ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
Chapter Ten
"Chateau Thanksgiving"
A gray, overcast sky hung low above the garden. All the flowers
were gone, all the trees stripped of leaves.
Strolling the stone paths with the delicacy of a fawn, Ethan was a
solitary spot of color dressed in brown hiking boots, crimson -and-amber
argyle knee socks, amber short pants and a crimson fox-hunt-style coat --
an outfit I'd ordered from an Irish catalogue.
I stood on the patio sipping a mug of Irish coffee, my bare legs
goosefleshed in the brisk wind. I wore an outfit identical to the boy's,
wanting us to be close in every way.
"Honey? Are you cold?" I called, staring at the backs of Ethan's
thighs. He, too, had gooseflesh, faint sunshine reflecting off his smooth
skin in an illusion of warmth.
The boy turned to me, coat fluttering around his small form to
reveal a crimson sweater vest, amber shirt and argyle necktie.
"No, sir. I'm all right."
"Are you sure?"
"Uh huh."
"Well, button your coat. I don't want you to get sick."
The child obeyed and turned back to his explorations.
Ethan had met me in my room after Thanksgiving dinner. He'd packed
his bookbag and set it on the bed, unzipping the flaps to proudly show me
that he'd remembered his toothbrush, silk pajamas and Teddy bear.
"But you can't go like this," I tisked, pulling at the lapels of
his waiter's jacket.
"I brought playclothes. Thought I'd change at the chateau. Want
me to change now?"
The boy and I spoke as if we were planning a family vacation.
"I'd rather you wear something special. Like me."
Ethan regarded my crimson and amber outfit.
"Sure, but I don't have anything like that."
"Yes, you do."
"I do?"
"Remember I told you that I'd buy you special clothes?"
The child glanced at me over his shoulder. "You mean you really did?"
"Of course. You're my special boy, aren't you?"
Ethan nodded. I gripped his trim hips and nudged him toward the
bathroom to change.
Something caught Ethan's attention. He dropped to his knees on the
damp earth by a rose bush, elbows bent, hands flopping from his wrists --
again reminiscent of a fawn.
"What do you see?"
"A rabbit!" the child gasped with wonder, slowly bending down.
Sunlight gleamed along his olive, goosefleshed thighs as his crimson coat
pulled up like a curtain over the tiny round theater of his amber
short-panted ass.
I walked to the child and stood gazing down at his upturned
buttocks. The fabric of his shorts pulled tightly across his rump and an
image of the little boy laying on a silver platter -- an image generated
from Thanksgiving dinner -- as a feast on a table flooded my mind with
great clarity:
I thought of the boy-waiter on the platter, surrounded
with a garnish of parsley and small tomatoes. I imagined
smearing butter over his bare legs, of drinking
tall glasses
of red wine, of mounting him and taking his baby ass
in my hands and peeling his buttocks apart with my thumbs
as if parting a loaf of freshly baked bread.
I grew an erection.
"Don't get too close," I warned.
"Aw, Mr. Wilson. He wouldn't bite me."
Ethan would cry when penetrated. It would take many minutes until
his grunts and shrieks would give way to a frantic blubbering of pleasure.
Face gummy with tears, the child would convulse with dry orgasm as I pumped
into him. It would be a birthing and a re-birth: Ethan would grow up on
the healthy milk of my sperm until a distant night two autumns from now
when, aged 14, the boy would experience his first ejaculation. My cum
would make his cum possible.
"Can we feed him?" The boy sprang to his feet, his knees smudged.
"Tomorrow morning we'll feed him carrots."
"Do rabbits like carrots?" Ethan slipped his hand into mine. The
child was no longer shy or embarassed about our displaying affection.
"Yes."
Clouds swept across the sky as we headed toward the chateau.
"I'm glad you asked me to stay with you, sir. Thank you for the
new clothes."
"You like them?"
"Uh huh. They're nice." He smoothed his coat and shorts. Ethan
was a very clean, neat boy and had won 'The Healthy Schoolboy' award
several years in a row.
I squeezed his hand. "You look very beautiful."
Ethan looked up at me, boots clomping along the stone path. He
walked staring into my face and never noticed my erection.
I opened the sliding glass doors and ushered the child inside.
Ethan dropped to his knees and reached behind him to tug at his boots. I
removed my boots then hung up my coat on a rack by the door.
"Ugh! My boots won't come off. How'd you get yours off so fast?"
the child grunted, narrow thighs wriggling as he struggled.
I smiled and squatted behind him to help.
"Thank you."
"Let's not be so formal. We're not in class now. We're just two
friends, right?"
"Right."
I removed Ethan's boots then closed my hands over his chilled,
glossy thighs. Ethan's skin was so smooth there was no texture of pores.
"Your legs are cold!" I fretted.
"Not really."
The little boy exuded a fresh, autumnal scent: I touched my nose to
the nape of his neck.
"What are you doing?"
"Just enjoying you."
"Oh."
I slid my hands up to his arms, lifting them.
"What are you doing now?" he asked playfully.
"You had such trouble with your boots I thought I'd help with your
coat."
Ethan giggled, watching me undo the gold buttons. I tossed his
coat over the couch then spread my hands across his chest and tummy.
"You're so skinny. Eat enough turkey?"
"I'm stuffed!"
"Doesn't feel like it." I hunkered over the child, wrapping him in
my arms and legs. Ethan curled beneath my weight. I kissed his cheek.
"Mr. Wilson? Why do you keep kissing me?"
"I just want to show my affection. Don't you know that?"
"Sure. But you do it a lot. You touch my legs are lot, too."
The boy didn't sound upset but I withdrew quickly. "I'm sorry."
Ethan was as sensitive to my moods as I was to his and quickly
reassured me. "It's O.K. I was just wondering."
I stood, lifting the boy by sliding my hands under his thighs. I
carried him into the kitchen, gazing over the top of his head to his soft
legs spread wide in a "V" of glistening flesh.
"Yah!" he laughed, kicking. My erection grazed his buttocks.
I sat him on the counter. The child watched as I took a paper
towel from a roll above the sink, held it under the faucet, then began to
dab lovingly at his knees.
"Is that all right? Is the water too cold?"
The little boy shook his head and smiled shyly as I babied him.
"I can use warmer water," I offered.
"No. It's fine," he said softly, touched by my gentle efforts.
"But I can do it myself."
"Please? Please let me take care of you?" I whined. I must have
looked desperate because Ethan gasped and sat up straight, fine hands
pawing at the air to soothe me.
"All right, Mr. Wilson," he consented, high voice registering
confusion: the power he had over me was entirely out of synch with his
experience of adult-child relationships.
I wiped his knees clean until they shined round and wet, then I
tossed the paper towel into the trash and leaned forward, stretching my
sweater vest to dry them.
"What's that bump in your pants?" Ethan chirped, pointing at my crotch.
My shorts were stretched to the point of tearing, a dark circle of
pre-cum staining the fabric. "My penis," I answered calmly.
"It's that big?"
I swelled with pride. "Haven't you ever seen an erection?"
Surely, he had, his own or another boy's, especially morning
hard-ons. Or was Ethan so innocent as to have never noticed? It turned
out that he was because the little boy reached out his left arm to
investigate, tiny hand hovering above my crotch. I tensed, but Ethan
snatched his hand away when my cock jumped strongly.
"Why'd it do that?!" he gasped, startled.
"I thought you were gonna touch it."
Ethan smiled brightly -- my erection was a toy -- and sat waiting
for a more complete explanation. I set my hands atop his thighs.
"When a man or a boy is very happy his penis grows. Then he can
orgasm."
"What's an orgasm?"
I struggled for words he could understand as I pushed his shorts to
his hips. The pale flesh above his tan-lines came into view and I stroked
my thumbs there. I pressed my erection into his clean knees.
"Love. An orgasm is love."
Ethan stared at me.
"I love you, Ethan."
It was done. I had finally professed my love to the child: I felt
pure. I ached to hear Ethan say that he loved me, too, but Arcadia
students or not, 12 year olds boys are not naturally romantic.
"Your pants got wet from my knees," he said instead, mistaking my
pre-cum for water.
It was just as well. I prepared hot cocoa for the child and coffee
for me. Ethan chatted about school and soccer -- his favorite topics --
then I helped him off the counter. We collected our coats and boots for a
final walk in the garden.
The sun had set, the temperature plunging dramatically. There was
frost on the grass and the trees so that everything glowed with mystery.
The wind whistled. Little Ethan shivered. Effortlessly, I lifted him onto
my shoulders, velvety inner-thighs molding around my cheeks.
"It's cold, huh!" I asked, stroking his legs to keep them warm.
"Yeah!" he wriggled, fisting my blonde hair.
I carried the little boy down the stone path. The clouds had
passed, and the moonless night glittered with stars. Winter constellations
spun in a carousel above our heads -- a carnival of homoerotic love. The
frosted grass was as phosphorescent as the rolling waves on an ocean, and
Ethan and I set sail, explorerers. Wide fields and the Michigan forest
spread out in all directions to the horizon.
I thought of the long history of man-boy love. Of shepherd boys
sprawled on grassy hills in Ancient Greece, muscular Olympian athletes
reaching under their short white tunics. Of serving boys dressed in gold
silk loincloths at the private repast of Chinese emperors, whimpering as
they were pulled down onto plush pillows in royal tents. Of British
generals in colonial America taking little drummer boys aside to comfort
them so far from home.
"Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
We whispered, careful not to disturb the magic of the night.
"Look down at your legs?" I slid my hands to his ankles. "Are you
looking?"
"Yes."
"See the starlight on your skin? Pinwheeling points of light?"
"Um, yeah."
"The whole universe in your legs, Ethan. Your legs a compass
pointing True North. Leading me home."
The little boy said nothing as I slowly turned him to the four
directions, revealing his own legs to him. Awakening him to his own
beauty.
"I don't understand," he peeped, pulling at my hair. "You like my
legs?"
I nodded.
"Because...you love me?" The boy's voice was barely audible. He
had come to his destiny, to the place where all he'd been taught at Arcadia
and all the songs Spencer played on the radio were one.
"I love you with all my heart, Ethan."
"Then you...you can touch my legs."
My hands again sailed his starlit thighs. Plumes of breath rose
from our mouths, shrouding us in a veil of intimacy. I carried the boy
though the garden until he said he was cold.
Ethan and I sat side by side on the living room couch, eating from
a bowl of popcorn on my lap. A fire flickered in the hearth, orange and
red flames crackling, cedar logs snapping. We were silent, both of us shy
with sudden intimacy. The wind surged against the chateau, rattling the
windows, magnifying our isolation.
Ethan reached into the white plastic bowl, fingers scraping the
bottom. My erection surged and the bowl jumped. I pretended not to notice
as Ethan glanced up at me furtively, dipping his hand into the bowl again,
deliberately scratching the bottom. My cock surged. The bowl jump
strongly.
"Sir? Is that your penis?"
"Yes," I sighed, turning to brush the boy's auburn bangs from his
forehead.
"Um, are you happy?" he asked calmly.
"Very happy," I sighed, touching the Windsor knot of his necktie.
I stretched my legs out straight, cock and popcorn bowl bouncing. The
cedar logs crackled.
Ethan slowly picked up the bowl and set it on the floor.
"Because of me?"
"Yes, pretty Ethan. Because of you."
The little boy looked down at himself, biting his lips. "I'm not
pretty. Am I?"
If the heterosexual 12 year old was anyplace else he might have
begun to date girls, but his pre-pubescent urges could only be directed on
a man who had offered his love. A profound love Ethan would never know
again.
"You're an angel," I smiled, patting his head.
The little boy beamed, basking in my praise.
"How does it work?"
"How does what work?"
"That orgasm thing you talked about."
My heart quickened, a blossom of trust unpetalling around us.
"It...just does."
"Can you show me?"
The boy's thin face was pinched with anxiety, wanting to know a
secret. The fire highlighted his hair. I don't remember if I exerted
pressure but Ethan began to lower his face until it hovered just above my
crotch, his eyes wide and glowing.
"It's jumping. Like a fish in your pants," he observed.
I fingered the nape of his neck, my heart blazing like the fire. A
powerful frisson wracking my body and I groaned.
"Are you all right?" Ethan snapped his head up to look at me.
"Oh, yes! Honey, I'm going to have an orgasm." Smiling hugely, I
scooted down in the couch, amber shorts wedging in my crotch. My cock was
plainly outlined.
"How will I know? Will you tell me?"
Ethan gripped my thighs just below my shorts and stared at my
erection expectantly. The touch of his hands made me whine and dig my
heels into the carpet. I arched up rigid as a board, throwing my arms over
the back of the couch. Crucified by his innocence. I trembled.
"Your hands are so soft!" I whined, rolling my head. My cock twanged.
"Will you tell me when you orgasm?"
My life cascaded around me, shadows and light flickering around the
room. I watched the little boy stare at my stretched body, at my cock
throbbing wildly, firelight dancing along my trunk-like thighs.
"Mr. Wilson?"
I moaned and began to twist left to right. The absolute thrill of
wearing a short pants uniform these past months and the short pants suit I
now wore to match Ethan's consumed me.
"Mr. Wilson?"
Ethan studied me curiously, stroking my thighs, sensing that I
enjoyed it. His nails shined with butter from the popcorn.
"Please rub my legs!" I wailed, swaying above the couch.
The boy did. Connecting cause and effect.
Wave after wave of pleasure radiated through me. The boy's dainty
hands passed over my skin, glitter sprinkling in my nerves. I moaned and
trembled, knees locked and quads bulging. I went up and down, up and down
above the couch. Up and down before the little boy. Muscles straining.
Nearing climax.
I don't know how much time passed, an eternity, several seconds. I
watched the child's baby hands stroke me, watched him stare at my crotch,
unblinking. Perhaps expecting my cock to jump up from my shorts like a
Jack-In-The-Box. I strained, legs vibrating, muscles painfully knotting.
"Wow! You're legs are so strong!" the boy exclaimed. He tried to
sink his fingers into the steely fibers, bony arms tensing with the effort.
The strength, size, and experience differentials between us sent me
over the edge. Thrusting, I shot my load. I groaned and bucked, lost in a
heaven of pleasure. My man-thighs trembling in a little boy's hands.
Ethan's jaw dropped, his mouth forming a red, moist "O."
I gurgled and gasped in ecstasy/
"Is that it?! Is that an orgasm?!" Ethan rose up on his knees and
leaned over me, yelling into my face. "DID YOU ORGASM?!"
"OH! OH, YES, BABY! YES!"
Vision blurry, head spinning, I stared into the boy's hovering face
and kissed him on the lips.
In the energy of the moment, Ethan spanked my firelight-glazed
thighs with a cracking smack, his tiny hands bouncing off my flexed muscle.
The sharp flash of impact finished me off. I shot a final stream before
sagging into a heap on the couch.
Ethan snatched his hands from my thighs and raised his arms into
the air.
"YIPPEE!" he shrieked in that quaint, Arcadia way, as if he'd just
kicked the winning goal in a game of soccer. "That was so neat!"
I stared at the triumphant boy, gratified that I could please him
so. The boy threw himself onto me, twiggy arms hugging me with all his
might. I hugged him back, kissing his face, and the boy did not pull away.
"Thank you! Thank you!" I sobbed, beginning to cry.
"No! No, don't do that!" Ethan fretted, taking my face in his
hands and wiping at my tears as they fell. So gentle, so caring. "Why are
you crying?"
I found the strength to spin him around and sit him on my lap, my
hard cock pushing against his ass, my shorts and underwear squishy and
sticky with sperm.
"Little angel, shhh! I'm just happy!" I panted.
The boy was frustrated, overwhelmed by the intensity of my orgasm
and the powerful vibes radiating from me. Frustrated at his own,
misunderstood need for release.
"Then why are you crying?" he asked, unable to comprehend.
"Because I'm an orphan, too, Ethan. In a way. I'm a man who's
needed a little boy to love. You've made me so happy."
I showered the boy with kisses. Ethan's eyes grew moist, not from
distress but from love. The love he had ached for all his life as an
orphan. I sucked at his willowy neck, the flat expanse of his throat yet
unbroken by puberty's tell-tale adam's apple.
The little boy reached back to fist my hair, rising and falling on
my chest as my breathing slowed to normal. I kissed him and kissed him.
The boy drew up his knees, feet on either side of my legs, and I swept my
hands over his naked, glorious thighs.
"So soft. So soft and pretty," I cooed.
The fire burned, the flames licking the logs and sending red
cinders up the chimney.