Omnia Vincit Amor
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 2
Felix's Story
I had no idea what to expect at Frendon when I arrived there, a nervous little boy aged nine. I soon learnt that we were unofficially known as Vestals . I was certainly a virgin in every sense of that emotive word, and was to remain so for quite some time, until the joy of sex became a distinct possibility, at last. I had been looking forward to it.
Our parents; I have a younger brother and sister, could be described as liberals, with a small 'l', and with 'modern' attitudes to just about everything, especially education and way-out ways of living. We were strict vegans, wafer thin as a result probably, in a house with no central heating by choice, resulting in frost on the inside of the bedroom windows in January. That sort of thing. If we went to the beach, we didn't have a towel wrapped around us to hide our modesty when changing, and I witnessed mum and dad, I distinctly remember, making love in the garden one afternoon. I knew they must have done at least three times, but it was a bit of a shock to see them actually doing it. My presence would not have discouraged them one little bit. All part of the boy's education. You might have thought they would disengage when they saw me. No. Not a bit of it. My father just went on to the end with much huffing and puffing. I might have thought my mother was suffering pain but it wasn't pain at all, just sheer pleasure. I was nine at the time and as my hand went down to the front of my shorts, I found that my own penis had stiffened. By that age I was already interested. At night I was thinking about boys I knew and imagining undressing them. I'm sure I hadn't yet made the connection to sex, but that's what it was. There was one boy I had particularly in mind, a lovely dark-haired boy curiously named Bobby Philips, I saw regularly at our local church we went to weekly who I thought utterly beautiful; and he was. My parents had 'The Joy of Sex' as a coffee table book. I used to thumb through it often and get aroused at the illustrations of the male genitalia on view, in fact with the book open at a favourite page, inspired me to masturbate on a very regular basis, often downstairs on the drawing room carpet, my black labrador cross lying beside me and looking the other way! The model for the illustrations had a beard which put me off slightly, but his penis was to die for. Happy days lay ahead, I hoped. The door opened a couple of times at critical moments, needless to say, but my mother politely closed it quickly so I might complete matters.
When it came to sex education, my father handled that issue, which for many parents might present a thorny problem, but not for dad. He gave me at least three sessions whilst I was in my bath, lying out with just my knees slightly bent. It was a good place to explain matters as I was obviously nude with my bits on view. Naturally [for me] I got quite excited as his explanations got more and more explicit, and produced a very hard penis which proved to be the perfect visual aid, as we discussed the different parts of the male sex organs and what, in due course they would produce. I think once I realised I couldn't suppress an erection, we both relaxed completely and the three meetings were wonderfully productive. At the end of it I counted myself very lucky to be amongst such liberal and loving people, and I also knew pretty much all I needed to know at that time of my life. We touched on the subject of homosexuality and was asked a couple of specific questions which I answered honestly, and admitted my admiration for Bobby Philips. My father smiled, probably disappointed to hear of my minor infatuation for another boy. He being massively hetero, the thought of a gay son must have grated somewhat. On several occasions I found used condoms, usually referred to in England as Durex. Each one had been left on the bathroom floor, possibly deliberately, for me to find and then ask about, which I did during my epic bath times. That led to a very frank discussion on the subject of semen. I had wondered about it having worked out that it existed; had to exist in order to create new human life. In the course of my discoveries, I examined the contents of the latex object by holding it up from the completely unrolled open end, the length now being about nine inches long, whilst watching the cooled contents slide gently into the weird narrower closed end, filling it up, and then some. I thought the contents looked a very unattractive, slightly yellow with more whitish streaky bits in it. In terms of volume, I had no real idea but there was quite a lot of this strange 'stuff'. How can it make babies? How could it make me ? I left the detritus exactly where I had found it on the floor. The next time I went in, it had gone.
I asked my father how long I would have to wait until my body began to produce semen. Perhaps it never would? Another little worry the average nine-year-old might have, those that knew anything about the biology at all. He assured me that in due course I would, and when it did, perhaps I might let him know, which I did about a year and a half ago during a school holiday, albeit a tiny volume of watery stuff which I described to him. He said……'Well that's a start', and bent down and kissed the top of my head. Good old dad. I've no idea how he managed to limit his family to just the three of us; myself and my two older sisters. Both of them are boy mad, which in an odd way, suits me as I get to have a bit of banter with the current boyfriends when they get invited round, usually when there are no parents at home. The was a reason for that. Christina, aged twelve has started, but Clarissa, 14, has been going for a while now. Both of them have attracted rather interesting boyfriends from the aesthetic point of view which happens to be my point of view. None of us are allowed to lock our bedroom doors, not that they have locks fitted that work, or even shut them completely at night. I'm totally banned from going in the girls' rooms, or even going near the door, a rule I have always enjoyed flouting. With a boy round at the house, and everything quiet, I know there's a good chance they're up to something in there. The idea of putting a penis in one's mouth was something that had never occurred to me. Clarissa's door was nowhere near closed. It just wouldn't despite her requests to have it fixed so that it would close. Everything had gone suspiciously quiet one afternoon so I crept up to have a gander. So that's what they do! The technique is pretty much the same as handling a melting ice lolly, all mouth, lips and tongue used to maximum effect. I held my breath. I couldn't breathe if I had wanted to. At the last moment she withdrew her mouth from her boyfriend's penis, somewhat larger than mine I noticed, whilst still working her fist up and down on the boy's shaft, waiting for what she presumably knew was coming her way. The boy lets out a series of the most delicious gasps as he gropes again for Clarissa's pubescent breast, and presents my sister, and me, with a demonstration of how a boy comes, well and truly, vertically, and down onto her hand, more than once. So that's what happens. Gosh, was I impressed with that. That was not the only time I spied on the couple in order to enhance my education. My younger sister, Christina has yet to bring a boy home. She, like me, has to be satisfied with an alternative to a partner. She like me is careless with regard to very personal matters. It was certainly interesting to see how girl's get their pleasure, a topic of conversation with my father. He told me exactly how they do, which led to a serious discussion about foreplay and it's crucial importance, wise words that have stayed with me. Intimate experiences with a partner don't have to end in orgasm for one or both, but rather good if they do. I immediately retired to my room with the memory lingering vividly, to close my door and masturbate in less than one minute flat, producing, not the upwardly mobile spasm that the boy delighted me with, but just one solitary bead of gin-clear sticky stuff.
I'm sure my parents are quite highly sexed. My bedroom is next to theirs and in the past, and doubtless again, I'll have to put my hands over my ears. They love the sun, so trips to the nearby coast were always likely in the warmer months, and there was no chance of someone holding a towel around me while I dropped my pants to put on my swimming pants. I quite liked that. And a crowded beach at Brighton didn't stop my mum and dad having a cuddle either, nor did it deter him from rolling onto his back very obviously aroused inside his embarrassingly brief swimming briefs that to me looked like ordinary boy's pants similar to the ones my mother put me in. But my father is an affectionate beast, as he laid me on his bare tummy in the garden sunshine, me naked. I could feel his breath on my neck as he held me, his penis underneath me pressing against mine, with the inevitable result for me; a slim but quite lengthy example of a circumcised boy cock. He knew of course. He must have worked it out quite early on what my preference was going to be, following on from my admission concerning the very lovely and intensely lovable Bobby Philips. It wasn't just that.
It was announced that I might move from the 'pathetic' primary school I attended. So we began to look at alternatives, one of which was Frendon Manor School, right down there in Devon. We went to see it, sensibly during their term time which meant a couple of days holiday for me.
As soon as I got there, driving through the heavy gates and up the gravel drive, I was entranced by everything I saw. It was Bobby Philips multiplied by ninety-six, the number of boys in the school. We were met by the young man who introduced himself as Raphael, a name we stuck to for the few hours we were there. He had a boy with him, brown haired with lighter bits in it, and long enough to cover his ears, and more. Apart from his face, which I liked the look of, it was the way he was dressed that impressed me. The short trousers, the dinky little ankle socks, and the pale blue shirt, and the old-fashioned sandals. And the way he stood, like he was modelling for an artist, with his hands behind his back, his head help high in a kind of aristocratic way. He was very well-spoken too. Rather posh in fact. I guessed his age to be about twelve. I noticed that he ran his tongue over his lips regularly which I though a bit odd and self-conscious. He had very nice legs too, quite slim and fit looking, not weedy at all. Then I focused on the front of his shorts, a pretty snug fit that allowed what he had down there to be noticeable. I've seen that with men occasionally but not with a boy of twelve. I already knew that if you rolled down the waistband and hitched them up a bit, you could just about make things show. This boy didn't need to do that. The way the garment was tailored did the job perfectly. My overwhelming thought was that I wanted to look like he did. In the course of our visit, I saw nothing that discouraged me from wanting to come to this place. Within five minutes I had made up my mind. I'm coming here.
I had no idea about the no-clothes thing although I had an inkling because we passed by the swimming pool and although the view through the windows was not clear, the misty bodies walking around looked oddly pale all over. So my tour around the school with my chaperone Hugo was not that detailed, I certainly got the gist, and liked it. Meanwhile my father had left me to go off with Raphael to talk about the nitty gritty, leaving me with Hugo. About half an hour into my time with Hugo, I asked him where I might pee.
'I'll take you there. I need one too. You may as well see the dungeons.'
Hugo ushered me into one of the sit-down cubicles, no door and inadequate partitions between them. There was the usual lavatory pan with no seat, for us both to pee into, something I had before with other boys. Hugo undid his shorts to reveal a pair of white brief pants, and then down came the waistband to reveal the boy's smooth and creamy skinned cocklet, and the two oval shapes that go with it, neatly contained. I did the same whilst watching Hugo's hand as it held the visibly growing organ, gently moving the skin up and down it's rapidly extending length, pointing it in downwards somewhat. I waited for my water to begin its journey from my body into the loo pan which it duly did, keeping my eye out for accuracy. As I persuaded the last drops out, I cast my eye sideways onto Hugo to check for his progress. No pee, just his rigid penis, now pointing upwards, not downwards.
'Do you have this trouble Felix? Hugo asks.
'Umm, I suppose I do sometimes.' I replied, my heart racing.
'Do you think……..'
'No I don't think so. Not today. I mean, not right now.'
And so the tour went on, classrooms, gymnasium with no boys in it, science labs and so on. Finally we arrived at Raphael's office next to the Principal's. Both my father and Raphael looked pleased.
'So what do you think Felix?' Asks my father.
'Can I come here? I really want to.'
So that was it. Living as we do, a couple of hundred miles away in Sussex, I was to board at Frendon, and having seen plenty on my visit, I was very happy to do. Raphael stepped forward to shake my hand…..
'Excellent Felix. We look forward to seeing you next term. I'm going to send you home now with a set of the clothes you will wear here. Give you time to get familiar with it. Hugo will sort you out. Mr Warrior, the sandals you will need to organize. Everything else we provide. Have a great holiday Felix!'
Hugo did sort me out.
'This size will look great on you Felix.' He says, holding the items up for my inspection. 'By September you might need larger, but that's easily sorted.'
And it was. In the meantime I had possession of my new 'uniform' before going down to Devon, and very exciting I thought it was, as I examined my new underpants. That first night back at home I went to bed substituting my pyjama bottoms for my brand new superlatively sexy pants and thinking about my new friend Hugo and those few interesting minutes I had with him with our pants down around our ankles. Indeed, the shape of things to come. In Hugo's case, a different shape to mine. He'd been 'cut' as he called it. I'd never seen one with that done to it. I'd seen a few of the ones my friends had but none of them were like that. My father had no need to mention the issue during my sex ed chats as these days circumcision is pretty much unheard of; doing that to a baby for no good reason as far as I could see. Hugo noticed my surprise as I looked down.
'Interesting?' Hugo asks. I said nothing but continued to stare. 'A few of us have got ones like this.' He says as he lifts it up higher giving me a sight of the underneath of the head, quite wide and perfectly sculpted.
'Yours is the same if you pull the skin back isn't it?'
So I did, and it was the same, but smaller. Much smaller; but by now, growing fast as his hand replaced mine.
'Do you want to touch it?' He goes on, waggling his own a few times. By now it had reached full length. I was impressed. 'It won't bite you. Go on, feel it.'
Entranced, I did, by wrapping my whole fist around the hot and hard object.
'Now do it. You know what to do don't you?'
Of course I did know what to do, so I obeyed and did it for him. It took about two minutes, being not quite my first sexual experience, shared with a boy. At the last he gave me a low calm sigh and produced. Not much of it, but of supreme significance for me being the first time I ever saw anything other than wee fountain out from the tip of a male penis and fall in an arc onto the floor, apart from the last knockings which dribbled onto my hand.
'You'd better get rid of that now! You can't leave it on your hand like that. You'll get into trouble.'
Perturbed by his last remark I did get rid of it in the most obvious and convenient way. Having done the deed, I looked up, wide eyed, into Hugo's smiling face.
'Not so bad was it?'
'No……it wasn't'. I said, licking my lips again. The aftertaste lingered on for the rest on my tour. I was rather shocked by my behaviour.
I think my father's only reservation was the possibly concerns regarding the unconvincing academic curriculum, but my enthusiastic response outweighed his worries. At Frendon Manor School there is a proper curriculum, surprisingly, but wrapped up either side of all that stuff is a way of living, and dare I say it, a very loving way of living. The whole place lies on a feather bed of true love which we are encouraged to develop for our fellow pupils, for ourselves, and for our Supervisors.
Some of the clothes one would have expected to need there, we didn't need to take to school. For example, swimming trunks. We never use them here simply because nudity, ours, is considered acceptable and normal. Our bodies are sacred temples to be cared for in the best ways possible, and to be seen for the beautiful things that they are. That means my body and every part of it. That means an ultra-healthy diet and plenty of exercise of various kinds. Another item is underwear. We do wear such an article but it's provided for us, and there's just one style for all, a bespoke model one might call almost unisex [my mother says not quite ] consisting of a single shape of a very slightly textured white cotton material, folded over and stitched to make leg opening seams, no elastic within, and the same to form a waistband with a wide elastic band of some sort within. The result is a not-too-brief single thickness garment that is comfortable to wear in any weather, and makes us look utterly delicious as it clings to the form of a boy, be him a pre-pube or one of the few far more endowed versions of boyhood we have the pleasure to gaze upon as we stroll about the place. Factory made boys' knicks [as we call them] have a double thickness from the perineum going beyond the anal area, for a good reason. Ours don't need that small extra defensive layer simply due to the rigorous cleaning every boy has to do after every BM. Learning how to do that was a very pleasurable and necessary task involving the insertion of one finger of your choice, the middle finger in my case, into one's anus and a short distance beyond. This is how I found out what a prostate gland was, or is. I went to my Supervisor, a young man called Raphael, and asked him why I could feel a lump inside my bottom. Naturally I was a bit worried about this thing. What is it? We had been told [by him] that wiping the moisturizer around the outside of the anus was not sufficient. We should delve deeper into the abyss with one finger, we call a dodger, to clear out anything remaining slightly further up. All that made perfect sense. But what was this firm rounded object up there?
'It's your prostate gland Felix. All boys have one for a very specific reason. Nothing to worry about. It's meant to be there.'
'But there is Sir! Something's wrong.'
'No there isn't. Stop worrying.'
'I can't Sir.'
'Alright Felix. Would you like me to check it out for you?'
Someone else's finger? Ok, no choice, and guess what? I rather enjoyed it. He said that's what it was, definitely. And then he proceeded to explain its function, all of which was news to me. Not even my father had thought it necessary to mention it probably thinking that if he did, I would want to play with it, and end up watching the telly with a finger up my bottom all night. So I got told one more fact of life, as that stuff gets officially called, essential information for boys and girls. It's all about a boy's reproductive works and, dare I say it, extremely interesting. A clever little organ, that one. All parents, hopefully, have seen their sons spring an erection from time to time, but this was the first time a.n.other had felt what I had to offer, the front part stimulated by the back part. My examination was strangely pleasurable as I had already developed a bit of a passion for Raf, as the others call him. Raphael is a bit of a mouthful. No more than his early twenties at that time and as we all agreed, very handsome. His intrusion into a very intimate part of my anatomy didn't seem anything other than a right thing to do, under the circumstances. He was a trusted friend who slept so near to us, you could easily go to him for a reassuring hug after some trying event, a horrid dream, or worrying news from home. That was his function; to be a friend and confidante, as well as a very strict enforcer of the rules. There weren't too many rules because we didn't need them. But those we have cannot be broken without drastic consequences. I think that's why we are so happy at Frendon, because of that. We know exactly where we stand. If we do wrong, as all boys do from time to time, it might be painful. And it was, very painful. It is our choice to ask for that kind of punishment, not his. I am like most boys here, all for the quick sharp shock, rather than some laborious task. But it was over quickly and soon forgotten. Raf would administer himself, either on the hand or our bottoms. I chose to lower my shorts leaving my knicks in place, and take it there. I cried, naturally, but more from remorse than any severe pain. Raphael always encourages us to cry if we feel like it, and never to hold back on that show of emotion. I'm sure he's right. One's always better for it. I did feel shameful as my crimes were usually an unkindness towards another boy. Failing to love another as I should. That's a crime. If we were punished, we knew we had done wrong, and accepted both facts because we deserved it. The school's motto should have been written large everywhere; Love One Another. Raphael did. Every day he shows just how much he does love us. I also think he loves how we look too, but I'm not going to speculate on whether he has an unhealthy interest in boys. That's his business, until such time, which I hope will never come. He knows too much.
The other bespoke item of clothing were the short trousers we wear. Again we are told what our correct size is, according to the judgement of our Supervisor, mine being Raphael, who likes his boys quite neatly packed in down there, both front and back. I love it this way. As time goes by we will be put into the next size up according to our growth. We have no access at the front for peeing purposes, and they have two small fake pockets of little practical use, apart from carrying a handkerchief around or pushing fingers into. Access to your pants is easy. Nothing to undo, so just stretch the waistband forwards and you have convenient access to a relaxing fiddle during a lesson should the mood take you, inside or outside your pants. Looking at a boy's front, you can instantly tell what 'stage' he's at. They are always a perfect fit. I love them, a nice faded grey colour. Boys can't walk around with their hands in their pockets. The default position for idle hands is behind your back, Royalty style. Finger tips inside the waistband maybe just to tighten the fabric nicely. Below the calf we wear grey ankle socks and Clark's sandals, all very posh like an old-fashioned English boy on holiday, but I'm sure we look lovely. I remember trips to a Devon beach and how we got looked at by passers-by. Raphael used to tell us what a pretty sight we were; and we are, and we know it, and play up to it, naughty us, giggling all the way along the prom. Most of us have embraced the longer hair look which we think makes us look all the more……..interesting. Some of the Vestals look like girls, but I can assure you, they are not girls !
All of us new boys got used to the nudity thing, and very quickly it meant nothing to us. Privacy too was minimal. We all go to the loo. We all have to keep ourselves clean. So swimming naked was liberating and all the more enjoyable for that. The Supers swam naked with us, so most boys saw mature males in a new light. And that too became something quite unremarkable. A large penis was like that because it belonged to an adult. It wasn't amusing, or something to be giggled at, but just another fact we accepted without thinking. Conversely, a tiny penis is a fact too, and seen as perfectly normal, even among the oldest boys here. Some boys are taller, some thinner, some brighter, some quieter. Some skins are dark, some light. And so on. Those are all facts.
We all made friends, and those boys who found that trickier, still found someone, even if it had to be managed a little. We were taught how to manage friendships through Considerate Behaviour and, again, love. Later, in Years Three and Four, as Cubs, some friendships became more physical as our emotional needs developed. We were away from home, but the last thing we needed was a cold an un-emotional environment. So teddy bears were discarded in favour of the boy next door, who was real and exciting. As soon as I arrived, I found out what the word 'masturbation' meant. I had never done that particular trick, although I had fiddled with my erections endlessly in bed at night and in the morning on waking, but never took it far enough to orgasm. Soon after my tenth birthday I experienced my first real one, courtesy of my friend, a compliment I returned immediately after. It was an expression of the affection we had for each another, and wonderfully pleasurable. He knew about it but I didn't, so it was quite a revelation for me. Basically you just go rubbing up until it comes. We called it 'The Feeling'. I realised at that moment that had I persisted in the previous couple of years and not given up so soon, I could have had a lot of pleasure! Masturbation was tolerated by the time we reached our third year at Frendon, a thing not allowed in the first two years. I never quite worked it out how they knew, but a Vestal had to wear pull-up nappy pants at night for a week if he was caught doing it. 'Pulling Percy' was considered unnecessary and bad for our health, until such time as it was frankly, impossible for them to prevent it. Besides, it lowered the risk of a different kind of bed wetting for the very few older boys who had become serial 'wets'. That was a badge of honour, being a wet, and a question I'm sometimes asked by an innocent, or not so innocent Vestal. Are you wet yet? Some boys lie and say they are when it obvious that they can't be. I have no need to lie, but I'm not going to prove it to them. There's one boy in this place I don't have to prove it to because he knows well enough what I'm capable of. He's my Peter, and his peter's mine, as mine is his. Why my father called it 'your Peter' I have no idea. Maybe something to do with peeing? Anyone elucidate?
We had talks about the growing up problems boys often experience, always delivered by Raf himself. We were introduced to idea of CP, which is not what you may possibly think it is. CP stands for Considerate Partner. Most of us achieved a union of that kind, almost always with a boy our own age, or within one year. Personally my desires were towards a younger boy but that's just me. Peter, aptly named and year younger than me, suited me in every way, quite shy and quietly determined that we should make our 'marriage' work. It does work. We could discuss anything and everything together, including sex, which was rising higher and higher on our agendas, daily. Again, solo self-abuse was hugely discouraged in favour of a regular mutual arrangement. This works incredibly well for me and Peter too. In my last three years I have had three CP's, the last being sweet Peter. We are in love, and although unlikely to ever meet again in later life, we still are; at least I am with him, the lovely boy that I'm sure he will remain for ever. He'll never change. He'll be my Peter for ever. I say this with tears that instantly form whenever I think of him. We have made love together in so many ways besides any physical stuff, which was limited due to where we are. But it doesn't stop us. A tiny red rosebud appeared on Peter's pillow one evening. I certainly didn't put it there, but someone did. The night before we had 'consumated' our relationship very nicely indeed, during which time we were no doubt oblivious to anything or anybody else around us. We must have been noticed, or heard. To this day I have no idea who put that rosebud there, no doubt plucked from one of the bushes in the rose garden here, just before the flower opened. Peter and I went to bed at the same time and we both noticed the object carefully placed in the middle of his pillow. He looked at me, blushing as he did. I laid him down on his bed next to mine and kissed him deeply, and told him how very much, almost unbearably so, I loved him. Peter thought I'd put it there, and I didn't say I had not. I had not, but I did have my suspicions. Peter's bud had opened for me that night, and come into a glorious flowering.
And then, not too long before I left the school for mainstream secondary education, there was Michael who became my Co-Supervisor with Raphael. They shared a room next to our group of three Cubes which had two beds in each one, separated by a vertical tongue-and-groove partition you can easily see over, if you wanted to, or underneath. So if you were nosey, there was nothing much to stop you from peering over the top to have a look-see at what your neighbours were up to. The trick was to keep as quiet as you could to avoid any interest in your activities; not always easy when you're having fun; and you probably wouldn't know you were being listened to or even watched. Mine and Peter's Cube was sandwiched in between the other two so we had four potential voyeurs! Mind you we could do the same to them, which we did regularly. To look up and see two faces peering down at you can be a surprise, but the other way around is fun too. To observe your neighbour at that most intimate moment.
Fellatio is very popular, not only because it provides deep and satisfying pleasure for both partners but it also means nothing gets on the lovely fresh snow-white linen. The fact that Peter was not a wet when we first engaged in that way had nothing to do with it. I told him that if I didn't get his cock in my mouth that night, I'd never sleep again. He smiled, pushed his middle bits forward, and presented himself to me with the most lovely moist pair of lips imaginable, again, and said….
'Mine are good too.'
And how, with nothing left over.
Our 'marriage' certainly worked, an informal arrangement only referred to by a tiny minority of the boys, but gave me 'rights', as discussed and agreed upon. For example, dressing him and undressing him is my right. He would stand between by knees as I sat on the side of my litter waiting for me to pull up his knicks into the correct place, sporting a the most wonderful up , a hard rod, just a few inches from my face, his hands on his hips, looking down, knowing what was coming next. With breakfast five minutes away, there was no chance of any result for him, but it was a couple of minutes of bliss for both of us to get the day started, matters to be completed later at Rest Time no doubt.
Michael was introduced to us as a student trainee, to be treated with the respect afforded to any other member of staff. But he was different, far more one of us than an ordinary Supervisor. He was obviously in his element with young boys. That was very evident from the start. Peter and I would have a nightly speculative talk, very quietly, about our prospects with him. Both of us found him out of the ordinary. Raphael was nice looking but Mike was something else, with beautiful longish fair hair that seemed to fall in waves, like sunlight, which he'd toss back with a flick of his head. We'd seen him naked enough times, but what we wanted was to see him in that other state . I knew Peter was getting concerned about me rejecting his advances some nights. I think he'd guessed I had other things on my mind, that's to say Michael's private parts that we considered he had no right to keep private. Peter thought I was saving myself for someone else, and no guesses as to who that was. But if you can't have the real thing, then imagine it. But as we all know, that's no substitute!
I first met Mike the day he came for his interview. Raf let slip one day soon after that Michael had left his school prematurely, but didn't say anything about the circumstances that caused his untimely departure. He stayed in Raf's room next to our three Cubes that night after his interview which I thought was a bit odd. I went for a pee about nine and had a listen at Raphael's door. No sound, so they must have turned in very early. I was still awake at ten when Raf did his rounds. Mike was with him. Both Mike and Raf were in white tee shirts and shorts, Mike's very fetching indeed. He wasn't in them when he came for interview that morning. At some stage he'd changed into more Frendon kit, obviously provided by Raphael from Stores.
A few boys thought Raf was 'on the other team', a 'left footer', but that made no difference as to how we viewed him. He was the kindest guy going. I pretended to be asleep, as one did, hoping that Raf had made a new real friend in Michael. The next morning they both did the waking up procedure, fully dressed as usual, but Mike hung around in our Cube for a couple of minutes longer. I'm sure he wanted to linger a while. Peter and I got out of bed smartly and showed him, in our not-so-subtle way, what we were made of as we set off for the Dungeons to do all the things boys need to do in the morning, together as always. I had the distinct feeling that I had made a good impression on Mike which I was desperate to do. I'd seen him nude in the pool and that was enough to convince me. All that day, the interview day, I kept eyes on him, which I could see he liked, returning my smiles every time. We hit it off, as they say. The Headman, or the Chief, as he is known to the boys, called me into his office just after lunch. He asked me how I got on, or not, with Mr Michael Warrior, the interviewee. I said I liked him very much, and that I thought the boys would like him too, not least on account of his young age which I understood to be just seventeen. I refrained from telling him all the reasons why I liked him.
'Good. When you see Raphael later, tell him there's no need for me to see our candidate later. He'll know what that means.'
I knew what that meant too. He's coming here. Excellent!
I was surprised to see Mike again. It was about six when he turned up at the pool. We're usually in there twice each day, weekend included. A couple of the lanes are roped off for lane swimmers who want to improve their times. I was in one of them when Mike joined me in the next one. We swam more or less synchronized for about twenty lengths. I stopped first at the shallow end.
'Nice stroke Felix.'
'Do you think so?' I said, slightly out of breath.
'Umm. Very nice. You do have a good stroke. Do you enjoy it?'
'Yes I like it very much. Do you?'
'Oh yes. It's quite nice doing it together don't you think?'
'Yes.' I said, wondering if I had misunderstood the message. 'Perhaps we can?'
He smiled at me again. Was that little exchange a hint dropped? Me being me, I assumed it was.
'Do you have a train to catch later?' I asked, standing, dripping.
'Tomorrow. I'm staying here tonight to get a feel of the place in the evening and at night. How it all works. I'm coming by the way, next term. I've been offered a job here. Not a terribly grand one, but a job all the same. Next year is your last one at Frendon I understand?'
'Yes.'
'I'm staying with Mr Raphael. He has enough room for me. I know we're next to your Cubes?'
I nodded.
'I thought we might have a chat later? If you had time? I'd like to get to know how things work for you here.'
One thing you have here is time. Time for just about anything.
I noticed the clock on the Main Building. Six twenty-five. In the course of our chat, as we meandered around the grounds, we talked about the school he had just left. I got the impression he wanted to talk about it. I hoped he would open up to me, just a little, and he did.
'I should still be at school Felix.'
'So why aren't you?'
'I had a slight problem.'
'What sort of a problem?'
'Oh, something I did, which I ought not to have done.'
'And there's no health in you?' I joked. It was part of the C of E mumbo jumbo we have to say at Saint Mary's.
'You might say that. I thought; I hoped he was a boy who liked me, but he obviously didn't like me enough to not do what he did. But he was right to do what he did.'
'Oh dear. What did he do?'
'He reported my sin. My sin against him. One night. Actually I made the same mistake the next night too.'
'Two nights then?'
'Yes. Two nights running. The next morning the shit hit the fan. I agreed to jump ship before they chucked me out. I'd just had some very good news about my future and I must have been in some dangerous state of euphoria which convinced me that I loved everybody and they loved me back. Sadly that was not true. I'm sure you wouldn't want to hear any more about this Felix?'
It was clearly a cry for help. Poor Michael. It hadn't happened that long ago, just a few weeks, and the open wound was still critically painful for him. Great. He's opened up for me.
'I do want to hear Mike, if you want to tell me?'
'May I? Raphael knows. Just between us? Raphael says you're special, and I think you are too. Very. Do you think I should stay away. Not accept the job?'
'You have already, haven't you?'
'Yes, but……..'
'You should come here! The other boys want you. Raphael must want you too. I want you. I do .'
I could see it in his eyes. That look. I've been looked at like that before, plenty of times. And no doubt he could see it in my eyes too. He's told me something, inexplicably really, about himself that was intensely personal. He'd done something he ought not to have done and paid the price for it. But what we've done can't be undone. Then I told him something about myself. About what I would have done if I was that boy. I would never have told on him. I would have rolled onto my back and let him do what he wanted to do with me, and enjoyed it.
'It might have been so good. The two of us. Me and Simon. No one else. Just us two.'
'Like now?' I said. 'It's just us two isn't it?'
'Yes, I suppose so. How old are you Felix?'
'I'm thirteen. Not far off fourteen. September.'
'I'm seventeen, just. Roughly three years between us. When you say things, do you know what they mean? Do you really understand what you're saying? Do you really understand what I'm saying to you?'
'Yes of course I do! Exactly. So, was there a meeting with the boy? When he accused you?'
'No. Not at any stage. I met my Housemaster on the stairs in the afternoon and he asked me if I had mucked about with this boy. Those were his very words. Mucked about with him. I admitted I had, on two consecutive nights, quite late when all the boys in the room were sleeping.'
'So you woke this boy up?'
'I must have done, but he didn't say anything at the time. He was facing away from me, on his side. He must have felt my hand and then made himself……. unavailable I suppose. So I couldn't touch him.'
'You have no memory of touching his bits?'
'No, I'm sure I didn't. He didn't let me.'
'But you wanted to?'
'Oh yes. Pretty badly. I wanted to give him something. Be nice to him. Show him how I felt about him.'
'So you were frustrated?'
'Oh yes. Both times I took my hand away and lay back in bed and did it.'
'What was his name?'
'Simon.'
'What was he like?'
'Not tall, quite sturdy, but with a pretty face. I'd known him for years.'
'And you just suddenly decide to do this thing?'
'Yes, in a word.'
'And you left, without any formal meeting between you and your accuser?'
'That's right. Nothing at all. Just that meeting on the stairs with the Housemaster…….and later a meeting with the Headmaster, about eight that evening. He said he was sorry. He said you can't imagine how sorry I am. I apologized to him. That was it. I wandered around the city until about ten and then went to bed which was made up for me in the san, and then the next morning Matron ran me down to the station in her ancient Austin 7 for me to get the train home.'
'And how did your parents take it?'
'Not too well. My mother was very upset. She'd been informed by telephone the previous day. She'd gone over the road to see the vicar of our church.'
'Your father?'
'He'd left the family by then. He was having his own problems. He never came back.'
'Where was he?'
'In prison. He embezzled money from a Trust Fund he was responsible for. About nineteen thousand pounds.'
Silence.
'You see, I appear to have a problem Felix.'
'Was the boy nice looking?'
'Not as much as you are.'
Another silence.
'I feel really bad for you Mike.'
'Not as bad as I do. It wasn't right to do that to Simon. I deserved it, of course I did.'
'It's just that you didn't ask him first. You should have found some way, or got a clue beforehand, not just dive into his private sleeping space.'
'I know all that now Felix. It's alright being wise after the event.'
'It goes on here all the time. Is that why you want to come here? To be near us lot. All those naked bodies? Are you……..?'
'Yes, I suppose so. You feel safe don't you. Here, in this place?'
'Perfectly. I think all the Supervisors are here for the same reason, probably. But I think it stays in their heads. Liking us the way they seem to. There are lots of things we can't do, but they can't do things, like touch us. I wouldn't mind if Raphael touched me. Sometimes I wish he would. I don't think they realise that some of us would enjoy being cuddled. Just an arm around a shoulder. Nothing more than that. What they say and teach us is a kindness, but sometimes we need more than that. They do teach us about sex. Everything about it so we will know what's happening when we confront it. Like puberty. Being gay. Being straight too. All that stuff.'
'Is that you then Felix? Do you need some comforting?'
'Yes. I used to suck my thumb but I got broken of that habit, eventually. They put some foul-tasting brown stuff on it. I thought that was cruel. I still do it, but when no one's looking. Like this.'
I gave Mike a demonstration of how I liked to suck my thumb, with embellishments, like running my mouth up and down the length of it and using my tongue. If that wasn't a hint, I don't know what more I could have done to tell him. I'm not sure Mike got my not so oblique hint because I think he's very naïve. He must have been to stick his hand into that boy's bed like that, the daft apeth. Peter's ok, and I love him, but he's not the real thing. I've never had the real thing. Mike is the real thing. He excites me. His body excites me. His recent troubles excite me. He's probably a major wet too. Just imagine it! All that stuff coming your way. I know I can make that happen so easily for him. If he'd just let me try. I know I can do it. If I can do it for Peter, I can do it for Michael. Oh goodness, I'm drooling at the thought of it. All that stuff! I know what I'm going to do with it too, as and when I get to extract it from him.
I could imagine how Mike was feeling that fateful night, that boy Simon just a couple of feet away, a lovely pretty body just waiting for him. I know how he must have thought so irrationally. Unthinking. How many times do we do things without weighing up the possible, or in this case, the likely consequences? It sounded to me like the boy was encouraged to complain by dissidents around him relishing the fall of an authority figure like him. That's how they saw Mike, in loco authority. They succeeded alright, but without the key witness, the accuser, giving his side of the story in the presence of the accused. How they would have enjoyed their victory, those nasty boys. Another thing. How did Mike know what, exactly, he was supposed to have done. Was the boy's story exaggerated, encouraged to do so by his dormitory mates? And why was Mike put in that position in the first place, to be put in harm's way like that, made to sleep next to a younger boy he was attracted to? Surely it's the teachers' job to keep the kids in line, not another boy? His people were paying fees for him to do part of their work. That's not entirely fair. To be expected to do a job a paid member of staff should have done. To keep those unpleasant children in line. Why was that his job to do? If he wasn't there, put as he was in that room with younger boys, it would not have happened. Then it was all finished by a short conversation on the stairs. Mucking about. What does that mean, exactly? I'm bloody angry with those people. I am. It wasn't fair on Mike.
I put my thumb back in my mouth.
'Does that feel good Felix? Do you wish you were still doing it?'
'I do still do it, now and again. My thumb likes it, and so do I. It feels sexy.'
'Sexy? How's that possible?' Mike asks, almost laughing.
'I don't know. It just feel comforting I suppose.'
'Peter? Do you comfort him?'
'Umm. But he's not so interesting. He's just a kid. He's lovely but he can't……..'
'You mean your thumb is more interesting? Is that what you're saying?'
'Not exactly. I told you. I wouldn't have complained if you'd done that thing with Simon to me. How about if I touch your hand? Will you complain if I do? Report me to Raphael?'
'No, certainly not!'
'Good. I'm safe then. I'd prefer to see the whole year out. I'm not ready to face my parents for the foreseeable future like you have to. Anyway, I've got Common Entrance to come yet. Can't miss that, as boring a prospect as that is.'
'Will you pass it?'
'I better had. Actually it's a piece of piss.'
'So can I then? Touch your hand?'
'Yes. Are you going to let me put mine in yours too?'
That was sweet. I opened my hand and he put his in mine. I gripped it hard. I looked into his face and then he lifted up my hand, turned it over and planted the most soft and gentle kiss right on top of it.
Raphael wakes us up every morning. What if I ask Mike to do it tomorrow?
'Ok, I'll ask him. I doubt if he'll let me do that job.'
'Well if he doesn't, do it some other time. Come in to our Cube.'
'What other time?'
'I don't know. Say an hour after lights out?'
'I'm in his room. He'll know if I leave the room.'
'If I'm asleep, wake me up. Ask him anyway. He might be asleep by then. You could sneak out.'
'And put my hand into your bed?'
'What? Pretend I'm Simon? You could do what you wanted to do for that boy. And rest assured I won't be complaining. Your hand feels nice by the way. Do you want to try my thumb? Just to see what it's like?'
I offered that small part of my body to Michael Warrior, stuck up near his mouth, like a tiny penis waiting to be comforted by moist warm lips and tongue. How could I? Easily. I find Mike incredibly sexy. There's no reason on earth why he can't muck around with me; not in my book of rules. And then I can muck around with him, if he'll let me. I rather doubt that he will somehow. I know exactly what I would do with him, poor guy. It's what he really wants and needs, but thinks he can't ever have it. Of course he was a silly sod to do what he did. Mad in fact. But I think he was poorly dealt with. Shoddily treated, and I'm betting that the 'authorities' thought he did far worse than he did. He didn't touch the kid's bits. He'd know if he did. He'd remember what it felt like. Anyone would. That's not a thing you'd forget. I can remember all of them, not that there were that many. Soft and warm, or hot and hard. Either way, you don't forget the sensation of touching boys……there.
I was showering with a Vestal one morning, it being the only shower head still available. He asked me if he might feel me. He had a pretty face and possibly fancied me.
'Fine, go ahead.'
He did. Then, naturally, I felt him in return. I haven't forgotten the feel of his little stiff peen in my hand. He went from miniscule to a stiffy in seconds, the randy little toad. They are not allowed any relief, not that many of them would know how to do it. I'm always prepared to grant favours.
I took Mike's right hand and isolated his thumb and put it against my face close to my mouth while I continued to give my own thumb exactly the same treatment.
'Are you going to share then?' I offered.
I took my thumb out and transferred his to my mouth, and continued to please it, pulling out every little manoeuvre I had in my repertoire, turning towards him slightly and resting my left hand on his thigh. If this doesn't send the message loud and clear, I don't know what will, or scare the living daylights out of him. This is something I know how to do rather well.
'You can stop now Felix.' Mike said, breathing in deeply.
'Why? Didn't you like that? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…….'
'No. I did like it. Very much. I'm a bit frightened of getting into hot water here Felix.'
'Why? You're completely safe with me, and I feel safe with you too. Please, don't be frightened. I'm just a boy.'
'I know. That's the problem isn't it? You are a boy; and a very nice one. Can you not see my problem Felix?'
'I can, but I want to convince you that there isn't a problem; and never will be. Why would there be? I'm not that sort of a boy. I'm ok to be with. Aren't I?'
'You are, you are! You're lovely to be with, more lovely than you could ever know. Believe me.'
'That boy Simon. I can be him if you want? Why would you not want that? He's gone now, but I'm here. There's no reason to wait. It could all be too late by then. Carpe diem Michael Warrior. Carpe diem. Don't rely on tomorrow. That boy. Would you have kissed him if he'd asked you?'
'Gosh yes! I can't think of anything better, until……..'
'Well then? Carpe diem.'
I looked Michael square in the face with just the faintest smile. His mouth was open and I saw the tip of a tongue slip quickly between his lips making them shine in the afternoon light. I opened my mouth and drew slightly closer. Come on Mike! Surely you know what to do now?
It took Peter a while to get the hang of kissing properly, but when the penny finally dropped, he got into it beautifully, something that always brought both of us up hard in no time at all. Next step; hands into groins and finger tips probing through our knicks into BH's. Goodness, how kissing does the trick.
But will it work for Michael? Maybe.
I don't think anyone forgets that first kiss? As first and Second year boys, known rather oddly as Vestals [we were certainly virgins at that stage], there was no possibility of any hanky panky with a anyone, nothing more than a quick fiddle with one's own bits. But that is the norm so our body systems were fine with that. Year Three and Four boys, known as Cubs, had a bit more freedom which by that age, which they badly needed. Thus they could make friends amongst themselves and be a little more physical in their outlook, including forming a limited sexual relationship, but again solo masturbation was not tolerated. A sort of pre-pube chastity belt was required for transgressors in the form of a pull-up nappy object, sealed tight around a tight waistband into which a frustrated hand could not operate successfully. There was naturally a stigma attached to such individuals who were seen to wear this formidable night attire, resulting in the inevitable acceptance of this rule. But, and it's a big but, because a Cub was free to come to an arrangement with another Cub, but to be performed privately, normally during Rest Time after lunch. Fifth and Sixth boys, The Princes in the piece, received regular sex education which included the usual procreation stuff, and quite a lot of extra info that might come in handy. There were books in the library, well thumbed, not available to the younger chaps. One had to ask to look at them. Thus we had access to all the how-to-do-it manuals, but all drawn illustrations not photos, sadly. But; there were several catalogues of photo 'art' available too, which attracted a good audience as they were studied behind tables by various aged boys including the youngest. The Vestals would try to hide the books, pink faced and with their fingers fiddling with the shorts, making the their little rods tingle and grow. You could always tell what they were up to. Little boys can't hide it as much as they try to. Rather funny really. They shoot you guilty looks hoping you haven't twigged what they're up to.
We were always encouraged to ask questions during those sex-ed sessions which sometimes extended to bed time chats with Raphael who always seemed keen to fit in an extra Q and A, and very willing to go into details. He'd choose critical times, like when we were getting ready for bed with the six of us in the three Cubes were in some sort of state of undress, often just in our briefs, or nothing at all. He'd get us together in one of the Cubes, sit us down and ask if any of us had any questions about the sex-ed session we'd had that afternoon. Inevitably one or two boys had very pertinent questions; matters they hadn't quite understood which needed lengthy clarification. With us all sitting close together on one bed, these were interesting times. We'd arrange between us in advance some questions to ask, the answers to which we knew but also knew it would be fun to make Raphael go over those issues again. Naughty us, as usual!
Philip, Robert's CP, often came up with amusing questions, which amused Raphael as much as it did us.
'Do all pods [bottoms] look the same Sir? I know they feel the same, but do they look the same? I mean, is mine just like Rob's?'
'Probably not Philip. Not exactly. We are unique beings.'
'I've never seen mine. I'd love to know what it looked like.'
Raphael produced his mobile phone.
'I can show you if you really want to know?'
Philip drew his knees up high. Five of us had a peer into that very personal part of Phil's anatomy. There's an outer ring of darker skin pigmentation, lots of tiny creases, all leading inwards towards a tightly closed and pristine anal bud. I suppose they are not very pretty things, all said and done, but fun to play with, or have played with in one way or another. Raphael showed Philip the result, zooming in. An interesting, if rather brutal image, that if I'm honest, it began to arouse me. Philip is an attractive boy with whom I have done nothing sexual, but on occasions have thought I'd like to. His bottom looked very ripe for a fiddle.
'There you are. Now you know.' Says Raf, deleting the image, presumably, and pocketing the device. No mobile phones allowed for us. Goodness knows what we would have done with them if we all had them. Well actually I do know what we would have done with them. What quite a few boys do with them, unsupervised and privately.
Inevitably we all wanted to know what ours looked like too. Boys eh? One by one we all provided the appropriate view, and then were shown it. My bud didn't have such a pronounced oval area of darker skin, but in every other respect it closely resembled Phil's pod.
The conversation rambled on about buds and pods in general, and Philip wasn't the only boy to be well on the way to bonger status, encouraged by general fiddling. Philip again.
'Why are bongers all different Raf?'
'Like faces Philip. All different. No two the same. But they all do the same job.'
Philip is yet to be satisfied.
'What makes them go hard Raf?'
'Seeing things, thinking about things and people, all kinds of reasons.'
'But what actually makes it stand up like this?', he says, a small finger and thumb around it.
'Blood Philip. Blood enters and fills it making it enlarge like that. You know all this.'
'I wasn't quite sure Sir.'
Bollocks Philip. You know perfectly well. You just want us all to look at you, and why not? But he's still not finished.
'Is it true Sir, that you can get sperm from us?'
'Yes if there's a reason why we need to. Only then.'
'How?' David chirps up.
'We have a small machine that stimulates the penis and brings about ejaculation. That's how.'
At this point we are all ears. It sounds like we can all be masturbated to a thrilling conclusion by a machine? Really? That sounds like fun.
'Can we see it please?'
'Sure. One moment.' Raf says, getting up from the bed opposite. He's gone for a minute before returning with the object in question. It has a wire attached with a plug on the end which he puts into a nearby wall socket.
'Anybody want to volunteer their thumb?'
'Don't you put it on………..'
'Yes.' Was the short answer.
My five co-residents look at me as the sacrificial lamb.
Philip says…..'Felix want's it Raf. Do him. But he doesn't want his thumb involved.'
'Looks like you've been volunteered Felix.' Says Raphael. 'You ok with that?'
What could I say?
It's a small white thing with a strap and some Velcro to hold it in place.
It's only my thumb, but it doesn't take any imagination to know what it would do if it were placed where one would really like it!
Raf agreed to leave the device with us for a while, just in case we wanted a play with it. Philip was wildly enthusiastic about it, again volunteering me to be the guinea pig.
The very thought of an imminent orgasm at the hands of this thing has me aroused alright. Philip fiddled with the bits and got me connected to the machine as Peter and the others look on, spellbound. With everything in place, he presses the button and off we go. The buzzy bit is tight against the underside of my penis, and just below the head, a place I know to react best to any stimulus.
Within a minute I can feel some involuntary movement, not only in my penis but deep within, possibly in the anal area and between there and my perineum, and then all the way up, as my five colleagues wait for the expected explosion. I'm known to be a wet for some time now.
Two minutes later there's definitely something happening. All the sensations are getting stronger just as they do when Peter does it that way, or the other way too. Just the same feeling when you know it's going to happen at some point.
Everything began to move inside, like the feeling was gathering force, getting stronger by the second. The involuntary twitching increased and the whole sensation felt like it was getting out of control, but it's all too late to stop it now. I'm about to come.
Peter leant forward to lift my night time tee shirt out of the firing line so my stuff would spill directly onto my tummy.
There were the last little twitches before……..well you'll know what happens. It did, with around four deep pulses sending my warm milk in puddles onto the soft skin of my tummy. It must have been fifteen seconds before it was all over. I was breathing hard by this time, my penis as hard as ever it was, still twitching. Peter examined the result, touching the stuff with his finger-tips.
And that was that. The demonstration for five very quiet boys was over. It was incredible how quiet everyone was, post my successful performance, courtesy of Raf's milking machine. I wondered if it would work on a Vestal, indeed a naughty thought. I think a few of them would like it, if I know my Vestals at all.
It must have been about nine thirty, all the Cubes in darkness, all the other boys asleep presumably, me lying on my side, when I felt the bedclothes move behind me. I lay perfectly still hoping my nocturnal visitor was indeed Michael Warrior. The bedclothes moved again. Nothing yet.
More movement, and then I felt it. Fingers on my flesh, first on the top of my shoulder, the back of my head, and then lower down on my back where the hand executed delightful circular and very comforting movements on my warm skin, now under my sleep tunic. I drew my knees up higher, still on my side, as I felt the hand travel lightly over both buttocks, around and around it went, then from one to the other, finally slipping between the two towards my BH, my tender bud. It was the most exquisite sensation. Perhaps Peter had woken for some reason and felt in the mood.
Then the hand left this stage, only to return a few moments later. It felt moist, and I immediately recognized what it was. I raised my right knee and turned a little more onto my tummy, thus widening the gap between my legs. The finger moved further between my buttocks and to my bud, finally resting against it, beginning to move, this time in tight little circles. The hand disappeared again only to return with more of what I knew to be necessary for my comfort and joy. A minute later my non-orgasmic internal sexual experience began. Five minutes later it had ended. What that boy Simon had not offered Michael, I had been given, and for his and my own pleasure. I could only assume it was Michael Warrior who had granted me such a favour. Not a word was spoken of it, at the time or later. Never.
I needed to masturbate urgently after that experience, with my visitor gone. I kept thinking about that boy Simon that Michael had tried to interest that fateful night. Neither Michael or I had been fully satisfied just a few minutes ago, and I need to be now. I could never get to sleep in this state. I touched the tip of my penis. There's some stuff there. I looked at Peter in the bed next to mine, and knelt beside it. He's on his side asleep, his knees drawn up high. I lift the duvet and see his bare bottom, the sleep tunic ridden up his back to reveal in the half-light the creamy skin. What a beauty he has, full and inviting. I carefully lift one buttock. There it is. His boy-bud, ready and waiting for me. I hear a sound and the curtain that gives our Cube a little privacy, moves. I look up and see Michael. He can't sleep either. He looks at me, his mouth open, and whispers….
'You ok?'
I shake my head as I replace the duvet over the lovely Peter, still fast asleep.
'I can't sleep. Not yet.'
'May I help?'
I nodded. Michael looked down and saw me as I am. I looked back at him, downwards. He's the same, and I'm doubly excited now. Goodness, what is he going to do with that?
'How can I help you Felix?' He whispers, moving closer until I can feel his breath on my face.
It was clear how we wanted to start things off. By kissing. Of course that's the always the way with me, not that I needed anything. I don't. I'm more than ready.
We kissed, our hands behind heads. Thirty seconds in, I had to feel him. One hand to get around everything he has, and between his legs too. He opens them wider, so I go through the space and find his tightly closed bud, surprised that I didn't encounter any pubic hair at all. Everything was smooth. He's only seventeen so maybe boys don't have that yet, in that place?
The kiss went on, but time is short. Raphael is sleeping in the next room, presumably. Perhaps he knows.
We broke the kiss and he turns me around, kissing my neck, and laid me flat, sideways on the single bed, my feet touching the floor, my face against the far side of the bed, my hands over the edge. I hear him kneeling between my legs. My bud must be dry and there's no way I could possible accept him.
Two minutes later it wasn't. With his breathing quickening and very audible now, I felt his ejaculate against my bud, again, and then several times more. And then his fingers. I'm wet now. Very wet and it's not mine. He's made me wet and I loved it. I wasn't penetrated, not quite, just my body used for the purpose of stimulating another for his pure pleasure. I like the idea of that. That's being kind to someone who has suffered injustice in my eyes and who deserves something nice, which he can get from me anytime he wants, poor boy.
But it's not over yet. It is Michael. He's hovering over me as I lie here, his hands either side of my body as Peter sleeps on. By way of granting my permission, I can guide his head. His warm ears, his beautiful hair as I run my fingers through it. Everything working……..every part of my body involved, as the tide of passion rises, and rises, until the moment when I bring forth everything that I have for the lover of this moment, as my bud pulses. These long yet fleeting moments of joy.
His eyes are open and wide, his face flushed, surprised even, his mouth washed with me.
Keep me there Michael, where you have kept me these last moments, you safe in my arms, keep me in you still, as you rise to kiss me to share a part of me , what I am for you, what I can give you, all I can give you, a sweet kiss full of goodness, until I'm gone from you.
We are quiet now.
What a difference a day makes.
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