The Thread That Binds an Activist Romance

By Michael Morris

Nineteen-year-old Mark is caught in the eternal triangle. Torn between Shona, a woman of his own social standing who his parents approve of, and tempestuous Katy, unemployed vegan activist of dubious standing.

Mark, Shona and Katy find themselves drawn towards each other's social circle. Until they become intertwined with a binding thread that challenges their perceptions and helps each of them grow in maturity.

"The thread that binds" is an erotic activist romance that shows how love can cross the divide of race, social class and upbringing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Morris
• Release date: Nov 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005476816

Michael Morris

I work or have worked as a research scientist, government policy adviser and university teacher. I have a number of publications, but all of them are science or advocacy pieces, especially relating to environmental protection or animal liberation.My book on animal liberation in New Zealand was published in 2011 and some parts have been updated in 2020. The descriptions of the way animals are treated has, unfortunately, not changed much.In late middle age I decided to realise an ambition to become a better writer, and I completed a Masters Degree in creative writing. My fiction writing will be published here as I get around to formatting and posting them.

Book preview

The thread that binds:

an activist romance

By Michael Morris

Copyright Michael Morris 2021

Smashwords edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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 considered how lucky he was to have Dr Wilson as his choir master. Dr Wilson’s 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.

John Wilson raised his baton to start again from the top. 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 seemed to think that the dark burly figure was worth slowing their pace and giving a flirtatious grin.

Sorry girls. 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 eyes. 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 Muhammed 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 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’. Shona made 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 lost himself in musical contemplation. The goose bump-inducing melody of the violin solo in the first movement contrasted nicely with the heat given off by Shona's warm flesh pressed next to him.

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 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 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. 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, and this time more deliberately, Mark let his gaze fall on her. 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, while they were driving 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.

For the next few days, Mark was kept busy 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. So it was a week later before Mark 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, usually 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 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. Mark ignored it.

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 table, 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.

More interesting than conversation were Shona's tits, the shape of which he could see through her t-shirt and bra, firm and pointing.

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 real 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 aceing 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 use 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 were 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. 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 ran 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 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