Robert tries to give Iggy "the talk"

“Part of becoming a man is marriage,” Robert said.  
            Iggy glanced up from his book, a rather hefty tome on Greek grammar that Brother Clement exhorted him to study. He sat in Robert’s study. His uncle had been engrossed in estate papers upon Ignatius’ return from the priory and lessons.
            “Yes, sir,” Iggy piped up. He cleared his throat discreetly. His voice was deepening, but it embarrassingly squealed or skeetered off into higher octaves often. “I understand.”
            “Do you?” Robert replied, an amused bow to his lips. “Have you never thought of marriage?”
            Honestly, no, he had not. He was but thirteen going on fourteen and where he had come from seemed more important than where he was going. Iggy did not say that aloud. He merely shook his head.
            “You’re yet young, but young men often become husbands by seventeen or eighteen,” Robert said, setting the charter he was reading aside. “In the priory, this may not have been mentioned, but as my heir, it is my imperative duty to arrange a suitable marriage for you.”
            “Yes, sir,” Iggy replied.
            “I’m your guardian. I helped and arranged and signed the documents for many of my siblings’ marriages and will do so for yours and my other wards, save the the ones who have dedicated their life to God,” Robert went on. “I want to take you on a circuit of my lands in the spring. So you can see what you will be inheriting.”
            Then Robert steepled his hands together, hiding his bearded mouth and said, “Of course, to make a marriage, one has to know facts. Growing up where you’ve grown up, you won’t know much about the act of procreation.” A gleam came into his eyes. “Then again, since your father….never mind. Have you ever seen your stablehands mate a stallion to a mare?”
            “No, sir. But I’ve seen and heard the rooster rutting the hens.”
            Robert laughed. “Oh, aye. Country bred, you are. Humans do the same thing. Rut, that is. Though of course, not in the same way. Same amount of squawking though, if you’re lucky.”
            Iggy shifted in his seat, uncertain of Sir Robert’s comments and sudden chuckles. He felt hot and cold come and go in his cheeks.
            “When you do the deed, lad, the man must put paid to the wench. You can take your clothes off or leave them on, depending on the situation. You must, of course, undo your hose and have your member out.”
            Iggy then knew that he was blushing.
            “You know when your member hardens?”
            Throat going dry, Iggy nodded.
            “That must happen for the deed to occur. You probably get hard on anything, but when you’re older, your prick is more discerning. The woman must at least have her skirts lifted. When she’s ready, you slip your hard prick into her cunny. That’s between her legs, mind you.”
            Igg conjured to mind any and all of the women he knew. He knew women had udders, breasts they call them, like cows, for he’d seen the wet nurses feeding the babies at the orphanage. From there, though, he knew there was a stomach, then a lack of equipment between the legs.
            “Be-between the legs, sir?” Iggy asked.
            Robert grinned. “Aye. They have to spread them—the legs—so you can see. ‘Tis covered in hair on top, like the hair you’ve got near your member. But underneath that, there are folds that grow slippery when they’re ready to futter and their cunny opens up to let your member in, eh? Get it?”
            “I—I—” Iggy swallowed. “Yes.”
            “You move it in and out for the deed. ‘Tis a heady feeling, no doubt, and why so many abuse the feeling and the act. It is most pleasurable. In the end, you’ll come. Your seed will shoot into her womb and perhaps a baby will come of it.”
            Iggy squirmed. He felt his member growing, lunging about in his hose.
            “That is all, in physical terms,” Robert said. “There are variations.”
            Iggy tried to put an informed expression on his face.
            “I have to—to use the privy, sir,” Iggy said quietly.
            “Go to,” Robert said, waving him off. “But come back. I want to finish this discussion with you. ‘Tis of paramount importance to me.”
            Iggy rose awkwardly. “Yes, sir.” He left the study and strode out of the back door to the nearest privy, a small wardrobe-sized structure made of wood and sunk low into the ground to prevent the structure from blowing away with one good wind. He opened the door.
            He heard a gasp, then an indignant, “Lord! Don’t you knock!”
            His cousin Margaret was kneeling over the wooden seat, holding her skirts and petticoats out of the way. He could not see anything. Iggy stepped backward. In the priory, the lads had a privy with two holes dug and the same for the girls, while the nuns and monks had their own garderobes in their dormitories.
            “I apologize,” he stuttered.
            Margaret huffed, then stood, her skirts smoothing over her legs. She stalked out of the privy with a stormy, muttered, “Ingrate!”
            Iggy watched her return to the house, then stepped in, slammng the door shut behind him. He undid the ties of his hose and let his penis dangle free. It was engorged and growing. Turning his back to the privy door, Iggy gripped the offending body part and stood over the noxious seat.
            Iggy may not have known about the act as happened between a man and a woman, but he knew something of how animals begot offspring and figured that it had to have applied to humans as well. Living in a gallery full of lads of all ages for most of his life, however, Iggy knew that lads’ penises grew, then became hard, sometimes at inopportune moments. The monks always said, to the boys in private, that pleasuring one’s self was a sin, a grave sin, that wasting one’s seed was a sin, and that acting on any feelings of a base nature outside of marriage was also a sin. It may feel good, but it was mere temptation and and temptation must be resisted.
            The boys hid their physical activities under blankets, in privies, and other private places. They never alluded to it during the daytime, except in snickers and whispers, clear away from the covered but sharp ears of the nuns.
            So Iggy knew what to do to bring himself to a calm place, to bring him back to himself.

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