ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
Chapter 16
"Christmas Eve Party"
"Mr. Wilson? I think the muffins are burning."
"What? Oh, no!"
I hurried to the oven and opened the door but the cranberry muffins
were plump and golden; I had caught them in time.
"Are they burnt?" Ethan stood by the table sprinkling nutmeg over
eggnog in a crystal bowl. The kitchen was warm and filled with aromas from
our day of cooking.
"No, honey."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," I sighed: the kitchen was Ethan's domain.
"Um, maybe I better check." The little boy walked over, plush
purple velvet flouncing about his narrow thighs. Ethan's short dress was
cut circular and full: it made the boy's legs quite dainty, puffed sleeves
doing the same for his arms. Setting his hands on my hips, he leaned over
my shoulder to inspect the muffins. "Oh. They're O.K."
I was struck by a childhood memory of helping my mother prepare
Christmas dinner and was grateful for the opportunity to give the orphan an
equally lovely memory. I turned and hugged him -- a slim doll of a figure
-- showering his face with kisses.
"Mr. Wilson. Don't," Ethan struggled, pushing at my chest, black
doll-shoes ticking against the white tile floor. "I haven't finished the
salad."
"Oh, relax," I smiled. "They're our friends."
"And I want them to have a nice dinner."
The little boy broke away and hurried to the refrigerator, glossy
legs flowing up under the short dress that made his rear pert and bubbly.
He brought out lettuce and tomatoes, set everything on the counter and
began cutting frantically. I scratched my head. Ethan's intelligence gave
him a complex personality: there was still so much to learn about the
child.
* * *
My colleagues had been wrong: putting a dress on Ethan wasn't
difficult at all. Arriving at the chateau that morning, we knelt
beneath the tree in the living room, the boy in school uniform and I in a
splendid, royal purple shorts suit. The boy chatted happily with party
plans.
"Well, we have enough food so that's taken care of. Gerald and
Eric can stay at Mr. Harrison's and Spencer and Patty can stay with us.
It'll be too late to take them back to the dorms. Um, we can dance in the
living room and...."
Little Ethan gasped in wonderment as I placed a large box wrapped
in purple foil atop his smooth lap. The expression on his face captured
the magic of the season, and he clasped his hands beneath his chin. "For
me?"
"For you, my darling." The little boy was so pretty, so pretty.
He read the gift tag out loud in his clear, high voice:
To the most wonderful boy whose name is Ethan.
From Mr. Wilson. With love, respect, and gratitude
for our having met. Merry Christmas.
"Wow. Thank you, sir," he said, flattered.
"You're welcome. Now let's see what you got," I encouraged.
Ethan tore at the wrapping paper and sent it flying in all
directions. I held my breath, fearful that he might react with distaste,
but the child was genuinely delighted as he brought out the fancy,
dolly-dress.
"Oooo!"
"Do you like it?" I beamed, tousling his hair in relief.
"Yeah!"
Life at the Academy left Ethan only vaguely aware that dresses were
for girls. There was no stigma attached to dresses: Ethan simply knew that
short pants were for boys. Besides, the dress was a gift, purple his
favorite color, and appealed to his fashion sense.
"It matches your suit," he observed with bright eyes.
"I like when our clothes match. It makes me feel like we're a team."
The little boy excitedly held the dress against his immature body
for size. "I've never worn a dress before. What's it like?"
"I don't know. Men don't wear dresses."
"You'd look awful silly," Ethan giggled, studying at my muscular
adult thighs then at his own slender limbs. "Boys can wear dresses?"
"Little boys, yes. Jeremy wears dresses."
"That's true." Ethan ran his hands over the plush velvet. The
dress was the finest thing he'd ever seen and he plainly wanted to try it
on.
"Will you wear it for the party?" If the boy was going to protest
then now was the time. I bit my lips.
"All right," Ethan said pleasantly, gathering the box and dress.
"Be right back."
The boy ran upstairs, feet pounding the wooden steps. He descended
minutes later, black doll-shoes with gold buckles, purple footie stockings
with lace trim and long, luscious legs coming into view. The expanse of
his thighs went higher and higher. Where was that dress? Then the boy
stood on the landing, left hand on the banister, grinning from ear to ear.
"Ethan!" I bounced on my heels and smacked my thighs in delight.
"You're so pretty!"
"Aw!' he laughed, flapping his hands at me and blushing. The 12
year old looked exactly like what he was: a cute, lanky pre-pubescent boy
in a fancy dress, his body all angles. A child's dress, neither sexy nor
suggestive. I watched him familiarize himself with the royal garment,
shifting from foot to foot.
"It feels funny. Real loose. Nice, I guess."
"Are you wearing the panties?"
So boyish, wanting only to share his adventure, Ethan gripped the
black trimmed hem of his dress and yanked it to his chest, twisting his
trim hips left to right, displaying the tiny, black lace silk panties
framed between his smooth stomach and thighs. Now and then, until he
reached puberty, I would send Ethan to class in his blue blazer, necktie
and knee socks -- the standard uniform -- but with a charcoal-gray pleated
skirt instead of short pants. In the history of the school only Ethan
would enjoy this exception to the uniform.
* * *
A snowmobile idled to a stop in the garden. The weather was
bitterly cold, the wind-chill below zero. Campus security was acting as
escorts. We tried to minimize the student's exposure to technology,
wanting to preserve their worldly innocence, but it would have been
irresponsible to ask that they walk to the chateau.
"Time's up, honey."
"I'm ready!"
Ethan turned and proudly set the salad on the table, wiping fine
beads of sweat from his forehead, smiling at me. A perfectionist. As a
father and husband this personality trait would create horrible conflicts
for Ethan, unable to resolve society's oppressive norms with his love of
boys and the conviction that his son should experience the joys he'd known
as a youth. But we were innocent to the future. The present was all that
mattered and it was good.
Our first guests arrived, Harrison and Jeremy. The Englishman was
dandied up in a festive apple-red suit while Jeremy wore an apple-red dress
that set off his platinum hair nicely. As Harrison and I poured glasses of
wine, Ethan helped his classmate remove a short, prissy red coat with
white fur trim at the neckline and hem.
"Jeremy looks delicious," I complimented Harrison.
"Your Ethan is gorgeous," said my friend. "He's such a boy."
We watched the children chat about their outfits, inspecting each
other and nodding, twisting to make their dresses swirl, then clinked our
glasses in a toast. Within minutes all our guests arrived: Mr. Tomita and
Ronald; Gerald and Eric (Eric was Jewish and wore a yarmulke); bony
Emiliano and the elderly black teacher, Mr. Stephen; Headmaster Arcadia
himself with Benji; and Spencer and Patty. All the boys wore their blue
wool capes and Ethan hung each one in the closet.
Ethan seemed to be everywhere at once, the perfect host, cheerfully
seeing to the needs of our guests. Positively radiant. "Freshen your
drink, sir? Try the dip, Ronald, I made it myself. Another glass of
eggnog, Gerald?"
All the boys were surprised by Ethan's and Jeremy's dresses,
especially Spencer. Fascinated, blue eyes wide, the gentle blonde asked
what the strange clothes felt like and where they had come from: he had no
memory of ever seeing dresses. Ethan and Jeremy proudly explained.
Spencer pulled at his tie, gazed longingly at Patty, then trotted over to
where I stood with the men, waiting politely until he was acknowledged.
"Yes, honey. What is it?" I smiled, running my hand through his hair.
"Um...I know this is irregular and it's all right if you say no,"
he said shyly.
"Don't accept a refusal before you ask the question," said the
Headmaster. "Be assertive, son. Nothing's impossible."
Us instructors nodded solemnly, knowing the wisdom of our
patriarch's words.
"Yes, sir," Spencer peeped, knees knocking cutely, gray shorts
fluttering. I squeezed his willowy neck for encouragement. "M-may I ask
you to please order a dress for Patty?"
"AWWW!" went us men in unison, laughing.
The blonde teen blushed, embarassed and confused by our reaction,
but I draped my right arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.
Us men discussed the matter, Spencer turning his earnest face to
follow our conversation. We decided that a yellow dress would look best on
the 8 year old to accent his stout, white baby legs. Then Spencer was sent
on his way, wobbly and dazed from the effort of his request.
"That boy is a gem," said Headmaster Arcadia, and we nodded in
agreement.
Spencer walked to the tiny object of his affections and hugged the
redhead from behind. Patty flashed a toothy smile and went on chatting
with his roommate, Benji. There were many such displays of affection,
Gerald and Eric whispering secrets in each other's ears, skinny Emiliano
walking up to Stephen on tippy-toes, extending his arms to the dignified
black man for a hug.
When it was time to eat we gathered at the table, clasped hands and
bowed our heads reverently. Prayers were never neglected. We ate turkey,
stuffing, yams. Ethan looked so elegant in his purple dress, smooth skinny
arms reaching across the table to pass the basket of muffins and his bowl
of salad. I sat at the table's head, Ethan on my right, my knee pressed
firmly against his.
After dinner, we retired to the living room, adults by the bar,
children by the tree. Even the middle teens, Gerald and Eric, looked
remarkably young in their shorts suits, squatting to pick up presents, lean
teen thighs gleaming. Arcadia provided a world of clear expectations --
the things most important to teen boys, orphans or not -- and they knew no
angst, only the curative power of adult male supervision.
We asked the children to sing carols. Obediently, they arranged
themselves in a neat row from shortest to tallest, giggling and fidgeting,
arms slung over each other's shoulders. Children are natural performers;
faces glowing, they filled the chateau in the Michigan woods with the
harmony of their young voices. Mr. Stephen produced a camera, the children
smiling happily into the lens.
"Now one of you has to sing!" chirped Spencer impishly.
"Oh, do sing!" said Benji, pushing his large glasses up his button
nose. The line broke up as the boys cavorted, delighted by the idea.
"I will pass," smirked Harrison. "I couldn't carry a tune if it
had a handle."
"I also pass," said Mr. Tomita. "My singing is a travesty."
"Aw! No fair!" yelled Patty, jumping up and down, white thighs
flashing.
"Shhh!" went Spencer, guiding the 8 year old to the rocking chair
where he sat, pulling the redhead onto his lap. "Let the grown ups decide
what they want to do," he whispered, gently scolding the baby.
"Mr. Wilson!" Ethan set his hands on his hips in that adorable
haughty manner. "I wore the dress! You owe me!"
"He wore the dress, Daniel," Headmaster Arcadia winked at me from
the other end of the bar.
"Yes. Yes, he did," I smiled, on the spot, very happy, and
pleasantly buzzed. I set down my snifter of brandy and walked toward my
young lover, taking his hand and leading him to the bar.
"What are you doing?" Ethan giggled as I lifted and sat him on a
stool.
"I hope you always remember this, young sir," I said with mock
seriousness, tweaking his nose. Perky and playful, the 12 year old waved
at his friends who giggled and watched.
I took a deep breath, and throwing caution to the wind, began to
sing.
I look at you and suddenly...something in your eyes I see...
Soon begins bewitching me...!
It's that old devil moon, that you stole from the sky.
It's that old devil moon, in your eyes!
The children squealed and clapped while the men looked on,
impressed. I found the the music of my soul and sang more strongly, my
voice gaining force.
You and your glance make this romance too hot to handle!
The stars in the night shining their light, can't hold a
candle...
to your razzle dazzle.
I spun dramatically, came to a stop with my feet spread wide,
muscular thighs flexing, and pointed at Ethan's delighted face. He pressed
his hands to his cheeks.
You got me flying high and wide
on a magic carpet ride
full of butterflies inside...!
"IT'S 'DEVIL MOON!' IT'S SINATRA!" Spencer squealed.
Wanna cry, wanna croon.
Wanna laugh like a loon.
It's that old devil moon in your eyes!
When I finished, the men and children cheered. I bowed with a
flourish then stood catching my breath. Ethan was perched like a little
purple bird on the bar stool, smoothing his dress as if smoothing feathers.
Ethan was well-groomed, yes, but his actions were more deeply motivated
and biological in nature. The boy was preening for my favor, responding to
a mating ritual. His eyes glowed. I approached him.
"Sorry I don't sing so well."
"You sing great," he sighed, reaching out to cup my face. Oh, how
he loved me! I took hold of his bony wrists and held them, swimming in his
liquid eyes -- I don't know how long -- but when we pulled apart our guests
were slow dancing to "Moonlight Serenade."
"May I have this dance?" I grinned, bowing gallantly.
The child shivered before my romantic overture, properly wooed.
Little bird. "I...I don't know how to dance," he blushed, bowing his head
and running his hands over his thighs. God! So sweet! And wearing a
dress! And not at all effeminate, only a charmed little boy made bashful
by a man's courtship.
"Nonsense. You dance every day, Ethan. Every movement, every step...."
The little boy lifted his head. The party was the equivalent of
his first prom and I his Prince Charming. Enchanted, Ethan slipped off the
stool. I took his hand and led him onto the floor, positioning his arms,
drawing him close. The boy gazed dreamily into my face, chin resting on my
chest.
"Don't look at me, baby," I smiled. "Look at our feet."
"Oh, Mr. Wilson!" Ethan breathed, shivering again.
"Ready?"
Ethan watched my feet as I taught him to waltz, following the
directional pressure I applied to his back. He moved awkwardly at first,
thin legs stumbling, his thighs bumping my knees. He stepped on my purple
shoes with his black little-girl shoes, but soon we were gliding gracefully
about the room, joining our guests in the ring of dancing men and boys.
"One two three," I counted softly. "One two three...."
* * *
Gifts were exchanged. Toys and telescopes and sports equipment for
the children, hand-made presents for us men. Again, Ethan and I were knee
to knee beneath the twinkling tree. I took the small box he offered, first
reading a green construction-paper card with a crayon drawing of Ethan and
I in school uniforms, holding hands in front of the classroom chalkboard, a
smiling yellow sun in the window. The words inside the card were written
in silver glitter over dried glue and read, "Merry Christmas to my teacher,
Mr. Wilson. I am very happy that you are here. Love, Ethan." From the
box I removed a torquise bead bracelet he'd made in art class. My heart
melted.
"Do you like it? Huh?"
"Oh, Ethan! What a fine piece of work!" I fussed, fighting back tears.
"Here. Let me put it on."
I lay my right hand, palm up, atop the child's thighs as he
fastened the bracelet. Little Ethan was so proud of his simple gift. I
sighed and bent forward, gripping the boy's chest and burying my face in
his smooth lap, nuzzling the warm flesh.
"You are a blessed child," I head Headmaster Arcadia say. "In all
my years I have never seen a man so devoted to a boy."
"Yes, sir," peeped Ethan, patting my head. "This is my teacher."
* * *
The party ended. Security arrived to escort our guests. It was
almost midnight. I turned off the lights. In the darkened living room,
Ethan stood holding a new soccer ball, wrapping paper and boxes at his
feet.
"Everyone had a good time," he said with satisfaction.
"They sure did. You're a good little host. Maybe you want to
manage a hotel or a restaurant when you grow up?"
"I don't want to grow up. I want to stay here forever."
A bittersweet pang knifed my heart. "Everyone grows up. I wish
you would always be a little boy, too," I sighed, touching his face.
Patty had fallen asleep on the couch and was snoring sweetly. We
watched Spencer walk over and gently cradle the baby in his arms, careful
not to wake him. Ethan set the soccer ball on the floor, took my hand and
smiled. "I love you," he said.
"I love you more."
We followed Spencer up the stairs, the wood creaking. On the
landing, I tousled Spencer's hair and pointed to the guest bedroom. "Sweet
dreams."
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Wilson. Good night, Ethan."
"Good night, Spencer."
Ethan and I entered our bedroom. I closed the door and watched the
boy gaze about. A single lamp on a table beside the bed glowed amber,
pine-green curtains drawn across the windows. A cozy, simple room with a
colonial-style wooden bed and embroidered quilt. Ethan drifted around the
room, hands touching everything, and I wondered how many other orphan boys
had drifted around the room in such a way while their teachers watched.
We took turns freshening up in the washroom, brushing our teeth,
urinating. As I emerged I spied Ethan standing by the dresser, hands
behind his back and twisting left to right. "Baby?" I asked.
"We forgot my pajamas."
"No, we did not." I removed my suit coat and hung it in the
closet, then removed my necktie, the little boy watching, a slight grin on
his lips. A child about to play a favorite game with his best friend.
Ethan rose on tippy-toes, knees locking. "What am I supposed to
sleep in?"
"In bed with me." I sat on the edge of the bed to remove my shoes.
"Do you have pajamas?"
"No." I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it aside, then unbuckled my
belt and drew my pants down.
"You're gonna sleep in your underwear?" The boy tilted his head to
one side, staring at my white briefs now bulging with my erection: my cock
had smoldered with the embers of the night's mellow romance and was now
ablaze with desire.
"And my knee stockings. Is that all right?"
"Sure," Ethan shrugged. "It'll be easier to touch your legs."
The calm little boy was enthralling in the amber light. In his
velvet dress.
"Come here," I said huskily.
Ethan ambled over and stood between my knees. We were eye-level.
I took hold of hips. "Do you know how pretty you are?"
"No," he laughed softly. "Do you know how handsome you are?"
"As pretty as you?"
"Maybe."
I swept my hands in circular motions around the boy's thighs, then
up under his dress to cup his firm, pantied buttocks. His cheeks flexed.
"Is your penis hard?"
"Can't you see it?"
"No. Your dress is too loose," I breathed. "Kiss me?"
"Uh huh."
The little boy wrapped his twiggy arms around my neck and leaned
forward, melting against me. Jolts of electricity shot through us as we
touched crotches, child-erection to adult-erection, velvet dress to cotton
briefs. Our lips meshed. I let Ethan's frail weight push me back, the boy
falling atop me. I bent my knees and used my feet to push us up the bed,
then rolled so that he was under me. I tangled my fingers in his auburn
hair, found his mouth with mine, our heads twisting.
The little boy was so small beneath me. His supple body gave up
its heat. I rose up and knelt across his ankles, reaching back to unfasten
the gold buckles of his girl-shoes and tossing them to the floor.
"You want to masturbate me first?" he breathed, spreading his
twiggy arms voluptuously wide across the quilt, lips puffy from our kisses.
"I'm going to do more than that." I slid my hands over the child's
bony shins. It was such a treat to see Ethan's shins, so often hidden by
his stockings.
"Like what?"
"You'll see."
My hands wandered his juvenile legs. I had yet to suck those legs
to my satisfaction but that time would come. The boy lay relaxed and
comfortable in his teacher's bed. Reverently, knowing the sanctity of the
act -- like a priest lifting a sacred cloth over a chalice -- I lifted
Ethan's dress and folded it back over his tummy.
"Mr. Wilson?" he queried, tensing slightly.
"Shhh!" I cooed. "What pretty underwear." My fingertips scrambled
along the pale crescents of flesh on Ethan's upper thighs below the
panties. Ethan's 2" cock twanged. The lacy panties had a flower design.
"Ethan?"
"Y-yeah?" The little boy's arms were bent at the elbows, dainty
hands fluttering in the air. I'd undressed him only once before and only
in the aftermath of his first, mind-blowing orgasm on the snowball. I'd
never really pulled his pants down -- or, in this instance, pushed his
dress up -- and he was understandably nervous.
"You've see my penis, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I was wondering.... May I see yours?"
My heart pounded as I curled my fingers under the waistband of his
panties. Who knows what the child thought just then? A sense of fair
play? He lay silently, testes twitching, erection flopping.
"O.K.," he peeped, nodding his consent.
"Thank you."
I drew Ethan's panties down to his ankles.
There we were, a big, muscular blonde man in white briefs and
purple knee stockings hunkered over a small, slender boy in a purple velvet
dress, naked from the waist down, our bodies dusted with lamplight.
Lovers.
I stared at the bloom of Ethan's genitalia, finally seeing what I
had only felt three times before through his shorts. The cherry-sized
balls drawn up in their tight sack, the
gleaming, silky 2" erection pointing straight up and throbbing --
circumsized head fat and purple -- the flat triangle of his hairless white
pubes.
"You're beautiful," I gasped, marvelling at his boyhood. I clamped
my knees against his thighs, took his penis in my right hand, felt the
girth of his shaft.
"OOO!" Ethan whinnied, legs going tight. He bucked, slapped his
hands down on the mattress and froze.
I clutched his immature cock, covering it completely. The boy's
member throbbed hot and hard in my palm, a tiny thing with a life of its
own. "Shhh!" I whispered. "Shhhhh!"
The little orphan deserved what I was doing for him. I masturbated
him slowly, oh, so slowly. My left hand diddled his unwrinkled balls,
Ethan drawing shuddering breaths. Each moan and peep from the boy was a
prayer, a prayer I had made as a child, a prayer that was currently being
answered for Ethan.
It's difficult to remember the details of that night. I found
myself bowed over Ethan, flicking my tongue in the triangle of his hairless
pubes. Tasting his clean virgin groin. Somehow, I found the resolve not
to take his penis into my mouth, saving that for later, though it scraped
against my cheeks and nose.
"OH! OH!" The boy shook like a leaf, tummy heaving.
I pulled back. It was too soon to have Ethan climax. I studied
the child, his eyes closed tight and cheeks flushed. I reached for a tube
of lubricating jelly on the end table, squirted the jelly onto the middle
finger of my right hand, worked my hand between his thighs and probed his
anus. I'd cut and filed my nails that morning.
The child's rubbery sphincter winked shut. The child bucked,
thighs locking around my thick wrist. I heard him whine and ask what I was
doing. His sucked crotch glistened with my saliva.
I thrust the tip of my middle finger into Ethan's ass.
"Ungh!" he grunted, flopping, the bed shaking. "What are you doing?!"
"Shhh!"
I found myself briefly wrestling Ethan's kicking legs as he worked
them out from under me. Then the boy was doubled over, knees on either
side of his face and I sprawling over him. My left arm wrapped around
right thigh and behind his neck so that my left hand held his left thigh
firmly. His upturned round ass was pressed against my striated stomach.
Every muscle in my body flexed. I steadied myself, made my finger
hard and pushed, sinking in to the second knuckle. Lord, he was tight.
"NNGGHH! MR. WILSON!" Ethan's heels thumped against my broad
shoulders, panties tangled around his ankles.
"SHHH! YOU'LL STRETCH!"
"YAH! UNGH! UNGH!" Ethan grunted in pain and fear and confusion,
small contorted face grimacing in front of mine. Round knees smashed
against his cheeks.
"SHHH! GOOD BOY! GOOD BOY!"
Our eyes bulged and blazed as we stared at one another, gasping and
grunting. Ethan was so brave, so brave. I saw trust in his watering eyes
and he saw love in mine.... Ethan stretched. His heels stopped thumping
my shoulders until his purple-stockinged feet hovered and twitched straight
up in the air, toes clenched.
Inch by inch, my finger sank into his clinging rectum. Again, I
can't say how much time passed but Ethan was pleasured as I found his
prostate and diddled the firm nut. A small, curled ball of whining boy
beneath me. Naked from the waist down. Young cock throbbing.
I withdrew my finger and actually heard a "pop" as it slipped free,
the boy's anus winking to a pucker once more. Ethan groaned with
frustration, his orgasm delayed. He was beginning to sweat. Quickly
pulling his legs down and gripping his hips, I flipped him onto his
stomach, knelt across his calves and eased my cock from my briefs, smearing
lubricating jelly along its length.
"You put your finger in my butt," Ethan groaned huskily, face
buried in the pillow. Trembling from the experience and aroused.
Mystified. His firm, baby ass gleamed, purple dress shoved up over his
lower back..
Ecstasy washed through me as I masturbated. It was thrilling to
feel and see my shaved, adult crotch as smooth as the child's, but much
bigger.
"Yes, baby. I did," I gasped. "To loosen you for my penis."
"Your...penis?!" Ethan quavered. "You're gonna...put your penis in
my butt? I...I don't think that's such a good idea."
"It'll feel good. Hurt a little at first.... I wanted a man to
put his penis in my butt when I was your age."
"You did?"
"Yes." I stroked the flat backs of Ethan's thighs, richly brown in
the amber light as if he still had the honeyed tan of summer.
"I don't understand."
"You will."
"What's it feel like?"
I blinked, my fingers playing against the backs of Ethan's knees
where his skin was most thin. "I...honestly don't know. I've never had a
penis in my butt."
"Oh."
"Maybe you can teach me?" I whispered, moving my hands up his
thighs. "Think you'd like to do that?" The idea was thrilling and only
right. Ethan should enter me and would, his miniature penis tickling as he
thrust on the way to many dry and eventually liquid ejaculations.
"Um...I guess..." he peeped, unsure.
It's impossible to remember exactly how I penetrated Ethan that
first time. I was as much a virgin as he and as wildly aroused. I took a
moment to stare at my legs spread in a "V" across the boy's legs, then at
my briefs, oiled cock, and purple knee stockings, wondering how I had ever
become a man and how Ethan would ever become a man, too. Then, with
trembling hands, I took hold of the white, round globes of his ass, peeled
them apart with my thumbs and aimed.
The knob of my glans entered that tiny opening, stretching the boy
wider than a silver dollar.
Ethan screamed. "EEEE!!!"
Instantly, his baby ass went rock-hard, sphincter clamping
painfully tight. I winced: we were both in pain from the penetrative act.
""YAH AAH AAH!!!" Ethan slammed his hands against the mattress and
rose up; I wrapped my legs around his, my arms around his tummy, hugging
him to my chest.
"SHHH, BABY! STRETCH! STRETCH!"
Ethan remained pushed up, trembling and grunting, wagging his ass
left to right. Beanpole body straining. I rode him, letting his wriggles
take my greased cock in deeper, millimeter by miraculous millimeter. My
cock never felt so long, thick and hard.
"IT HURTS! IT HURTS!" Ethan wailed.
"ONLY THE FIRST TIME! PLEASE! PLEASE!"
Ethan threw his head back, the tendons in his willowy neck
pronounced, and opened his mouth in a silent scream.
I hugged Ethan tighter, begging him to stretch. The little boy
screamed silently again, then dropped his head between his shoulders and
began to cry, frail body wracked with sobs.
I hesitated when I should have withdrawn. But the boy's ass!
Clinging hot and moist! Ethan's ass spasmed, munching and chewing on my
dick, sending flashes of heaven through my brain. Clouding my reasoning.
"OW OW OW!" the boy sobbed, finding air. "WAAAH!"
I had idealized our coupling, imagining that Ethan would be
overjoyed. But the precious little boy was in pain. How could I hurt him?
How ugly! How wrong!
"I'm sorry, baby! I'm sorry!" I began to pull out -- I had not
penetrated fully -- but suddenly I felt Ethan's anus ripple and relax
though his body remained trembling and tensed. Was it my imagination? No!
The boy was stretching, the initial shock and pain of entry diminishing.
The little boy cried. I shushed him. Encouraged him. Sprawled
fully atop him, my cock impaled deep in his body, shaved balls smashed
deliciously against his buttocks. My balls were almost as large as his
buttocks.
"Good boy!" I whined through clenched teeth. "Good boy!"
"Ow! Ow ow ow!"
I dropped my right hand, gripped Ethan's dangling, purple velvet
dress and began to rub it against his tiny dick so hard from my dick inside
him. It was amazing to realize that I was somewhere deep in his lanky
body. The boy's head was at my chest, his feet at my shins.
"I love you, Ethan!"
"AH! AGH!"
I kissed the blubbering little boy's cheeks -- gummy with tears --
and began to thrust and masturbate him furiously.
I felt big and strong. Powerful. Alive.
We were boy and man in purple velvet dress, white briefs and purple
knee stockings. In the throes of anal sex. Half-arched above the bed as I
rutted clumsily, frantically, heavy hips lifting and falling, shaved balls
slapping the boy's ass. Skinny Ethan yelped and rocked with each impacting
thrust, my cock tunneling into him.
I thought of the Christmas tree. My cock felt as large as the
Christmas tree. A Christmas tree pounding into Ethan's 12 year old ass,
making us both blink and shine with ornaments and lights.
"UGH! UGH! UGH!"
The little boy sobbed and cried harder, piercing voice rich with
pain and new, unimagined pleasure. Crying, after all, was Ethan's standard
reaction to climax. The bed began to rock, the wooden headboard hitting
the wall, and I wondered what Spencer was thinking in the next room, surely
awake and listening.
It couldn't have been more than a minute. My pulse pounded in my
heart, in my cock, and I felt Ethan's pulse pounding equally hard in his
penis. Enormous body heat mushroomed around us. The boy's blubbers turned
to shrieks of surprise, his climax building exponentially.
"I CAN FEEL IT IN ME!!! I CAN FEEL IT IN ME!!"
It was clumsy and sweet, that first penetration.
I came.
"UGHHHH!!!""
My first jets of sperm flooded into my young lover. Even as the
indescribable pleasure washed through me I felt a strange regret that I had
lost control, having wanted to perform my best and show the boy how good I
could be, wanting our love-making to last forever. But then Ethan, head
down, grunting, orgasmed as well.
We came together, my sperm filling the child while his tiny cock
throbbed in my hand beneath his dress.
I fell atop him, the boy collapsing under my weight. We had worked
up a good sweat in our brief coupling. I squirmed, coaxing the last spurts
from my cock, pouring every drop in his sweet rectum. He cried. I kissed
him. My cock deflated and slipped free, shriveling back into my underwear.
I remember him sniffling and wiping his face in the pillow as I drew his
panties back up his thin legs and hugged him to me, gasping my love. Then
we fell asleep. Just like that. No more.