Simply Another Mission

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First Adventure of Family Lederer

German edition published in Germany 2007 by neobooks.com

Copyright © Kendran Brooks

Cover picture by © fotolia.de

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or otherwise, without prior permission.

1964 - 1980

Jules was born in Boston, Massachusetts. His parents had flown to America to give birth so that their little boy could grow up as a dual citizen of the USA and Switzerland right from the start. Smart people made provisions for their children even back then. And so, his birth became the starting point of a life as a citizen of the world. Or should we rather call it a life without roots and without a real sense of home? A life as a restless person?

His father, Jean Lederer, was a high-ranking diplomat in the service of the Swiss Confederation, often travelling abroad on business and correspondingly rarely at home. His mother came from a wealthy industrialist family with old money. So little Jules enjoyed the great privilege of growing up in a well-protected home on Zurich's Gold Coast.

He rarely saw his father, his mother somewhat more often. The rest of the time, a nurse took loving care of him when he was a baby, and later and according to their terms of employment, the estate's caretaker couple. Maria, however, was not only his nanny, but above all the cook, laundress and cleaner, while Urs looked after the large park that surrounded the villa and occasionally provided chauffeur services, but also kept all the technical installations in and around the house in good repair. The couple from Nidwalden lived in the gatehouse right next to the wrought-iron entrance gate, which was framed by massive stone pillars and announced the great importance of the owner family to the whole world. A former owner of the estate had had the rather cramped five-room cottage built for his then probably more extensive service staff. That may have been a hundred years ago. Now it lay in the shade of tall fir trees and the place always seemed a little eerie to Jules. But it always smelled exciting, like cleanliness and work, not as unpleasantly heavily perfumed as the big main house. Jules fondly remembered the afternoons spent with the two cosy original swiss. Because in the gatehouse he was allowed to do what his mother had strictly forbidden in the main house, namely, to pitch in and help out, something that elsewhere was called honest work and not the dull life of the lower class.

His maman, she mostly spoke French with him, had studied law as a young woman. Not for her bread and butter, but for her diversion. After the birth of Jules by Caesarean section and the resulting return to her very slim, almost boyish figure, she again devoted herself to her two hobbies, shopping, and tennis. In doing so, the often long absences of her husband due to work complemented her urge for freedom in an ideal way. She had taken on the important and highly commendable task of discovering and promoting young tennis talents.

At first, Jules didn't understand why his mother sent him up to his room for two hours every time one of these sporty men arrived at their house in their tight-fitting shorts and the usually beaming, sometimes a little embarrassed smile. She would walk off with her changing visitors in the direction of the pool house, behind which lay the estate's tennis court. At least that's what Jules could observe from his window.

At the age of nine, however, he made sure, crept down the stairs after a quarter of an hour of well-behaved waiting in his room, discovered no one in the hallway, cautiously went further and out through one of the two living rooms onto the terrace, looked around thoroughly there too, again could not make out a soul in the extensive park and became bolder. The many trees and bushes gave him cover and so Jules crept like an Indian on the warpath towards the tennis court. He could not see the tennis court because of the high hedge. But he was surprised not to hear the typical clap of the balls.

However, when he got close to the pool house, he heard a rather loud moaning and heavy panting. He recognised his mother's voice as she suddenly gave a pointed but suppressed cry and then let out: Yes, give it to me, give it to me so hard, you horny bastard.

Jules was extremely worried about his maman. He quickly slid along the short end of the pool and to the wide window of the pool house, which was prettily painted in white and yellow. Cautiously and curiously, he peered through the glass and recoiled. For his mother was lying naked on the teak table they usually used for their garden barbecues. Her legs clasped the bare buttocks of the young tennis player from this morning. The man kept thrusting his hips forward, crashing his pelvis violently against his mother's. But she seemed to enjoy this abuse because she cheered him on with the words more, more, more.

Her small, flat breasts with their steeply rising nipples wobbled back and forth in rhythm with the young man's thrusts. His mother's mouth was distorted, the right corner of her mouth pulled down as if she felt pain, yes, her whole face resembled one of the horribly disfiguring grimaces Jules knew from the carnival, covered in sweat, and flushed with heat. Her twisted eyes fixed indeterminately upwards and towards the ceiling, with a blurred look that seemed to reach to the sky, reminded Jules of the dead-driven cat he had seen lying in the ditch outside the big front gate a few weeks ago. Its squint was strikingly similar to that of his mother's, he was startled to realise.

At that moment, the tennis player raised his head and looked directly into Jules' eyes, recognised the boy behind the glass and cried out in fright. Jules immediately threw himself around and dashed back to the house, ran up the stairs through the living room and the hallway and straight to his room, threw himself belly-down on the bed, buried his face in the pillow and burst into sobs and crying.

But after only a few seconds he fell silent, turned onto his back, and wiped away his tears. After the first, violent outburst of emotion, he had realised that there was no reason for him to cry. For although the young man had startled him with his exclamation, nothing more had happened so far.

A little later, through the open bedroom door, he heard his mother's urgent voice in the hallway downstairs, without being able to understand her words. The front door opened and fell back into the lock. Shortly afterwards, light footsteps could be heard on the stairs to the upper floor and a little later Maman entered his room and sat down next to him on the bed. She was dressed again, all in white, in her usual tight tennis dress with the short skirt from which her slender, tanned legs grew out so healthily. Her face was still a little heated and flushed and her eyes showed a satisfied glow in the background. She left a strand of hair out of her face as she often did, smiling at her son as she did so, and put her hand gently on his shoulder.

Jules looked at her seriously, not knowing what was coming. Actually, he expected a loud scolding for not staying in his room. Maybe there would even be a punishment for disobedience? But Maman merely grabbed his chin between her thumb and forefinger and jiggled it a little. She always did that when he had cooked up something, or played a trick on someone, or forgot the time over his game and didn't show up on time for dinner. Jules breathed an inward sigh of relief. What he had done and seen couldn't be that bad.

I told you to stay in your room, my little pirate, Maman purred and he relaxed a little more. There was no reproach in her words.

I'm sorry, Maman, he answered nevertheless, sobbing, and also feeling a guilty conscience.

Don't worry, Jules, his mother said conciliatory, you know, what you saw is part of the exercises you have to do as an athlete to stay fit. There's nothing more to it. It's best to quickly forget what you've seen, okay?

It's fine, Maman, Jules replied, resolving never to lose the images in his head.

After that morning, no more young tennis players came to their estate. Instead, his mother spent even more time away from home, often leaving Jules early in the morning, returning only late in the evening and long after supper. Maria and Urs Amstutz were soon more familiar to him than his own mother and even more so than his father, who appeared less and less frequently and often only for a short weekend.

Jules' life situation worsened barely six months later. His father had packed his bags after an argument with his mother and left the house, wanting to share a flat with a cheap slut from Geneva. At least that was what Maman said bitterly on the phone when she talked to Grand-mère Julia about it.

As far as he could remember later, the divorce was by mutual consent. Maman dragged him to her lawyer a few times. There Jules was supposed to tell how much he had been neglected by his father all these years. But how was Jules supposed to know what neglect by one parent meant when the other half was almost as rarely felt?

He was ten years old at the time and imagined he already knew everything about the world and the wickedness of people, about their falseness and mendacity, the compulsively upheld facades and the secrets lurking behind them. If it hadn't been for Maria and Urs, he would probably have lost his faith in the goodness of people as a child. But the caretaker couple lived in a different world than his parents. This world was full of respect and consideration for their partners and other people. Jules did not become one of the many smug cynics, but instead learned to recognise, compare, weigh up and understand.

*

His further path in life would probably have been similarly unexciting as that of his parents. But for a thirteen-year-old, he was not only too small, but also very slight. Up to this age, he had been taught at home and by various private teachers. But now his mother sent him to a boarding school in Montreux. She wanted to finally realise herself, as she put it, and having a teenager in the same house seemed to interfere with that immensely.

The boarding school was beautifully situated above Lake Geneva. When he was driven there and delivered by Urs Amstutz, stepped onto the wide lawn for the first time and stared out and down at the deep blue mountains and the glittering lake, Jules suddenly felt as free as a bird, as if he had overcome the confines of a cage. A new, exciting world was about to open up for him, with classmates, real friendships, far away from home. But his elation was already extinguished during the first gym lesson. They were supposed to climb up a thick rope, something Jules completely failed to do because of his lanky arms. He tried to pull himself up and somehow find a foothold with his feet, clinging with all his might to the greasy hemp that thousands of boys' hands had soaked with their sweat over and over again, not coming up an inch, still not wanting to give up, looking at the pitying face of his teacher, ashamed in front of all his comrades as he hung helplessly fifty centimetres above the ground. When one of them then contemptuously exclaimed Faggot Jules, some others immediately joined in laughing out loud and so this ugly nickname stuck with him for years, as if it were branded on his forehead.

Most of the teachers also laughed at the constant badgering of the other boys. The exception was Peter Maischberger, their sports teacher from Munich. He had reprimanded the inventor of his disgrace immediately after the exclamation, sent him straight out of the lesson and to his room, threatened him with further punishment.

Peter Maischberger was only of medium height, but his chest was mighty broad and his upper arms thick as tree trunks. He was merely admired and respected by all the boys, was the most respected teacher among the pupils.

On one of the free afternoons, Jules had probably been at boarding school for half a year, Maischberger invited him to visit him in his flat after class. Like all the teachers' flats, it was in a detached house away from the school buildings, at the other end of the spacious park. Jules went there without suspicion, never dreaming that this nice man could take advantage of him.

Peter had made cocoa for them both. Together they sat down on the narrow sofa covered in red velvet. They toasted each other with their cups as if they were old comrades. Then they sipped the hot drink from the rim, looking into each other's faces.

Peter began to tell how unfair the other boys were to Jules and how much he had to suffer. That made the boy feel good in his soul. Because finally someone understood him and showed compassion. A little later, Peter began to stroke him, first on his neck and throat, then with the back of his insistent fingers over his cheeks. His lips suddenly came closer, pressed gently but firmly to his. A tip of his tongue felt its way forward, pushed its way between his rows of teeth, penetrated his oral cavity, began to play gently with his tongue.

Jules did not resist his teacher's importunity at all. His surprise was far too great for that. At the same time, he knew intimate tenderness neither from his parents nor from Maria or Urs. To caress another person, to kiss him, even to merely feel, smell and taste him, that was a completely new, exciting experience for the thirteen-year-old. He let his nice sports teacher have his way, relaxed more and more under his expert hands and lips, found everything extremely exciting.

For minutes Jules enjoyed the physical attentions of his favourite teacher. But soon a hitherto unknown feeling stirred in him as well, a strange desire for a body that was foreign to him. He wrapped his arms around Peter's neck and pressed his slender chest against the teacher's powerful one. They became lovers that afternoon, gave each other what they had both probably had to do without for so long, from then on met secretly at least twice a week after class and in Peter's flat, gave each other what they craved most.

But exchanging tenderness was not the only thing his sports teacher taught him back then. Five times a week, after supper, he trained with Jules all by himself in the gym. Maischberger showed him the right breathing techniques, taught him endurance running and even hard fighting. Jules' condition grew at the same rate as his muscles. He gained a new body awareness and his previous shame in front of every mirror faded visibly, giving way to a newly strengthened self-confidence.

After half a year, Jules had gained a good ten kilograms in weight and his reflexes were excellent and his strength was equal to that of a young adult. Peter had also taught him how to defend himself against even stronger and bigger opponents with his bare fists and the edges of his hands. Jules was soon paying back his schoolmates for months of teasing, bit by bit. And a good year later, even for Peter Maischberger, the time of reckoning had come.

*

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, the first day of the big summer holidays. All the other pupils had gone home on Friday evening, as had most of the teachers. Only Jules and Peter had stayed behind as usual, along with the always grumpy caretaker of the boarding school. Where should Jules go? To his mother's house, where only the caretaker couple was waiting for him? Or even to Geneva to a father who had become a complete stranger to him? No, Jules stayed at the boarding school from the beginning, whenever permitted, even during the holidays, and only returned to one of the two unloved homes for a few days at Christmas, New Year and Easter.

Jules had also spent that night together with Peter in the flat. They had drunk some wine with dinner and made love afterwards. Later, they had fallen asleep in their rumpled bed. Around seven in the morning, Peter woke him up with a tender kiss. Jules still thought he could feel the somewhat parched lips of his sports teacher on his own, how they gently and flatteringly asked for more.

Why this violent impulse suddenly overcame him then, he could not explain later. But Jules pushed his friend and mentor off him with all his might, burrowed out from under the covers and looked at his lover, twice his age, angrily and full of disgust. At first Peter showed great astonishment in his eyes. Then, however, he had probably understood and became shamefully aware of his sexual transgression against one of his students.

And Jules? He jumped out of bed and went at his lover, naked as he was and without saying a word. An irrepressible rage had seized him at the sight of Peter standing there sadly, a boundless fury such as he had never felt before. It took complete control of his body and shut down his mind. Peter hardly resisted Jules' fists as they hit him hard again and again, indeed he seemed to take the blows like an imposed fine. The sports teacher was not religious in the strict sense, as Jules suspected. They had never spoken about it directly, but Peter did not attend any of the church services that the boarding school offered every week. But on this Saturday morning at the beginning of the big summer holidays, his sports teacher wanted to be punished for his sin against the now fifteen-year-old pupil.

Jules had long since beaten nose and mouth of the teacher bloody. The skin on his knuckles was torn open and burning like fire. Nevertheless, the boy continued to hit the teacher, on the arms raised for cover, sideways on the unprotected ears, then again on the stomach or chest.

How long the outburst of rage held him captive, Jules didn't know afterwards. At some point he simply stopped and lowered his fists, panting. Peter stood swaying in front of him. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, fell down onto his heavily breathing, shaved and naked chest, ran from there down over his stomach, was absorbed there by his pyjama trousers. His eyes swelled shut and he looked sadly and pleadingly at Jules, like a wounded animal hoping for mercy from its hunter. Did he really want to beg for forgiveness or rather receive more punishment? Jules didn't know. And he didn't care. Full of disgust, he turned away from his former lover and disappeared into the small bathroom next to the bedroom.

The fifteen-year-old climbed into the shower cubicle, turned the cold water tap on full and stood under the hard jet for a long time. His thoughts chased each other without him being able to hold on to any of them. After a while he began to mechanically soap himself from top to bottom, over and over again, as if he had to wash all the dirt in the world off his body. After a short time, he could hardly move his swollen wrists. His fists had hit Peter's body too hard. The knuckles of his fingers were full of abrasions and cracks. The skin over the first knuckle of his ring finger on his right hand had a deep furrow a good three centimetres long that was bleeding profusely. It must have been caused by Peter's incisor or canine tooth when his fist split his lover's upper lip and hit the sharp obstacle behind it.

Jules dried himself thoroughly and then dressed the deep wound from the medicine box next to the mirror, sprinkled some powder on it and stuck a plaster on it. The thin scar would remind him of this important step towards adulthood for the rest of his life.

He left Peter Maischberger's flat after getting dressed in the bedroom without a word. His sports teacher was still standing there with his arms hanging, staring dully at the floor, hardly daring to look up at him. That morning, his world had probably collapsed. But for Jules, a new one was about to begin.

Back in his room, the boy gathered a few things and took his money out of the small safe in the wardrobe. He was determined to turn his back on this place forever. On foot, with his small suitcase in his right hand, he left the boarding school, walked down the street to the railway station, looked for the next train to Lausanne and bought an appropriate ticket at the counter. Why Lausanne was his first destination, he did not know. He hardly knew the city, having only been there three times. But it was the nearest larger city, a place that promised anonymity. And that was what Jules needed now, distance from Peter and distance from his life so far. He felt he wanted to be alone, no, had to be. And this worked best in the midst of many people.

From the train station in Lausanne, he followed the winding roads that led him down the hill to the lakeshore. It was early afternoon and the sun was burning hot and Jules sat down on a park bench in the shade of some trees in a small park. Young people were cavorting on the lawns, playing ball or frisbee or walking in small groups along the waterfront. Their babble of voices hit his ears as if through cotton wool. He still felt agitated by the break with Peter and the boarding school, knew that this step was the right one, but at the same time felt a strange emptiness inside himself, a lostness. What should he do? Where should he go?

Couples in love walked arm in arm, groups of girls and boys talked excitedly to each other as they passed, families with and without prams crossed his field of vision. He saw real life before him, within reach. And yet he felt so far removed from it, as if an impenetrable fog lay between these people and him, the outsider, the homo, this faggot Jules.

Suddenly a strong desire arose in him. He wanted to belong, to this world full of love and attention, to these people who meant something to each other. On his park bench, someone had left a daily newspaper slightly tattered. He picked it up and began to leaf through it, looking for real life. And he found it, in the back section, in the classifieds, in the form of an advertisement by a certain Lulu. Why was he attracted by those few ridiculous lines? They only promised a make-believe world of lies and deceit. Or was this perhaps the real, the only real life? Jules stood up with a jerk, determined to find out.

Soon he found a telephone booth, opened his wallet with shaky fingers, pulled out a few coins and fed the machine. His stomach clenched in tense anticipation and his right arm really shook as he dialled the last digits of the number from the paper. It rang once, twice, he still had time to hang up, but then it was picked up. A dark, somewhat hoarse-sounding woman's voice answered with a tender, This is Lulu, and who are you?

Falteringly, Jules answered, whereupon her next question met his ear in a stern voice: How old are you?

Twenty, he lied.

Twenty? Are you sure? You sound younger?

The voice had taken on the tone of a strict teacher.

Yes, I turned twenty today! lied Jules. A good portion of defiance was mixed into his voice and he hoped this Lulu didn't notice it.

Okay. It's okay. When do you want to come to me, darling?

Her voice purred at her question.

So....immediately, if that's possible.

You're under pressure, aren't you? her dark voice laughed from the receiver, "all right, then come to me. How long do you have to Rue de Bourg? You'll find me at number 12, on the third floor. You have to ring Praxis."

Jules had no idea where Rue de Bourg was, but through the glass of the telephone booth he saw a large board with the map of Lausanne standing on the waterfront.

I can be there in ten minutes, he heard himself whisper.

I'll see you in ten minutes. In the meantime, I'll make myself beautiful for you, my strong one.

As if in a trance, Jules hung up the phone and left the cabin. What had he done? Dating a love servant? Jules knew very well even today that he avoided the word whore even in his thoughts at the time.

On the city map, he quickly realised how far away Rue de Bourg was. He packed his small suitcase and ran. Fifteen minutes later he arrived at number 12 in a sweat, puffed heavily up the staircase and then paused for a moment in front of the old, ugly wooden door with the peeling grey paint. A cheap brass sign read Praxis. Hesitantly, he tapped the bell button.

Rrrring.

Sharp and shrill, a bell inside announced itself. But the length of the sound suddenly seemed far too short to him, as if a small, frightened boy should be ashamed. Quickly, therefore, he pressed the head again, longer, and more demanding.

Rrrrrrrriiiiiing.

*

First, he heard shuffling footsteps approaching, then the door opened and a plump, dark-skinned woman stood before him in a far too skimpy, hideously purple bikini. Her breasts were huge and hung low, reaching almost to her flabby belly despite her supportive top. But her somewhat feisty face with its dark red painted, bulging lips looked at him with a radiant smile, as if he were a dear friend she had missed for a long time. She invited him in, moving a little to the side to do so, so that he could squeeze past her bosom and belly in the narrow hallway. Stunned, he entered, was gently grabbed by the shoulder, and directed through a narrow door into the first room to the right of the entrance.

A wide bed with shiny golden balls on the four posts took up half the room. On it lay a thick mattress with a beige, stained cover. Jules also discovered some holes in it, probably burn marks from forgotten cigarettes. A large yellow bath towel was spread out in the middle of the mattress. This was where it was going to take place, whatever it was. Jules looked at the old wallpaper on the walls, which had long since become dull. There were parrots printed all over it. They stared at him reproachfully.

I cost a hundred an hour, is that okay with you? he heard her voice as if through cotton wool. He nodded, dazed. Lulu told him to put his suitcase down. Then she led him across the hall to a tiny bathroom and said he was too sweaty and should therefore take a shower first, which he obediently did.

The cheap shampoo smelled of spruce needles and made his skin tingle slightly. He rinsed off the foam thoroughly. After turning off the water and looking around, he discovered the high stack of towels lying on a chair to the right of the shower cubicle. He took the top one away and dried himself with great care. His wet pubic hair in particular bothered him immensely, dishevelled as it was. He ran the towel over it again and again, wanting to smooth it out a little. He would have preferred to blow-dry them, for when they were wet, they seemed to him as sinful as they were forbidden. The courage of what might be waiting for him on the other side of the corridor and in Lulu's room had long since left him. He was almost determined to slip back into his clothes and flee the flat on some pretext. But then he heard the woman's beckoning voice from the bedroom.

Are you finally coming to me, big guy?

Jules began to tremble again and his stomach cramped up once more. He felt powerless and at his mercy. But then he got hold of himself and stepped through the bathroom door into the hallway and with another step into the bedroom. Lulu was lolling on the yellow bath towel on the bed, still wearing that hideous purple bikini. Her breasts now lay flattened on her chest, appearing much smaller to him than before at the door. Instead, the roundness of her belly bulged all the more underneath. Although the dark-skinned, plump woman looked anything but really advantageous, his penis stiffened at the sight of her fleshy, naked thighs with their thick knees, straightened steeply.

Oh, you're really looking forward to seeing me, aren't you? It's not your first time, is it? Or is it?

He nodded coyly, but very sincerely.

Well, come to me then, my boy, I won't bite you, and after a moment's hesitation she added lustfully, at least not yet.

Lulu introduced Jules to the love between woman and man that afternoon. Peter had trained the boy to be completely attentive to his needs. Jules also tried to find out from this woman who was a stranger to him what she liked most and how he could please her best. Again, and again, she laughed loudly and throatily when he was clumsy or rough and once, when he had laboriously turned her onto her stomach and penetrated her for the first time with his member, she said in a somewhat pressed voice, But anal costs fifty extra, my little stud.

The woman smelled wonderfully of violets and another heavy and beguiling scent. It was musk oil, Jules found out later. It settled leadenly on his mucous membranes, but at the same time stimulated his lust.

That afternoon, Lulu showed him without shyness what a woman liked and what most of them disliked, although it could be great fun for both parties. Surely it had been clear to her from the beginning that Jules was still a boy and by no means an adult. But the love servant had a healthy business sense as well as a big heart, was full of compassion for a person in visible need.

Jules learned quickly from her and would be grateful to Lulu for her expert guidance for the rest of his life. This mulatto woman, perhaps forty years old and already quite used up, turned an almost sixteen-year-old boy into a man who no longer had to run away from anything on that Saturday afternoon.

Prehistory

June 2006 / Indian Ocean, off the Horn of Africa

Edward Hunter, called Eddie by everyone, rushed up the iron steps. He was only of medium height, but very slim, had dark brown, short hair and a handsome face. The third officer of the supertanker Daisy had been feeling the strong urge to urinate for over an hour. He had suppressed it until the very end, while he instructed and supervised the crew in changing the temperature sensors in the boiler room and in the maintenance work on the lift system. But now it was high time for him and his urgent need.

The beer from dinner, damn it, he growled through his compressed lips. A cramp in his abdomen made him pause, his face contorted in pain. His upper body writhed, at the same time he rocked on his left leg, surviving the stabbing pain. Only when the urge to empty his bladder had subsided did Eddie continue to climb the stairs.

Why did the captain order this damned night work? Tomorrow morning would have been quite enough. The old sensors haven't failed yet and the lift has always worked. The old man is crazy.

The boiler room was two floors below deck and