bursting with happiness and I
have no one to share it with. I went looking for you, you
know.”
“Calm down, Master Collins. I have taken the liberty of
asking for some refreshment to be brought up so we can
converse in comfort,” he said.
I admit I was taken aback by his presumption, but
considering what I was about to ask him, I could overlook
that small a social indiscretion. The sandwiches, cakes, and
tea soon arrived, plus a large bottle of expensive Scotch
whiskey. Alfie did the honors and poured us both a generous
finger of Scotch to toast my success in landing the job. We
both downed it in one gulp, and it warmed my stomach and
my cock.
“Alfie,’ I said shyly, and I was stuck for words.
“Yes?” He smiled to encourage me to go on.
“I went looking for you,” I confessed.
he in in ights arr owe
“In Soho?” I nodded. “Ah, then you wouldn’t have found
me. I don’t work there anymore.”
“You’ve found more lucrative pastures?”
“I have given the game away and am now in gainful
employment. Legitimate employment, Master Collins. I am,
as you would say, bettering myself.”
“Oh.” My disappointment was apparent.
“Was there some service you require, Master Collins?”
he said, enjoying my discomfort.
“I am expecting Robert Cruikshank’s agent shortly with
my tickets and expenses and I was hoping….”
“Hoping?”
“Damn it all, Alfie, I was hoping you would stay the
night. I will pay you what’s fair. I don’t wish to take
advantage of you.”
“No man yet has taken advantage of Alfie without Alfie
wanting to be took advantage of,” he said. “Why would you
want Alfie to stay the night, young master?”
“Alfie, I blush to admit it, but I have no experience,” I
confessed.
“But Mr. Cruikshank said no experience were necessary
for the job.” I could have slapped him for his obtuseness.
“That’s not the sort of experience I’m speaking of, Alfie. I
mean, physically.”
“You want Alfie to go back on the game?”
Our conversation was becoming uncomfortable.
he in in ights arr owe
“Look, Alfie. I feel I can confide in you. You may not
understand, but I have feelings for Mr. Cruikshank. I’m
hoping he may harbor feelings for me, but he told me that
my inexperience is a barrier. He believes I may be repulsed
by the physical side of male love. I’m sure I won’t be, but
hell, I don’t even know what to do.” I squirmed in discomfort.
“Alfie doesn’t do it for money anymore,” he said. “I’m
shocked you would suggest such a thing when I am trying so
hard to go on the straight and narrow.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Alfie. Please forgive me.”
He got a twinkle in his eye. “Now that I look at you more
close-like, you’re a very pleasing young gent. Alfie may not
do it for ready money anymore, but that doesn’t mean he
don’t do it for pleasure.”
He pulled me into his arms and pressed his lips against
mine. There was an edge to him that I liked. I would enjoy
this experience, I was sure of it. I was in the arms of an
expert. His hand reached down to cup my cock. It was
harder than it ever had been except for during my truncated
experience with Robert.
I was shaking, I was so nervous. And I wondered if this
was a betrayal of Robert Cruikshank. But hadn’t he rejected
me because I had no experience? Therefore he must have
expected me to seek out experience somewhere. My mind
was in conflict.
“You changed your mind?” Alfie said.
“No. I’m just nervous.”
“Just leave everything to me,” Alfie said, and led me
toward the bedroom.
he in in ights arr owe
“What if the agent with my ticket arrives while we’re…
you know?”
“No worries. I can stay hard for hours,” Alfie laughed.
He shucked his clothes off in seconds while I fumbled; it
must have come from the necessities of his former
profession. He lay on the bed naked and played with his
smooth, hard cock. His body was wiry and his skin smooth
and hairless apart from wisps on his legs and arms and the
bush around his crotch. He had firm muscles, and I found
myself craving his touch. I’m afraid I tore a few buttons
adrift in my rush to join him.
“Like what you see?” Alfie chuckled.
My mouth was dry and all I could do was nod my
approval. I joined him on the bed, although I cupped my
hands over my cock in modesty.
Alfie lifted them out of the way and admired my
equipment. I blushed as he stared at my cock, which none
but myself had ever examined in such detail. “Nice,” he said.
He wrapped his hand around the shaft and began to squeeze
as he wanked me. I hesitantly moved my hand toward his
own and began to imitate his actions on me.
He was patient, and I quickly learned to parrot his
physical actions. We wanked each other silently, then Alfie
leaned over, his breath against my cock and balls, before he
kissed the head. I shuddered with pleasure, and he licked
the shaft all the way to my balls and back again. I lay there
not knowing what to expect next. When he placed his mouth
over my cock, I dug my fingers into the bedclothes, and as
he in in ights arr owe
his mouth slid down the shaft, I gasped loudly. This was
more, much more than I had ever expected.
Alfie’s tongue lapped at the shaft of my rod as his mouth
sucked it into his throat. I grabbed his hair to pull him away.
He moved up the bed and placed his mouth around one of
my nipples and began to nip it with his teeth. My
imagination was on fire, and even if I learned no more from
Alfie, I had been well prepared for further explorations
without him.
He took my head in his hands and kissed me again.
“Your turn,” he said, and began pushing me toward his own
cock, which was oozing. “Hold it up so it gives you a better
angle to suck it,” he instructed. I began to lick my first cock
before I put my lips around it. I tried too hard at first and
choked and grazed Alfie’s prick with my teeth, but with
practice I gained confidence and, although nowhere near
Alfie’s
league,
was
sufficiently
proficient
that
he
complimented me on my quick study.
Confident I had bested the skill, Alfie took it a step
further, and we tried sucking each other simultaneously. We
moved about the bed until we found a position comfortable
to the both of us and with a little give and take found a
common rhythm. Alfie’s tongue went to work, and I
discovered, what with the near ejaculations during our
practice session, it would not take me long to shoot my load.
I tried to postpone the inevitable as I refined my technique
on his considerable member. Closer and closer to the
inevitable, I felt his body tense. Suddenly I could stand it no
longer, and I erupted into his mouth. Shortly after, Alfie shot
his spunk into my mouth. I swallowed involuntarily, not
he in in ights arr owe
knowing whether I should spit it out. It was warm and slimy
and not unpleasant.
As we lay together, Alfie explained that some people did,
indeed, spit it out, as he usually did when he was on the
game, although he preferred to swallow. He charged extra for
the service, because he felt it was one of the most intimate
things one man could do for another. His voice lulled me to
sleep, and I dozed.
Morning sunlight was beaming in through the window
when I awoke, and Alfie was nowhere to be seen. I cursed
myself for my stupidity. The man was nothing but a common
whore and had probably relieved me of the few valuables I
possessed. And I had obviously missed the visit from the
agent.
To my surprise, Alfie was in the sitting room tucking in
to a hearty breakfast.
“Morning, Master Collins,” he said when he saw me
emerge bleary-eyed. “I think you should cover up in case the
maid knocks.”
I felt so comfortable after the night before that I had not
realized I was stark naked. I retrieved a night shirt and sat
down opposite Alfie and watched him eat. “I didn’t want to
wake you; you looked so peaceful, and I have to be off to
work, so I ordered myself some breakfast. Yours will be up in
about a quarter hour,” he said as he slapped my hand away
from stealing slices of his bacon.
I was wrong about him, but I was still dejected about
my irresponsibility over my boat ticket and expenses. Alfie
laughed at my long face, which annoyed me somewhat.
he in in ights arr owe
“All right, Master Collins,” he said, reaching into his
coat pocket. “I won’t torture you no more.” He extracted an
envelope and handed it to me. Puzzled, I tore it open to
discover a booking in a private suite on The Great Eastern
sailing in five days, more bank notes than I could ever hope
to spend in a year, and a letter with instructions on how to
reach Robert Cruikshank’s property, plus a note that was
just this side of impersonal from the man himself.
My relief was immediate, and I thanked Alfie for
intercepting these important documents for me, although I
was sorry not to have made the acquaintance of the agent to
see the caliber of the man. I said as much to Alfie.
“But you have met the man,” he chided. “In fact, you’ve
had personal relations with him.”
“You? You are Robert Cruikshank’s agent in London?”
“Oh,” he said, pretending contrition, “did I not tell you?”
I wrapped him in my arms, I was so relieved, and kissed
him. He began to reciprocate but broke free, pleading a prior
engagement. “I have much to do on your behalf today. But I
will be back this evening. If you wish to further your
education, I think there may be a bellboy or two in this hotel
you might inveigle into your bed. Or you could wait until my
return and we could skip to the lesson on multiple partners.”
“That’s probably a lesson too far, Alfie. But I do look
forward to seeing you again tonight.”
The day passed quickly as I followed the instructions in
Robert Cruikshank’s letter, but it niggled that his missive
was not warmer, more personal. In the evening Alfie
returned, and we went out for dinner. He chose The Albion
he in in ights arr owe
in Great Russell Street opposite the Drury Lane Theatre
where we had a repast, it being Tuesday, of venison. He was
extremely convivial company, and I liked the man
immensely. Had I not been heading for a new life in
Australia, I could envisage spending time with this man as
my partner and equal, and damn the social consequences.
We stopped off at a tavern where Alfie was a regular,
and a popular one at that. Many a bawdy jest was made at
my expense but it was too good natured for me to take
umbrage, and I couldn’t help but contrast the easygoing
acceptance of these people (for it was obvious they knew
Alfie’s preference) with that of my family and, in particular,
my father. I determined I had led much too sheltered a life.
Back at the hotel, my reticence had been lowered by the
drinks I had imbibed, and I was most anxious that Alfie
teach me more. I discovered later that he had had good
reason to ply me with alcohol. My defenses were lowered,
and when he attempted to insert his finger in my arse, I
screamed with the pain as well as the indignity. Surely
Robert Cruikshank would not expect this of me.
“Relax, Master Collins. This is as natural as daylight
and three times as much fun.”
I sincerely doubted that, but I had to trust that Alfie
would not steer me wrong. He had with him some unguent,
and he smeared it over his fingers. He told me to lie on my
stomach, which I did, albeit reluctantly. He smeared the
salve on my anal entrance and very gently penetrated me. He
was so gentle at first that I fell asleep from the combination
of the alcohol and his soothing touch. However, I came back
he in in ights arr owe
to full consciousness with a start as I felt something firm
being pressed between my buttocks.
My attempts to brush Alfie off my back were to no avail
and he bent down to nibble my ear, which distracted me
enough that he pushed the head of his prick inside me. I
gritted my teeth against the wave of pain. Surely no man did
this for pleasure. He spoke to me quietly and held still and
soon enough the pain subsided. Slowly he began to
penetrate me, although it was some time before the entire
length of his shaft was inside me. He began to pick up the
pace of his thrusts, and my enjoyment increased. I was
surprised that it was so pleasurable, and I wondered if Alfie
would permit me to reverse the positions.
As he thrust into me, he grabbed my cock and began to
wank me, all the while keeping up a dirty conversation that
made the act all the more wanton. He told me I was a
natural, whatever that meant, but I took it as a compliment.
He would increase the rapidity of his thrusts and then slow
down in order to prolong our pleasure, but eventually he got
to the point at which he could no longer hold back and,
squeezing my prick harder, he brought me to climax, and a
moment or two later I felt him shoot his spunk inside me.
We spent each evening together until my departure, and
he did allow me to penetrate him on more than one occasion
and in more than one position, although his preference lay
definitely in the opposite direction. He helped me hone my
skills, and although I looked forward to his lessons, I longed
to put them into practice in the bed of Robert Cruikshank.
It was with a real sense of loss that I said goodbye to
Alfie. He had accompanied me to Southampton on the train,
he in in ights arr owe
and he kissed me briefly as we hugged our farewells. He
refused any attempt at a gift, saying my enjoyment was
reward enough, and hinted that should I ever return to
London, he was up for a return bout. Perhaps, he suggested,
he might teach me my missing lesson if Robert and I should
care to indulge.
I watched him until the wharf disappeared, and I was
overwhelmed by the enormity of what I had done. My ship, a
magnificent example of the might of the British Empire and
the largest ship in the world, carried enough coal for the
voyage without stopping to refuel en route. It was a tedious
six-to-eight-week journey and, although I was sorely tempted
to continue my sexual education on board with a number of
delightful young men, I remained celibate. When we berthed
in Sydney, I was hoping Robert would be there to meet me
personally, but he sent word via his Sydney office that his
daughter was ill and that I was to come on alone.
T
HAT
’
S
how I came to find myself tearing through the
Australian scrub, being pursued by the ghostly creatures
who were gaining by the minute. They were toying with me
and seemed content to skim alongside, then break and come
at me at superhuman speed. I had fired my pistol once to
scare them off and steadied myself again. I turned to fire and
saw the ground beneath them lit up in an eerie glow. What I
did not see was the scrub branch that swept me from the
horse’s saddle.
he in in ights arr owe
My head hurt, but no bones seemed to have been
broken. The ghost lights had disappeared. I was safe. I had a
general idea of the direction in which to travel but was
unsure how far it was to my destination. In a few hours, I
would succumb to the drop in temperature unless I found
shelter. For now the earth still had enough heat. I dusted
myself off and took a few tentative steps. I was not limping,
just a little unsteady on my feet.
I had not gone more than a few hundred yards when I
thought I heard a loud coo-ee up ahead. I listened and heard
it again. I felt a fool but cupped my hands and attempted an
imitation. Then another. I could hear a horse approaching
and hoped I could be seen in the moonlight. The horse and
rider were in shadow as they came along the trail, but I knew
the man instinctively.
“Robert,” I called, although it was an unforgivable
familiarity on my part to use his Christian name.
“John, is that you?”
“You are a welcome sight, Robert. I thought I would
have to spend the night out here alone.”
He climbed down from his horse, smiling broadly. “Look
at you,” he said. “You’ve changed somehow.”
I could not help myself and grabbed him, planting my
lips against his. Thus taken by surprise, it took him a few
moments, but he began to reciprocate. He wrapped his
strong arms around me. Our kiss was so lingering, we had to
stop to breathe.
“I’ve been so frightened, Robert.” He made no attempt to
censure me about his name.
he in in ights arr owe
“Apart from a few snakes, there’s nothing much out
here to be afraid of,” he said.
“I saw ghosts,” I said.
Robert led his horse as we walked along the track
together.
“The Min Min Lights,” he said. “They call them The
Visitor Who Never Arrives. They can’t hurt you because they
always turn away at the last moment. Science will one day
discover their source. But until then I’m grateful because
they have brought you to me.”
I looked shamed, but Robert clapped me on the
shoulder and became serious.
“I missed you, John. I have been counting the days to
your arrival. Counting impatiently. The children have been
allowed to stay up to meet you.”
“I was hoping to be alone with you tonight.”
“That will have to wait,” Robert said sadly, and I could
see lights from the homestead in the distance.
“I can’t wait,” I said, and spun Robert around to face
me. I kissed him passionately again and fumbled with his
trousers until they dropped around his ankles. I grabbed his
cock, which was already hardening, and dropped to my
knees before he could prevent me wrapping my lips around
his beautiful thickness. I held his buttocks as my head
slammed down the entire length of the shaft. I managed to
take it into my throat without gagging, just as Alfie had
taught me. And as a little tease, I ran my fingers around to
his vulnerable arsehole, poking ever so gently until he
shuddered with pleasure.
he in in ights arr owe
His excitement coupled with my enthusiasm meant he
was unable to hold off for long, and within minutes he was
shooting his spunk into my mouth. He lifted me off my knees
as soon as I had taken the last drops from his rod and
kissed me so that he could taste himself in my mouth. My
prick was hard, and he reached down to fondle me.
“That will have to wait for another time,” he said. “We
are nearly home.”
Home.
et more stories from
The Dreamspinner Press 2010 Daily Dose
package of thirty stories is available at
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
About the Author
B
ARRY
L
OWE
lives in Sydney, Australia, with his long-term
partner, Walter, and their irascible baby dinosaur, Tofu, who
travels the world with them not so much as a child
substitute but a wisecracking mascot.
He’s been writing since primary school where he entertained
fellow pupils with stories of a teenage detective called The
Count. Since then his career has encompassed journalism,
entertainment
interviews
and
reviews,
editing
gay
newspapers and magazines, a produced film script, short
stories, film star biographies, and, particularly, plays that
have been produced locally and in the U.S. and Europe.
His work has been variously described as putting gay writing
back fifty years or giving the gay community a bad name and
himself as “the man with the filthiest mind in Australia.” But
even his staunchest critics have had to concede he’s a
survivor and he’s still here—writing. That’s what he does
best.
Visit his web site at http://www.barrylowe.net. You can
contact him at barrylowe.yarnspinner@gmail.com.
Copyright
The Min Min Lights ©Copyright Barry Lowe, 2010
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
June 2010
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-495-4