ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
                                  Chapter Thirteen
                                    "Boyfriends"

        "Your collar's wrong, Mr. Wilson."
        I turned from the mirror and looked at Ethan.  The boy stretched
out his arms, lovely and elegant in his black waiter's uniform.  It was the
next morning; we were in my room back at the dorms.
        "Here.  Let me fix it?"
        It had been quite a while since someone helped me get dressed and
the young waiter was earnest.  Besides, I hadn't slept well, so I went down
on my right knee and raised my chin, staring up at the ceiling as the boy
folded my collar and adjusted my tie.  Over the radio, Spencer was
announcing the news: lunch and dinner menus, scores from intramural sports,
weather.
        "You'd better hurry and change.  Class starts soon."
        "I have time," Ethan answered, stepping into me.  I closed my hands
around his slender, glabrous thighs, thinking he wanted to snuggle, but the
child was reaching for my comb on the dresser.  Carefully, sweet face
conentrating, he ran the comb through my hair, then licked his fingers to
press my part into place.
        Spencer's nasal voice continued over the radio.
        "And that's the news.  Oh.  One more thing.  Have I said this
before, fellas?  I suppose I have -- " the boy DJ paused for effect -- "but
I've never said it today!  Happy morning, Arcadia Academy!"
        I smiled.

        Waking early, we'd set out just after dawn.  The tall grass was wet
with dew, and thick clouds of fog billowed across the ground.  The sky
flushed corral and conch in the east.  We walked in silence.  Harrison
spotted our approach and raced out from his chateau.  Jeremy ran across the
field to meet him, black latex skirt fluttering, yelllow-gold calves so
frail in the black boots.
        In the center of the wide field, Jeremy leaped into his man's arms.
The Englishman caught him and spun.  They laughed and kissed
mouth-to-mouth as  Harrison carried the child to his chateau.  Ethan
slipped his hand into mine, watching the scene with wide eyes.  I led him
back to campus.

        "There."  Ethan set the comb on the dresser.  "Now stand up.  Let
me see."
        I stood.  The child took hold of my shorts to inspect the crease,
then tugged my stockings straight.  Ethan's attention to my appearance
reminded of his winning "The Healthy Schoolboy" award.
        "How do I look?"
        "Good," he nodded, then asked rather seriously, "Why weren't you at
breakfast?"
        "I needed extra sleep.  Those people visiting made me toss and turn
all night."
        Ethan patted my hips.  "They won't bother you any more, Mr.
Wilson," he said.  "I don't want you to worry, O.K.?"
        "O.K.," I said, touched.  Apparently, the little boy had resolved
to look after me the way I'd resolved to look after him.  We stared into
each other's eyes.
        "Here.  It's all I could get but it's better than nothing."
        The boy-waiter reached into his coat pocket to produce a cheese
danish wrapped in plastic.  I took it and turned to unwrap the danish atop
the dresser, not so much from hunger as to hide my joy.
        "You're hungry," Ethan peeped, picking stray bits of lint from my
shoulders.  "You can't go to school on an empty stomach."
        I bit into the danish, sweetness filling my mouth.  The child
smoothed my suit coat, small hands stroking along my lats.  Then he sighed
and gently leaned against me, nuzzling his silky right knee against the
back of my right thigh.  My thigh tingled, my heart leapt: Ethan was making
an instinctive pass at me, responding to the earlier scene of Harrison and
Jeremy.
        "Now I have to change," he said softly.  "Don't forget the book
reports you graded last week.  I'll want to touch your legs around bedtime,
O.K.?"
        Ethan's unchanged voice chilled me with its baby-seductiveness.  I
bit once more into the moist danish, gaining oral satisfaction as the child
pressed his knee into the hollow behind mine.
        "Mr. Wilson?  Is that all right?"
        I nodded, unable to speak.
        "I'll see you then," he said, scampering to the door.  I watched
him exit on long, springy legs, the black waiter's coat flouncing around
his pert, black short-panted ass.
        Ethan's helping me dress would become a morning ritual, the pupil
sending the teacher off to school.

                                *               *               *

        I was in bed reading a book when the door opened.  Ethan entered,
wearing the regulation off-white school pajamas.  Without waiting to be
invited he climbed into bed and sat between my legs.  Folded under him, the
little boy's olive thighs reflected lamplight, dainty and tender between my
gold, muscular limbs.
        "I thought about you all day," he sighed confessionally, raking his
gaze over mmy body.  "I kept looking at your legs."  The boy's hair was
shiny and damp from a shower, his cheeks flushed from the warm spray and
from his excitement.  He smelled clean and fresh.
        Ethan had wriggled and fidgeted behind his desk during class,
staring raptly at my legs.  Each time I asked a question Ethan waved his
hand in the air, yelping "Oh oh!  Me, Mr. Wilson!  Me!"  I called on him
often, and the little boy bounced up and snapped at attention, reciting the
answers in a proud, happy voice.  At one point I sat on the edge of my
desk, my short pants sliding up my thighs and gathering tight.  Ethan
groaned loudly, eyes bulging, and pulled at his necktie.  I gasped: the boy
wanted me.  He truly wanted me.
        "Whenever you're ready," I said, setting my book aside, giving
myself to the child.  As powerful as my desires were, Ethan's need was
greater.
        "I'm ready," the boy declared surely.
        I spread my thighs.  The little boy scooted closer.  I had removed
my coat but was still wearing my shorts suit.  Ethan and I would masturbate
each other in our uniforms and wear them about campus.  Day after day.
Year after year.
        "Go ahead," I smiled, taking a deep breath.
        Nodding, the boy began to stroke my outer thighs, following the
long sloping muscles.  He shivered with pleasure, a dimpled grin animating
his face.  "That feels so good."
        "Do you like my legs, Ethan?"
        "Yes.  I do," he gushed, sweeping over my thighs, his fingers
brushing the hems of my shorts.  "They're so big and strong.  You're the
biggest, strongest, most handsome teacher."
        "Oh, sweetheart!  What a nice thing to say!"
        "You're welcome," he chirped, scooting closer until his tiny knees
made contact with my testicles.  I spread my thighs wider, thrilling at the
change in the boy's demeanor.  He hunkered over me, brown bangs in his
eyes.  "They're smooth, too.  Like mine.  How come you don't have hairy
legs like the other teachers?"
        "I just don't.  Some men never grow hair on their legs."
        "Oh."
        The child ran his left hand over his own glossy thighs while his
right hand stroked mine for contrast.
        "Try to remember how you looked in short pants as a little boy,
Ethan.  Try to remember how thin and smooth your legs are now because you
won't always be a little boy.  Someday you'll be a man with muscular, hairy
legs."
        Ethan shook his head.  "I can't see myself with hairy legs.  Yuk."
        I laughed then settled back to enjoy his feathery touch, watching
his dainty hands scramble down toward my stockings.
        "It's like waiting for that rabbit," he chirped happily, staring at
my crotch.  "Come on.  Come on," he coaxed.
        I groaned: the child was so innocent.  Then my penis grew, bulging
in the folds of my gray flannel shorts.
        "There it is!" Ethan sang.  "There it is," he repeated softly,
doe-eyes twinkling with fascination.
         I watched the child's perfect hands glide over my golden, naked thighs.
        "Do you like my erection, sweetheart?"
        "Yeah.  Look!  It's jumping!"
        The little boy stroked faster, knowing that he was responsible for
the lump in  teacher's pants.  Not realizing that we were making love.  I
began to moan.  Ethan grinned, happy because I was happy.
        "You're going to orgasm, aren't you?"
        "Not yet.  You can pull down my pants if you want," I coaxed.
        Ethan threw me a puzzled look.  "Why would I want to do that?!"
        "You can see my orgasm better with my pants down.  I don't mind."
        "Naw.  That's O.K."
        "You sure?"  I ached to feel the child undress me.
        "Well..yeah!"  Ethan hunched his shoulders, embarassed, then
brightened.  "But I can push them up!  Hey!  Can I push them up!"
        "Let's try."
        Pleased and eager, the little boy gripped the hems of my shorts and
yanked them up to my crotch.  My cock pulsed wildly, threatening to burst
through the fabric.
        "I can really see it now, Mr. Wilson," he said, rubbing my pelvis,
unintentionally creating friction on my cock as the tight fabric of my
shorts glided over it.  I stiffened.
        "Ow!"
        "What's wrong?"
        "My penis is bent down in my pants and hurts."
        "It does?  I don't want to hurt you."  He snatched his hands away.
"I'm sorry."
        "It's not your fault.  I can fix it.  May I take fix it?"
        "Sure."
        The little boy kneeling between my legs waited innocently, not
knowing what I was about to do.  Quivering, I reached down, unzipped my
shorts and drew out my 8" cock and balls.
        "Mr. Wilson!" Ethan gasped.  "What are you doing?!"
        Exposed, my turgid dong flexed, thick and silky in its sheath, blue
veins coursing.  My circumsized glans was a swollen plum.  I had no pubic
hair; I'd shaved my crotch, not wanting my genitals to appear too
dissimilar to the child's; I did not want him to know that someday,
unfortunately, he would have pubic hair of his own.
        The little boy sat like a statue.
        "I'm sorry.  I'll put it away," I said, gripping my cock but
doubting I'd be able to fit it back into my tangled shorts.
        "No, don't!"  Ethan clutched my hands.
        Silence.  Our eyes locked.
        Slowly, I slid my hands out from under the child's and left his
hands wrapped around my erection.
        "Wow," the boy gasped as my thick, adult penis surged and pulsed in
his dainty, baby palms.  He looked shocked, red wet mouth open.
        I lay frozen, equally amazed.  The windows rattled in a breeze, and
I thought of the other children in their beds above us, unaware of Ethan
and I gifting each other with our virginity.
        "It's huge," the boy peeped, loosely holding my cock.  His bony
fingers seemed too frail to contain it, and I wondered how it could
possibly be contained in his rectum.
I scooted down in the bed and reared up, setting my ass atop the little
boy's lap and wrapping my legs around his waist.  Displaying myself.
        "Men have such big pee-pees."
        I flexed my legs, making the frail boy snap forward, thrilled at
the babyish term.  Instantly, I forced myself to go limp: I was much, much
stronger than the boy and had to be gentle, proportionate to his limits.
        "How does it...fit in your pants?" he sputtered.  "Is that...is
that why men wear long pants?" he asked with misguided insight, doing his
best to comprehend.
        "No," I smiled.  "It's only a problem when I'm erect.  And I'm sure
your penis is so small that you won't have to take your erection out of
your pants."
        "I don't have an erection."
        I knit my brows.  Why wasn't Ethan erect?  Wasn't he aroused?  But
he was too stunned and anxious by what he was expriencing.
        "Mr. Wilson.  You're like...naked," the child whispered.
        "When a man and a boy are special friends and in love it's all
right to show their penises to each other."
        Ethan tensed.  Was my explanation adequate?
        "You want to see me penis, don't you," the boy said, his insight
correct this time.
        I sat up and cupped his thin face in my hands.  I couldn't be vague
anymore: Ethan deserved the truth.
        "Yes.  Yes, I do."
        We stared into each other's eyes, noses touching.
        "N-n-now?" he stammered.  Wanting to please me but clearly not yet
ready to expose himself.  My cock surged mightily in his hands and he
squeezed, making me gasp, electifying me.
        I couldn't resist.  I kissed his cheeks passionately, lips
smacking.  The little boy whimpered and trembled in my curling embrace, and
I realized that I was moving too fast.  I lay back on the bed, clawing at
the covers, head lolling on the pillow.  Rotating my hips, my ass gliding
over the boy's silken lap.
        "No.  Just watch me.  See how good I feel?  See how much I like it
when you hold my pee-pee?" I whined, employing his baby-term.  Accomodating
his level of development.
        Ethan watched, small hands fisted around my cock.
        "NGH!  GOD!" I whined, throwing myself back into the mattress,
quickly building to climax.  I waited several seconds for the boy to stroke
me but he did not know how, so I began to hump.  The child's hands bounced
against my orange-sized balls, slid up to the end-stop of my bulbous glans,
then back to my shaved pubes.
        "Mr. Wilson!" Ethan whimpered as I thrust up high, arching above
the bed and weaving my man-sized genitals in front of his shocked face.
Ethan's brown eyes crossed as he stared at my dick, the silky shaft as
thick as one of his wrists.
        "Just hold it, sweetheart!  Hold it!" I gurgled, moving my hips in
wide circles.
        Obediently, the child held my cock as if he was holding a wooden
spoon and stirring cake batter.  I went up and down, up and down.
        Ethan never moved, never reciprocated.  He was not afraid; he sat
frozen, awed, staring at my frantic thrusts, at my bulging thighs striated
with muscle and wrapped around his waist.  The child and I bounced on the
shaking bed, the springs squeaking, the headboard knocking the wall.  The
window rattled.
        It did not take long.  I curled up in a half-sit, grabbed the
child's hands and smashed them around my cock.
        "GRRRRR!"
        My eyes blazed into Ethan's.  The frail child flinched from the
intensity of my emotion, then flinched again as I spooged, blasting stream
after stream of hot cum in  thick jets that slapped beneath his quaking,
heart-shaped chin.
        It went on and on, my cock erupting and pulsing between his dainty
hands.  My gray flannel shorts fit me like underwear.  My jellied cum
dripped from Ethan's chin, hanging in long strands that stretched down to
my gold, smooth thighs.
        Yes, I'd lost control somewhat, satisfying myself when the little
boy might not have been ready to masturbate me.  But as the knotted tension
left me and I lay back on the bed Ethan merely wiped his chin on his
shoulders, stunned but otherwise intact.
        The boy held my cock as it slowly deflated.
        "Smells like fish," he whispered, sniffing his collar.
        I held out my arms.  The boy lay on top of me, the sperm on my
thighs moistening his.  I stroked his bony back, thanking him over and
over.  He listened wordlessly as I tried to explain man-boy love and why we
had to keep this a secret from people like state inspectors who might not
understand.
        I swore my love to the boy.  I promised to always care for him.  I
explained that he had just masturbated me and that I would masturbate him,
too, when he asked.
        Ethan placed his tiny hands on my pecs and pushed himself up,
gazing into my face.  Calm.  Brown eyes glowing.
        "I want to be your boy, Mr. WIlson," he chirped soulfully.
        "You already are, my darling.  You already are."  Tenderly, I
brushed his bangs from his forehead.  My devotion unmistakeable.
        The 12 year old shivered and closed his eyes, resonating to my
love.  Then he slowly climbed off of me, left my bed and walked toward the
door.  I gazed at the tops of his narrow thighs smeared with my sperm.
        The beautiful boy opened the door then glanced over his shoulder at
me, thin face pinched with emotion.
        "I love you, Mr. Wilson."
        "I love you more."
        The little boy stared at his spermy thighs, at my thighs, then down
at his hands.  Quiet and contemplative, his understanding of the world
changed.
        "I masturbated you.  I...I...I won't tell anyone.  I won't tell
those state people."
        "I know.  I won't either."
        The little boy wiped my sperm from his baby thighs, smeared his
hands across his pajama shorts.  "Smells like fish," he said wonderingly.
        "It smells like me, Ethan.  It smells like love."
        The little boy pulled up his shirt to sniff, revealing his flat,
olive tummy above the elastic waist-band of his shorts.  He stared at my
genitals, then dropped his shirt and gripped the doorknob.
        "G'night, Mr. WIlson."
        "Good night, angel."
        "Can we do it again tomorrow?"
        I rolled over onto my side and gestured at my legs, my shorts, my
genitals.  I felt incredibly sexy, filled with a new confidence that I
could give the boy everything he needed.
        "I'll be waiting."
        The little boy nodded curtly then closed the door.