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eyes that bore into Tracy's soul.
* * * *
Chapter Thirteen
E-whotacism
As he had done every day for the past week, Tracy looked
out of his living room window, craning his neck to catch a
glimpse of the phallus at the top of the hill. He knew every
undulation of the structure, every surface irregularity. And
not one part of it had changed since he had been there last.
It stood abandoned. Tracy took no comfort in the fact that
Rory hadn't carried on without him. He yearned to see
Rory's shirtless chest contrasting against the dark privet,
but that was down to his own selfish needs. They paled in
comparison to the ache that formed, knowing Rory had
withdrawn into himself once again. And that Tracy had
unwittingly been the cause of it. He had dangled the juicy
worm of friendship in front of the man, and Rory had
bitten, not realising the sour aftertaste it would leave
behind.
From this distance, it was obvious that although the main
structure was complete, small matters still needed
attending to. The cock head was slightly lopsided. Tatty
borders skirted the foreskin perimeter. Stubby branches
gave the whole thing the look of a roughly hewn wooden
sculpture, awaiting sanding and polishing to perfection.
Quite simply put, it lacked the beauty and refinement of
Rory's vision. And that broke Tracy's heart.
Tracy had made a vow to himself that he would not return
to Twink's Bottom Manor. But every time he gazed upon
the forlorn phallus, he came closer to breaking that vow.
He may never have intended to breach Rory's trust, but that
didn't mean that he couldn't atone for his mistake.
And there was only one way he could think of to do that.
* * * *
The work was much harder on his own. Without Rory's
solid presence at the foot of the phallus, the cutting and
trimming felt almost as arduous as the time spent between
Miss Featherstone's buttocks. While Tracy could
appreciate some sense of achievement as he honed the
structure, it came a poor second to the shared joy of
creating something beautiful with Rory. Seeing Rory
hacking away at the privet, surrounded by an aura of pride
so intense he glowed like the Ready Brek man, had
warmed Tracy to his very soul. And now that was gone,
Tracy was left with cold, porridgey sludge.
Occasionally, a streak of white would appear, threading in
and out of the bollocks. The shaggy bundle would sneak a
look up at Tracy, yap a little, and then bound off again.
Reggie had not been walked in the village for a while
now, making the poor dog another victim of Tracy's
indiscretion. Guiltily, Tracy would call to him, starting
with the generic dog greeting of hello, boy, before
clambering down the ladder and lavishing him with
attention, if Reggie so much as reciprocated his greeting
with a woof.
This time, however, Reggie reciprocated with something
more unusual. Tracy squatted down to scrub behind the
little scamp's ears, to be greeted with a Twacy! He
peered at Reggie, who just nuzzled in, wiping a trail of
stinky drool against Tracy's joggers. Tracy shook his head.
He might not be a stranger to fantastical imaginings, but a
talking dog was slightly outside his usual territory. Except
for the wedgie incident, of course.
Twacy!
Tracy swung around towards the sound, toppling from his
crouched position. His buttocks landed with a thud onto
the grass, and to add to the indignity, Reggie proceeded to
snuffle about at Tracy's crotch. Tracy swiped him out of
the way.
A rustle of movement disturbed one of the bollocks.
Twacy!
The bottom fell out of Tracy's stomach to see Rory
standing there. A wiry beard sprouted from Rory's chin,
out of place against his usually well trimmed moustache.
Although his eyes were normally solemn, this time they
were skirted by dark shadows, a deadness to them.
Rory! Tracy exclaimed. A wan smile twitched at just the
corners of Rory's mouth. He shuffled towards Tracy, his
shoulders hunched. Twacy. Will you come with me? I
need to explain. He inclined his head towards the house,
before looking back at Tracy again. Please?
Tracy nodded, his heart racing, as the two of them trudged
silently around to the Tradesman's Entrance, following the
beacon of Reggie's wagging tail.
Neither of them said a word until they reached the wood-
panelled room, where Rory took a place on the large tatty
sofa. Please, sit down, he urged Tracy.
Tracy cast a glance over at the only other chair in the
room. A wing-backed monstrosity positioned directly
under the large window. Um ...? It was so far away from
Rory, any conversation they had would suffer with
satellite delay.
Ah. Rory shifted over. His large hand patted the cushion
next to him. He looked at Tracy, his face a mask of
uncertainty, as if Tracy might refuse to sit there.
Tracy sat down, doing his best not to slouch against the
lumpy seat.
Excuse me. Rory coughed. Would you like a cup of
tea?
Oh no, it's okay, thanks, Tracy replied.
That weak smile played on Rory's lips again. Don't
worry, I won't charge you.
Tracy's gut tightened with gratitude at Rory's attempt to
lighten the situation. He reached out and touched Rory's
hand. Just a brush against his fingertips. It's okay, Rory.
Really. Talk to me.
Rory's fingers fluttered a little under Tracy's hand, but he
didn't move away. He took in a deep, shaky breath, and as
he let it out, tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes.
He swiped them away quickly with the back of his arm.
Twacy, before I start, let me just say that I have always
found it incwedibly difficult to expwess myself. I have
spent many days thinking of all the things I want ... He
paused. ... all the things I need to say to you, and I don't
honestly know if I will be able to do so. But I will twy.
He sat up straighter in his seat.
When I saw you in that woom, I panicked. I have always
done my best to hide myself away, to pwotect myself
fwom pwying eyes, and to see you there .... He shook his
head. Well I cannot explain how I felt. I was so utterly,
utterly exposed. You see, my paintings are an expwession
of myself. My soul. And to open up my soul to somebody,
even you, left me devastated. I paint people as I see them.
And I was petwified that you would judge me for what I
had cweated. One painting in particular.
Tracy nodded. The one of Miss Featherstone.
Yes, Rory said. I know it is a fwightening image, but
may I explain my weasons?
Go on.
I told you at the bakewy, that I had lost someone dear to
me.
Tracy's stomach twisted at the mention of the mystery
woman who had once held Rory's heart, but he nodded all
the same.
Her name was also Miss Featherstone, and she was my
Nanny.
Your Nanny? Tracy narrowed his eyes, trying to take in
this new information.
Yes. Well, she wasn't just my Nanny. She was
evewything to me. My teacher, my fwiend, my mother. He
sighed deeply. My own pawents had no intewest in me.
They had wanted a perfect child, and had ended up with
one that was weally wather imperfect. Gawky and shy, I
was an embawwassment to them. So like many pawents of
their type do, they left my upbwinging to a Nanny. More
tears leaked from Rory's eyes. He reached into his top
pocket for a hanky, and patted them away. She was a
wonderful woman. She gave me more love than I could
have wished for. More acceptance than any pawent would
give their own child. Your own pawents excepted of
course.
I'm not sure I follow though, Tracy interrupted. What
does she have to do with Miss Featherstone? Uh, the other
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