Counting the Days and Hours
Over the next few days, up to the middle weekend of our Holiday, Martin and I were just like young lovers everywhere: the days were sunny and warm and we walked along the valley and up to the top of the Cheviots, where The Pennine Way descends to it's Northern End in Yetholm; and arriving in Kirk Yetholm we may have covered the last few miles of The Way but did not qualify for a Free Pint at the Inn where bona fide walkers who have done the entire distance from Bakewell in Derbyshire can often be seen crowding the bar and spilling  (not always literally) out into the garden. We saw the cottage which had been the Palace of the Last Queen of the Gypsies, Esther Faa Blythe; and I wished we had met a true Gypsy that day who might have read my palms and told my future – though, looking back on it now, I wonder how I would have reacted to that forecast: shock and dismay? stubborn denial? A stoic 'what will be, will be'? I doubt now that Martin would have permitted me to have my fortune told, for in fucking me he was breaking the law – I was well under-age – and he would hardly have risked losing his career through such a scandal being made public. But now, I also know better than to imagine that any scandal would ever have reached the Papers or the Courts. His Father would have quickly suppressed it and anyone 'in the know', whether civilian or Police Officer would have been silenced by 30 pieces of silver or threats of retribution (and threats which would quite definitely have been carried out) to career or the body. But at the time I was so swept up in my adoration of Martin and gratitude for his attentions, which had become the most effusive I had ever known, that I doubt I would have believed a word of it.






     So as we strolled hand-in-hand, or sat in the Beer Garden sipping our drinks and watching the Walkers unload their heavy packs, rub liniment into their aching calves or feet, and stretch their bodies we both admired the dedication which had brought them through sun and rain, gales and icy mists. Martin told me that Jimmy had done The Way many times, and I'd noticed a few photos of him inside, with his Free Pints and groups of well-wishers, for he was one of the first to turn these endurance feats into massive Fund Raisers for the charities he supported, so tirelessly.
     And this was the Man who was coming to our holiday cottage in a nearby River Valley, just to see me! I felt like I was walking on air and could have bounced along the hill tops from Derbyshire to Yetholm without any trouble. Secretly, I wanted to ell everyone we met! Especially the girls. I just knew how jealous they would all be, because I'd have felt the same if I'd met someone who was going to meet Jimmy and get on his Show and get Fixed. And now The Great Man was going to Fix Me! I was fizzing with excitement. And it was only Tuesday!
     When we got back to the cottage, Martin bent me over and fucked me from behind and I wanted it to last and last and when he pulled me back so that his cock was so deep inside me I thought it would pop out of my tummy and shot his load of cum into me, I wanted to kiss him, so I turned my face up and he held my head and bent his face down and kissed me upside down and I sucked his tongue for ages, till his cock eventually slipped out and he spun me around and carried on kissing till there was a knock at the front door as our Fish Suppers arrived! Gosh! I could have eaten a Horse.
     Writing this now in the aftermath of the scandals that broke after Jimmy Savile's death, I have to put myself back into the mind of the thirteen-year-old I was then. I wasn't innocent – I had already been the plaything of quite a number of the men who made up that Magic Circle which included Savile, but I never yet considered myself to have been abused or made use of. I had become so dependent on them, particularly on Martin, which had given me my identity. Before them, I had felt lonely and without any self-esteem. They had made me feel important and the centre of their attentions and I was so hungry for love and affection that I had lapped it up, along with their cum. They could fuck me any way they wanted, because it was the sex with them that defined me. If I had walked away, or been cast aside, I would have simply ceased to exist. For I thought they loved me as I had loved each one of them, and especially Martin. And was now looking forward and counting the days and hours till I would meet Jimmy, a National Hero whose whole life was dedicated to helping people and raising money for all the Charities he supported.
     I wasn't the only one who believed it. But I was going to be the Chosen One on Friday or Saturday for this Great Man was coming to meet ME!