The Thread That Binds Pt. 01

Chapter 1:

The conductor tapped his baton. "A little less from the second bass, please." He glanced at Mark, and the boy gave a nervous smile. Mark had a rich deep bass baritone voice and a keen ear for music. But he did occasionally get carried away, especially on the strong choruses of the Negro spirituals.

Mark liked Dr Wilson, his choir master. His inspirational teaching, and Mark's desire to be part of a choir that won the choral championships had been the main factors behind his decision to stay on at school for an extra year, though his mother didn't know that this was the reason.

John Wilson raised his baton to start again from the top, and this time Mark made an effort to keep his voice down to mezzo forte, as the choir ran through the piece one more time.

"Okay, that's enough for today. It's coming along well. Pack it in now." John Wilson lowered his baton, and there was a bustle as the choir members said their farewells, put on their coats and scarves and started out the door, some of them to walk or cycle home in the dark, but most of them to wait for their parents to pick them up.

Mark waited in the shelter of the school wall, clenching himself to keep warm. A few Wellington East girls passed him, heads down, huddled in their scarves and jackets. In spite of the biting wind that made most of them scurry home as quickly as they could, a couple of them thought that the dark burly figure of Mark was worth slowing their pace and giving a flirtatious grin.

Sorry girls, thought Mark. I'm taken. Mark heard the familiar purr of the late model BMW and walked out to meet his parents.

"How did it go, Mark?" Mark's father Tasi greeted him as he climbed into the back. Mark gave a nod of greeting to his mother, sitting rigidly in the passenger seat.

"Pretty good, dad. I reckon the school choral championship is in the bag."

"That's great son. You'll do the Islands proud. We Samoans are always good for a sing-a-long. Eh, Marge."

Mark's mother sniffed. "I'm certainly glad Mark is channelling his competitive energy into a more cultural pursuit this year. Certainly an improvement on boxing. I used to worry myself sick when he came home from those bouts with a split lip and black eye. I see far too many boxers in the trauma ward."

"Oh, mum, those are boys who don't wear the right protective equipment. It's much safer now than in Muhammad Ali's day. Nowadays...," Mark began.

"I know what you're going to say, Mark, but you don't have an educated opinion. As a doctor I have seen too many sporting injuries, and I abhor contact sports. I've said all I'm going to say."

There was an uncomfortable silence as Tasi drove down Courtney Place looking for a place to park.

"You looking forward to tonight, son?" he said eventually. "Should be a choice concert, eh?"

Mark nodded assent, wishing his father would not try to talk like a teenager.

Tasi drove into the covered carpark, which meant they would remain warm and dry as they walked to the Michael Fowler building, able to show off their evening finery. Mark was in his best school uniform, blazer and tie. Tasi was wearing a dark suit, and Marge was dressed in corporate attire with a brooch and string of pearls. As they approached the foyer of the concert hall, Tasi called out to a similarly dressed couple with a slim honey-blonde young woman walking behind them.

"Gidday, Shona," said Mark to the young lady as the parents greeted each other.

"Hello Mark." Shona stood on tiptoe and gave Mark a peck on the cheek. "Did you have a good day?"

The two held hands and walked into the chamber where the musicians were tuning up.

"I'm looking forward to this concert," said Shona, as a dark skinned attractive part Samoan woman took their ticket and showed them to their seat. Mark glanced at the woman a little more than protocol demanded, noting her name tag, 'Hinemoa,' and Shona gave a tutting noise.

"That woman is closer to your mother's age," she said, as they took their seat.

"Nicely preserved though." Mark smiled. "But don't worry, she's only an usher, I wouldn't fancy her."

"Not like me, eh. A nice Palangi girl from an established family." Shona leaned against Mark's muscular body. Mark put his arms around her just as the opening notes of the Tchaikovsky violin concerto started.

For the next hour the two never moved except to snuggle closer. Mark loved classical music, and the goose bump-inducing melody of the violin solo contrasted with the heat given off by Shona's warm flesh pressed next to him, to provide a novel sensation.

Mark was squeezing Shona's waist, his hand resting just below her navel. Did he dare to lower it just a little? He gave his hand an experimental squirm during the lively third movement. Shona tensed. Maybe not just yet. Give it time.

The final notes of the concerto died away, and the audience clapped while the conductor took a bow centre stage, sweeping his arms in a flamboyant manner than Mark thought inexcusably gay. Shona disentangled herself from Mark as they extracted themselves from their seats.

"That was beautiful, Mark," she sighed. "What did you think?"

Mark didn't reply. The music, haunting as always, made him shudder with delight. Added to that the warm girl next to him, and his feelings were too intense for words.

The two met the parents in the foyer. The men were grasping handles of beer and the women glasses of wine. Shona didn't drink, but her mother offered to get her a soft drink.

"And a beer for you, lad?" Tasi asked Mark, moving towards the bar.

"No thanks, dad. I'd like to take a bit of fresh air. Do you want to come?" Mark turned to Shona.

She nodded, slipping her hand into his.

The wind pelted the young couple through their thin clothing as they stepped outside, like one of Mark's sparring partners. The two clung to each other face to face in a dark corner outside the building. Mark moved forward and touched Shona's lips. He was taken aback at the passion with which she returned his kiss, as though she wanted to swallow him.

The two of them moved their mouths back and forward and then Mark's hand strayed up Shona's dress, encountering nothing more exciting than her tights. He inched his fingers up her behind, hooking them through the top of the tights, and then he was slipping them down through bare skin, cold and clammy on his hand. He gave an experimental squeeze, hoping they would warm up.

"I'd like to go in," said Shona. "It's too cold."

Mark extracted his hand with some difficulty, and the two of them walked back into the warmth.

The same attractive usherette beckoned them in for the second half of the concert, and this time more deliberately, Mark let his gaze fall on her. Then he felt a pang of shame as Shona's lips tightened. The two of them returned to their seats where Mark, in a gesture of reconciliation, cuddled up to Shona again, as the orchestra took their places.

"I like Shona," said Marge, as they drove back after the concert. "She comes from a solid Wellington family. The Hodges go way back."

Mark sat in the back seat, still absorbed with the music in his head, and not wanting to disturb the mood. As the orchestra slowly built up volume in his mind, he recalled the soft touch of Shona's skin as he squeezed it.

The next day Mark was absorbed with his school work. There were the mock exams coming up as well as the regional choral championships, and Mark's mother had been pushing him to improve his marks so he could get into medical school. The intense cramming after school, plus choir practice three times a week, put any thought of sex or romance out of his mind. Then on Friday evening, he called Shona to ask her to the pictures.

"There's the latest Harry Potter movie, Shones. In 3-D, no less. Do you want to come along with me?"

"That would be great Mark," Shona replied. "Afterwards we can go back to my place for supper. My folks will be out."

The two of them met at the Reading food court before the movie began, both rather self-conscious. They had been to formal dances, church functions and of course concerts together, often in the company of their parents. Mark realised that this was their first 'date' in the conventional sense, and his less formal attire made him feel uncomfortable.

"What are you having?" Mark and Shona had looked through the various foods on offer; Indian, Thai, Turkish, plus the inevitable McDonald's outlet, and settled on one offering solid kiwi fare. Fish, chips and sausages.

Shona hesitated. "I'll have a fish and chips with one sausage. But let me pay."

Mark opened his mouth to say something as the teenage boy came up to the counter to take Mark's order. Rather embarrassing; it was Wally, one of Mark's classmates from his year 12 class two years ago, who had dropped out of school. They were not particularly close friends, but Wally gave a flicker of recognition; which Mark ignored.

"Two fish and chips, with a sausage, please mate." Mark passed over a fifty dollar note and waited for his change.

"I said I would get it," Shona sounded more embarrassed than annoyed.

"You get the next one, eh, Shones." Mark's dad had told him a gentleman always pays, and Mark wanted to do this right. But real life is a bit more complex. Mark realised that Palangi women saw things differently, and Wellington is not the Islands.

The young couple sat at the crowded formica tables, raising their voices slightly to be heard among the hubbub, searching for topics. Last week's concert was good for five minutes conversation, but Mark found it difficult to put in words the way music made him feel. I'm a musician, not a writer, he thought. More interesting than conversation were Shona's tits, the shape of which he could see through her t-shirt and bra, firm and pointing. His mind started to explore their bra-less shape, and in his imagination his hands started to rub and fondle them.

"I asked how the choral singing was getting on, Mark." Shona was talking to him. Mark wrenched his mind back from the imaginary naked Shona to the somewhat less interesting one sitting across from him.

"Eh, what's that? Oh yes, the choir. Well Dr. Wilson the choir teacher is really good. He used to be assistant choir master for the Cambridge Boys' choir. He knows his stuff. And he's a good teacher too. Doesn't put on airs. So we have a good chance of acing the tournament."

"You're lucky to have such a good teacher. I think our music teacher at school was tone deaf."

The two teenagers sniggered.

"I'm glad you've got into the choir," said Shona. "I didn't like you doing boxing."

"Not you as well? What's wrong with boxing? It's a gentleman's sport."

"Maybe in the times of the Marquis of Queensberry," Shona replied. "But so many brown boys seem to get into it to get out of poverty. It doesn't seem right somehow."

"What do you know about being a brown boy?" snapped Mark.

"I know I like Islander boys," said Shona. "They're really handsome." She reached across and took his hand.

Mark stroked Shona's smooth fingers.

"I think you're right," he said. "Boxing's a mug's game. We Islanders are too fond of hitting each other."

The discussion on boxing and alternative ways of showcasing sporting prowess kept the conversation going until they had finished their meal. Mark even found Shona's contribution interesting and his mind didn't stray back to her bust more than what would be considered normal for a horny nineteen year old.

The two of them wondered over to the ticket office, and here Mark was spared further embarrassing date manoeuvres over who would pay. His father had shouted him two tickets to any Reading show two weeks ago as a reward for getting selected for the choral championship.

Mark had sat through thirty minutes of the film, totally absorbed in the music, special effects and Emma Watson's body, and even paying some attention to the plot, before he remembered he had a girlfriend beside him, and he had better start thinking about his obligations in that direction.

The dim light showed Shona leaning forward, her mouth slightly open, her high cheek bones accentuated. Mark slipped his arm around her, sliding it around the arm rest, rather like a snake slithering past an obstacle.

Shona leaned into him and continued to stare raptly at the screen. So far, so good. Time to be more adventurous. Mark squirmed round to get into position, and placed his right hand on Shona's right breast. He gave a little squeeze.

Shona moved slightly, and Mark tensed, ready to move his hand if Shona made any attempt to move it for him. But she just snuggled closer, and rested her own hand on his thigh. Things are going well. Well enough that Mark wished he had been bolder and made a direct attack on the crotch instead of a flanking movement to the bust.

Extricating his right hand to reposition it would cause too much disturbance, and force each of them to become aware of what they were doing. But then, like a good boxer, he could always lead with the left. Mark slipped his left hand on Shona's left thigh and made soft kneading motions. Shona leaned in even closer.

A movement started in Mark's crotch. Shona must feel it. Her hand was very close. Mark edged his own hand closer to the fleshy divide between Shona's legs, and then gave a gasp. Shona was rhythmically stroking his cock through his jeans. He gave a groan and a wriggle, as his cock strained against his tight clothing, then he tensed and drew away when the man on his left tutted in annoyance. Shona left her hand resting on Mark's crotch, and Mark put his own hand over the top of it, disguising the situation somewhat. His right hand was still grasping Shona's boob.

With the position rather cramped, foreplay was suspended until further notice. Mark distracted himself from the ache in his balls by paying attention to the movie. Both the teenagers shifted their hands slightly.

When the theme music started for the end of the film, the two looked at each other, held hands then pushed as quickly as possible out of the row.

"Who are you pushing?" growled a middle aged man with two children.

"Sorry," Mark muttered. He waited until the man had guided the children out of the row, then the two of them rushed out of Readings, into the parking building, and into Mark's father's car.

Shona clamped her mouth around Mark even before he had turned the keys, giving a howl as she bumped her elbow on the steering wheel.

"Not here," panted Mark, his bulge clearly visible over his trousers and tight underpants. "Your place."

Mark guided the car through the parking building, trying to ignore Shona who was kneading his crotch. She unzipped his fly and he felt her slender fingers explore underneath, searching for his naked cock, rasping on his pubic hairs.

There was a squeal of brakes, as Mark just missed tailgating the car ahead.

"Jeez, Shona, wait why can't you? Just about had an accident."

"I can't wait, big boy. I'm just so horny." Shona pressed her head against Mark's shoulder and nuzzled him.

As they drove through the less crowded suburban streets towards Roseneath, Shona renewed her attack on Mark's organ. Mark groaned and wriggled, and rested his hand on Shona's thigh, but dared not keep his eyes from the road. Shona positioned his hand in her crotch and started rubbing her thighs over it.

The two of them rushed out of the car as soon as they had swept up the drive of the Hodge's stately house. Shona inserted the key in the lock, as Mark placed his hand up Shona's blouse, disappointed to feel a tightness where her boobs pressed against her bra.

Mark moved his hands around to undo Shona's bra strap as she pushed open the door. Before the door had even closed properly they were rushing up the stairs to Shona's bedroom. Mark had never been into this girly sanctuary before and he vaguely took in the pastel shades of the walls, the matching bed covers, and the posters of young Hollywood actors on the wall before the two of them fell on the bed.

"Do you have protection?" Shona whispered, just before Mark clamped his mouth on hers.

"Woobn gwo ood mmm."

Shona put her hands on Mark's chest and pushed him off her.

"I think we can say that kissing and talking don't go together," she said. "I didn't catch that. I asked if you had protection."

"Oh God, I forgot about that." Mark slapped himself on the face. How could he have been so careless? Of course, it was the gentleman's responsibility to provide condoms. But then, a gentleman wouldn't be doing what he was doing anyway. No matter how willing his partner was. And didn't condoms spoil the intimacy and spontaneity? What kind of a man-slut brings condoms along on a first date anyway. Only one who expects to score. Come to think of it, what sort of woman expects him to?

A very hot one, his penis whispered to him. Stop thinking so much.

"Let's just do it," said Mark. "It doesn't matter." Mark's throbbing cock was physically hurting, and his breathing was heavy and rasping.

"Suppose I get pregnant?"

Mark felt a flash of irritation. His girlfriend was a cock-teaser. Leading him on all the way through the movie, and now piking out.

"I don't know," Mark raised his arms and gave an aggressive shrug. I'll pull out."

"I don't think so," said Shona. "You may forget or mis-time it. Perhaps we should wait for another time."

Okay for her to be so cool. She's not the one with a hard-on like an elephant. Mark knew he was being unreasonable, especially when Shona told him they could play around a bit if he wanted, just no penetration, but as he felt at present, his dick was bigger than his brain.

"Forget it then," he growled. "I'll go home now."

"Come on, big boy," said Shona, getting off the bed and walking over to him. "We can still have a good time. Come and feel my pussy. It's getting really wet. I know you want to."

Conflicting emotions stirred within Mark. On the one hand all this talk of wet pussies was turning him on no end, on the other...

On the other hand, Shona is a bitch. Probably frigid. If she was as horny as she makes out she wouldn't be so detached and clinical, or so concerned with the consequences. She doesn't trust me to pull out, that's what it is. But God, is she hot. Mark stared at his girlfriend, who had now slipped off her jeans and blouse and was standing in her bra and panties, legs slightly apart, one hand on her hips in a provocative pose. A thin line of black pubic hair could be seen outside her knickers, and the darker colour of her mound was visible inside them. As Mark watched, a wet stain started to spread on Shona's knickers. Shona slipped her hand under them, moved it round and started to groan, looking straight at Mark all the time.

Mark felt a rushing surge in his groin area, and next thing he knew there was a wet patch on his jeans, and his face turned red with embarrassment.

"What is it?" said Shona. "Come over here." She started to pull down her knickers.

Mark realised that the bed was positioned in such a way that Shona would not have seen his wet patch. "I need to go," he muttered. "I'll see myself out." Without looking at Shona, he turned around quickly and ran out of the house.

Chapter 2:

Mark liked to sleep in on Sundays, the only day he didn't have school work, homework or choir practice. When his tousled head appeared at the foot of the stairs, his parents were sitting at the breakfast table. His father was reading the paper, and his mother a magazine.

"Morning, Mark," said Tasi, looking up.

"Morning," Mark headed to the kitchen and helped himself to eggs, bacon and orange juice, before sitting at the table next to his father.