Diaries of a Gentleman; The Colours of Youth



”I expect you to be on your best behaviour,” Balfor, my mentor said. I heard the seriousness behind his words, so I nodded. There was a time to be pertinent and rebellious, and this was not it.

We were going to a party, a really big party, the-duke-will-be-there-and everyone-that-matters-in-British-nobility big. It was a charity event, for what I have forgotten. My master had a soft spot for strays like myself, and a compassionate streak as wide as the Thames. He was the patron of several charities.

“You’ll work the gullible ladies,” Balfor added, “and the young boys. They always love you.”

“Sure master,” I replied, which I knew secretly pleased him. “Do you want me to, eh, become intimate with any of them?” He now and then wanted me to fuck a victim, but it had been some time since last that had happened.

I dressed in my pin-striped, tailored suit. Savile Row of course, nothing less would do. My tie matched Balfor’s, we looked magnificent together. I knew I was dashing. My hair was shiny and dark, my eyes had that chestnut brown which ladies took for a sign of a warm and noble heart, and my dimple could charm the skirts off them. Of course, most people believed I was just his lordship’s protégé. Some people assumed I was his current boy toy, which wasn’t a lie, seeing that he was decades older than me. But I was also his apprentice in the noble art of conning. Stealing what was others’ property, to be precise.

We left, that is we sat in the back of Balfor’s Rolls, letting his driver, cum con man and very scary, take us to the country house where the party was. Also, this let me accommodate my master with a nice, quick blow job. It made him sharp and focused, he claimed.

We had not planned any long con jobs tonight; we were only there to check out the possibilities for later set-ups. Maybe I would do a neat card job or a little pick-pocketing; nothing big.

We arrived in style, were announced by the lord’s butler, and waded into the sea of coloured silk and jewellery. Oh, what temptations! This was the modern sort of party; everyone was gliding around, mingling, glass and morsels of the edible kind held on a little platter in their hands. It presented all kinds of opportunities. I couldn’t help myself, and before long I had conquered legions of fluttering hearts and filled my pockets with small trinkets – not of the edible kind.

I was just on the verge of refilling my plate from the tray one of the ever-present waiters carried around, when I spotted him. Food forgotten and I must have gaped, I wondered if this charity was supported by his Lordship Himself, since He had sent one of His angels to represent Him.

The innocent boy must have felt my penetrating gaze on him, because he looked up over the sea of silk and met my eyes. His was the bluest blue, I noticed in that absent way the brain records details when something stupendous happens. He smiled carefully, moving a pouting lip. I had met my religion. In fact, I was looking straight at it, tumbling towards heaven. A jolt in my side and a grip on my elbow brought me back to earth in an instant. A whisper in my ear, Albert, my dear, spot that pale-haired boy over there? That’s Lord Mallard’s younger son. Be a good boy and chat him up. It has been brought to my attention that his devious old father has some hidden resources. We might want a way in.

So soon back on mundane ground, or perhaps in hell. Balfor patted my back and continued on his way of accumulating wealth, leaving me…stunned and still in hell. I was relieved he hadn’t seen my expression.

I had no time to regroup and plan, because at that moment I felt a hesitant tap on my shoulder, and met the blue eyes of my apparition.

“Pardon, but I couldn’t help seeing your expression. Eh, is that old man harassing you?” He looked so earnest into my eyes that I almost laughed.

That’s my Ducky, standing up for others even back then.

“No, no,” I answered, inanely. “Err, that’s Lord Longcreeke, Balfor Longcreeke. I live with him.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. But the angel didn’t seem to get the implications; he only nodded sympathetically and stuck out his hand.

“Donald Mallard, pleased to meet you.”

I gripped his hand, what else could I do? “Albert Stroller. Likewise.”

That done, we stared a bit awkwardly at each other. I opened my mouth prepared to spit out some pleasantries (I was too stunned to figure out appropriate come-hither-phrases yet), but he beat me to it.

The start of a lifetime habit.

“My friends call me Ducky.”

I pulled myself together; this was a golden opportunity, after all. “Could I be considered a friend?” I gave him my most innocent grin, surprised, even shocked, at how much I wished that it was just that; innocent.

“Not yet, but you may become one. So tell me, what do I call you? Albert seems too formal for two young friends.”

Young friends. Okay, I was 20, but I hadn’t considered myself young for a long time. “I don’t have a nick name,” I told him, dead sure I wouldn’t reveal the names some people called me.

“That’s all right,” he, Ducky, smiled. “I’ll just have to come up with one then.” He cocked his head. “I believe you are a Bertie.”

I sputtered, but I knew in my heart that Bertie it was. Five minutes, and I wasn’t able to deny this boy anything. Not even the indignity of a horrific nick name. This didn’t bode well.

“What say you, let’s find a place to sit in this jungle, and I’ll tell you about how I came to obtain that rather peculiar name?” He was already off and walking towards the library, tugging at my arm and dragging me along. I didn’t need much dragging.

“You see, when I was four, I used to sneak out and run around in my father’s garden without supervision. There was this pond that I was quite…”

I tuned out most of his words, only focusing on the mellifluous sound of his voice, not getting what this was, but knowing I wanted to hear it always. Sappy thoughts for a hardened criminal like myself, but true nonetheless.

Ducky proceeded to tell me all about his experiences with the duck pond, his horse, the cricket team he was a reserve on, and the extra-curricular pastry cooking course he seemed to enjoy. I think he wanted to ensure I had a good time, conveniently suppressing the minor fact I had revealed earlier, about living with, for god’s sake, Balfor. What he saw in me I don’t know, maybe he truly just wanted to get to know me. As a friend.

In return for his extensive tales from his sheltered life, I told him a revised version of growing up in America, moving here, studying finance, and now art. I also gave him bs about how old Balfor had been a friend of my father’s and had taken me under his wings when I moved to London. I was not ready to reveal the true extent of our connection. Maybe never.

This Ducky was friendly to all. He had lots of acquaintances, deeming from the way he nodded and talked to most of the other teenagers passing us, as we sat slumped down in a sofa in the library. Some of them joined us for a brief chat, throwing suspicious glances at me and questioning ones at Ducky, whom I guessed would be told soon enough after we had separated what kind of unsavoury guy I was.

Ducky never left me the rest of the evening, though, and I was too mesmerized to even think I should be mingling with the other guests. I was doing as Balfor had ordered me to, I told myself. Yes, right. I would never, even if my life hinged on it, be able to hurt this boy. So when the time came for us to leave, there you are my boy, jolly good, ready to go home?, I had come no further in forming a plan on how to get us into Lord Mallard’s home.

“Bertie, it’s been a pleasure! I do hope our paths will cross again.” Ducky looked like he meant it, which was a relief for me, when I later was to face my mentor and tell him of my progress, or lack thereof. A pleasure, imagine a 17 year old boy talk like that. For that was what he was, still in his penultimate year at Eton. One more year, and he would go to Edinburgh, to study medicine at the university there. He was a sharp one, this boy, something his proud nose should have alerted me to.

“It has Ducky, and so do I.” I managed to press out, wishing for impossible things. We shook hands once more, in farewell, and that was it. Ducky left to find his father. Balfor, his arm possessively around my shoulders for all to see, led me out to the driveway.

We left the same way we came, in the backseat of his Rolls. I could still feel the press of Ducky’s hand in mine and the clean smell of his skin still lingered in my nostrils. The hollow inside me his voice and his face had filled, was new.

It turned out that it didn’t matter that I hadn’t wrangled a house invitation from ‘that dear young boy’. Balfor had captured the interest of an old widow whom he thought needed to be separated from some of her vast wealth. She was the perfect mark for a long con job. As a bonus, he would do an old friend a favour, apparently this widow was of the black kind, and had cheated Balfor’s friend through a deviously intricate plot. Well. We were more devious than any other gangs of con men. It was easy to set up a plan, and ‘fork’ in the money.

My thoughts went on to other things than my new religion. I was soon emerged in scheming and plotting, earning my keep this way, and the other way in Balls’s bed.
I earned my keep already when we got back to Balfor’s house that very evening. He was invigorated, more than usual. From spotting the new con job or from watching me with the fair-haired boy, I couldn’t say. I only knew that he proceeded to fuck my brains out, leaving me panting and wrung out like an old rag-doll. He was always enthusiastic and attuned to my needs, like I was to his, so it was mostly good between us. It wasn’t like we loved each other, but I had come to care for the old man during our years together, and I believe he loved me in his own way, the old bugger.

But this night, there was almost something desperate over our lovemaking, as if he knew that he had in some way lost me. I told him nothing, of course, but he must have felt it. He did everything and more, making me scream myself hoarse. I walked funny and sat carefully for days after, often exaggerating a little, just to bring out his smug smile.



The image of the boy with the beautiful face and the shimmering hair would follow me in my dreams for a long time after, superimposing itself even over the familiar and cherished mug of old Balfor. It gave me horrible qualms, and I feared Balls would discover my secret; that I hopelessly yearned for an unreachable young Etonian.

I get up from my chair by the window. The sun is angling it’s rays now, it’s afternoon, and Soon my Ducky will be home, and I want to start dinner. Ah, there he is already. Must have been a quiet day.

“Albert. What have you been up to today?” he asks, voice still mellifluous and calming.

“Oh, this and that,” I mumble into his neck. “Thinking.”

“About what?” He kisses me softly, teasing his wet tongue just inside my lips.

“You.” Kiss. “Us.” Kiss. “That desolate time before you were mine.”

“Bertie,” he admonishes. I couldn’t have been yours before I knew you existed. After, well you know I was yours from the first moment. I had an unexpected entelechy; I just didn’t know how to reach fulfilment for a while yet. ”

“I know,” I lick into his ear, “but I didn’t really know back then that we belonged to each other, I was remembering the time before I knew.”

Donald laughs, which is contagious. “You know what I remember? I remember vividly you told me on our second meet, that you called your old mentor Balls. And I fell over, laughing.”

And that reminds me that no one would call the start of our relationship smooth and easy. But that’s a story for another day.