ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
Chapter Eighteen
"Orphans"
Vacations were kept brief for two reasons: 1) the children
genuinely enjoyed school, and 2) we men knew of no better way to manage and
enterain them. Classes resumed on January 2nd, but it was no time for
studies, the boys much too frisky from break. That first day back was a
day of 'Show-and-Tell'. One at a time, grinning and proud, all my little
schoolboys marched to the front of the class to talk about their new toys,
each child certain that his toy was best.
Of course, I got a special thrill when Ethan marched up to talk
about his soccer ball. Taking several quick strides, he athletically
sprang onto my desk like a frog, suit jacket and necktie flapping. I
caught his knees as his shoes slid along the wood, scattering my papers.
"Whoops! Too much energy, huh?" he grinned, brown eyes sparkling
mischief.
"Energy is good," I answered, pushing his knees and spinning him
around to face his friends.
Ethan remained squatting. "Hello!" he chirped, waving and bouncing
on his heels. The children giggled, sensing a prank. "Wow! Everyone
looks so short from up here!"
"Please show us your soccer ball and tell us about it?" I coaxed
playfully, sliding my hands along Ethan's glossy thighs. It was wonderful
to touch him in front of all those other boys.
"Is this a test?"
"Only if you keep me waiting."
"No, sir! I wouldn't want to do that!" he said sarcastically. In
response, I gave his legs a sharp slap, just hard enough to make him yelp.
The children giggled, delighted by our reparte.
"Fellas? This is my new soccer ball!" Ethan declared, rising to
his lanky height. "Mr. WIlson bought it for me!" The exhuberant boy
punted the ball to the rear wall where it careened off a world map.
The children cheered, whistled and stomped their feet. Several of
them jumped up to chase the ball and bounce it off their knees to one
another. Just like that, order was disrupted.
"Thank you! Thank you!" Ethan said, taking comical bows. He set
his hands on his hips and danced a jig on my desk, little blue shoes 'tap
tapping'. Ethan was a winner, and his years at Arcadia were glorious.
What could I do? I reached out to pinch his dancing thighs and
laughed.
* * *
At dinner, the elegant boy-waiter stood next to his serving cart,
hands in his pants pockets. Ethan rocked on his heels, watching me watch
his slender legs flex and shimmer. The little boy was so casual, thin lips
curled in a friendly smile. Christmas was the last time we'd made love,
both of us a bit unnerved by its intensity, and we'd retreated into playing
games of sweet seduction.
Innocent and aglow with the "halo effect" of his first relationship
-- giggling with boyish, prepubescent love -- Ethan suddenly stuck out his
tongue, spun around and bent over to wag his rear end at me. The lad knew
I ached to penetrate him again though we'd not discussed it, and the sight
of his wagging, tiny, black-short-panted ass made me gasp and grit my
teeth. Oh, the little tease!
Eyes bright, his lanky figure still marked by an innocent
casualness, Ethan turned around to gauge my reaction. Finding inspiration
-- the 12 year old's youthful play making me youthful as well -- I shrugged
in dismissal and yawned dramatically. The boy-waiter doubled over with
laughter, hands still in his pockets, knees bending as he stomped the floor
with his shoes. I smirked with satisfaction. Out of the corner of my eye
I saw Headmaster Arcadia walking toward me. I leaned over, and the old man
whispered in my ear.
"WHAT?!!!"
My low, booming voice echoed in the cafeteria, silencing the
background patter of little boy voices. Ethan sobered and snapped at
attention, shocked.
Headmaster Arcadia repeated his message.
"NO! NO NO!"
I jumped to my feet, knocking my chair to the floor. I took a few
steps then dropped to one knee and pulled at my hair.
"Easy, Daniel!" Harrison said, suddenly beside me. "Not in front
of the children! You're scaring them!"
"Mr. Wilson? Mr. Wilson?" Small face clouded with confusion,
Ethan ran toward me, only to be caught around the waist by Mr. Tomita. He
flailed in the man's arms.
"Shhh! It's all right!"
"No! Let me go!" Ethan demanded.
The little boy and I locked eyes. I was crying.
"MR. WILSON!!!"
I jumped up and ran from the cafeteria.
* * *
In my dormitory room I moved quickly, throwing clothes into a
suitcase. Ethan burst inside, the door banging against the wall and
cracking the plaster, his cheeks flushed and mouth open with drama. "Hey!
You're wearing long pants!" he yelped, staring bug-eyed at the brown suit
I'd not worn since my interview.
I still remember how confining and oppressive the long trousers
felt, so scratchy and abrasive against my skin -- a symbol of the outside
world -- and Ethan's shock at seeing me wear them caused me to lose
composure. I bowed over my suitcase, hung my head and wept.
"Mr Wilson! What's wrong?!" the little boy whined, running over to
hug me from behind. His skinny arms were surprisingly strong.
"I...I...have to go away!" I sobbed, locking my suitcase, walking
across the room to take my beige, camel haired coat from the closet. The
12 year old clung to me and was carried along, wrapping his legs around
mine. "Go away?! Where?! You can't!"
"There's no time!" Forgetting my strength, clamping my hands over
the child's narrow thighs, I pried them apart and reared. The child was
thrown from me and landed on his butt on the floor. "Oh, baby! I'm
sorry!" I wailed, seeing his shocked, hurt face. But I was crazed with
grief. I threw on my coat, snatched up my suitcase and ran from the room.
Out from the dormitory and into the night.
Ethan followed me and jumped onto my back. I did not break stride.
The snowy quad sparkled beneath my feet as I ran for the helicopter, the
landing lights flaring on the admissions building's rooftop.
"WAIT! MR. WILSON! WHAT HAPPENED?!" Ethan hugged me desperately
as I dashed up the stairwell, crashed through the metal door and emerged on
the rooftop. The whirling propeller created a storm cloud of snow.
"The boy can't come!" the pilot yelled, throwing open the cockpit
door and lowering his mike from his mouth.
"I know! Dammit, I know!"
"Sorry, sir! It's a security rule!"
The engines were deafening, the snow blinding.
"DON'T GO!" Ethan screamed into my ear, hugging me with every ounce
of his little boy strength. I dropped my suitcase and gripped his thighs,
but this time the boy would not be dislodged.
"Baby, please! I have to!"
The landing lights were ice-blue, forming a wide circle around us.
Ethan sobbed, terrified. "WHY?!" he wailed.
"My parents...were killed in a car crash!" I managed to groan.
A sudden silence consumed me -- I spiralled into a lonely abyss --
and then I heard Ethan's shocked voice in my ear. "You're an orphan!"
Finally, I understood Ethan's and the other children's loss, from
the first French orphans of the war until now. The night seemed to grow
colder, snow crystals whipping painfully against my face.
"Baby...don't make this harder!"
"NO! I WON'T LET YOU GO!"
There was nothing to be done. I heaved, grabbed my suitcase, ran
to the helicopter and climbed into the cockpit. Thrown from me, the
boy-waiter somersaulted and came up sitting on his heels, arms extended out
to me, face anguished. The helicopter's blades increased in power. "DON'T
LEAVE ME! MR. WILSON!"
"Go! Just go!" I barked at the pilot, who nodded and began
flipping switches.
Ethan's slender arms, which had not been strong enough to hold me,
wavered in the air. "WAAAHH!!!" he wailed, snow exploding all around him.
I closed the cockpit door. The helicopter took off and we gained
ascent. Ethan began to weep, hands clutching pathetically at the empty
air, his black, waiter's shorts suit flapping. The kneeling boy grew
smaller and smaller as the helicopter climbed.
"Baby, no! No!" I sobbed. Before turning away, I saw Harrison
appear on the roof, race toward Ethan and gather him in his arms.
* * *
A semi truck's failing brakes ended my parent's lives. The doctors
told me their deaths were instantaneous but that knowledge gave me no
comfort. I saw to final matters. No details about the funeral need
mentioning. I remain infintely regretful that I was never able to bring
Ethan home to mom and dad.
My return to Arcadia Academy was quiet. I refused the helicopter.
The limousine picked me up at the airport. Heavy with loneliness, through
the deep drifts of snow, I trudged back to my dormitory, the campus
deserted, the stone buildings dark. It was well past bedtime, and I
thought of the children safely tucked beneath their warm covers. Polar
wind burned my lungs as I sighed, the silence of the surrounding woods
echoing in the barren field of my heart.
But the frozen, empty campus was serene, a fairy tale kingdom
glittering with snow crystals. Hidden, secret, and carefully guarded, the
boarding school was a mystical place of enchanting boy-princes. There can
be no overstating my relief at returning: two weeks among the outside
world had been a culture shock. Traffic lights, neon signs, ringing phones
and other technological devices assaulted my senses while I was gone.
There had been so many people, strangers whose names I did not know, and
women. Awful, impossible women. They were like an alien species, and the
spectre of their bovine faces, grotesque breasts and wide-hipped figures
made me recoil in genuine horror. Arcadia's community of little boys who
outnumbered men 20 to 1 had become my societal norm, and the absence of
their constant, reassuring presence left me disoriented and unable to
function.
In my room, I took off my long trousered suit for the last time,
folded and tucked it into a bottom drawer with much ceremony: another
burial. Instead of going straight to bed, I changed into a school uniform,
needing proof of a return to normalcy. Drawing the fancy, familiar grey
flannel short pants up my legs felt liberating and symbolic: I belonged at
Arcadia, an orphaned man among orphaned boys. My freed thighs and knees
freed my spirit and natural self I'd been forced to hide. From the closet,
I took down one of my suit jackets hanging next to Ethan's pretty, purple
dolly velvet dress, the sight of his dress sending a Cupid's arrow of love
through my heart. I put on my jacket, smoothed the lapels and shivered.
I stood before the closet, my head down. Lonely. The radiator
clanked with steam heat.
"Mr. Wilson?"
The soft, high voice was hesitant and unsure. A miraculous sound.
A musical note dropped by an angel. I turned.
Ethan stood in the doorway, wearing his wool cape and school
uniform. The boy's face and legs were raw and goosebumped, his blue boots
covered with snow. He'd been out walking the wintry night, unable to
sleep. Longing for me.
"You're really you?" he peeped, rubbing his eyes with his mittens
as if seeing a ghost. He entered the room so slowly, bending his knees
high, taking exaggerated steps as if crossing unseen obstacles. My grief
made him cautious.
I nodded, sobbed, and with my arms extended, crashed to my knees.
The little boy flung himself at me and hugged my mightily, kissing
and nipping at my neck like a pecking bird. I crushed his frail body
against mine, my hands sliding up and down his naked, cold and creamy
thighs. God! To touch him once more!
I wept.
Ethan cried, too, saying over and over that everything would be all
right as all my heartache poured from me in a sudden catharsis. I choked
and coughed, the child standing strong and steady until I calmed.
The schoolboy walked to the bathroom and returned with a box of
kleenex and a wet wash cloth. Tenderly, he cupped my chin and held a
kleenex to my nose so I could blow, then used the wash cloth to wipe my
face. His ministrations were divine. I knelt before him in worship.
Ethan shrugged off his wool cape and suit jacket, dropped them to the
floor, then stepped out of his boots.
"Please don't cry. Don't be sad," he coaxed, wiping his own tears
with his shirt sleeves. "I'm sorry about your parents. They're in heaven.
It's all right."
The boy's pure, simple faith was the ultimate eulogy.
"Oh, Ethan. I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't here."
"I'm sorry about when you left, Mr. Wilson. I didn't mean to be a
bad boy."
I jumped to my feet. "It was my fault! I'm so sorry I pushed you
away!"
The boy clapped his frail hands around the sides of my thighs and
slammed himself up against me. "You didn't do anything wrong!" he yelped,
his neck craned back, doe-eyes wide. I stared into his lovely face. "You
didn't do anything wrong," he repeated, absolving me.
I sniffled and nodded. Ethan's healing love was boundless.
Gently, the little boy began to move his hands in circular caresses around
my thighs, and I could tell he'd missed touching them as much as I missed
touching his. "You're wearing short pants again," he sighed.
"Yes."
"You look terrible in long pants."
"I felt terrible."
"Don't ever wear them again."
"No."
"Because your legs are so nice. I like seeing them. Don't you
know that?"
The little boy and I stared soulfully into each other's eyes; a
frisson made him shiver. Then Ethan's hands were eagerly fumbling at my
crotch. I watched him undo my zipper, open the fly of my underwear and
guide my flaccid cock and balls out into his left, baby-palm. My lack of
erection puzzled him.
"What's wrong with your penis?" he asked, jiggling my shaved
organs. My cock was like a limp sausage, my testicles like two spongy
oranges. The boy's own small erection bulged at his crotch, no bigger than
my thumb.
"I'm...not in the mood," I croaked apologetically.
"You're just sad," he declared and began to masturbate me, bony
fingers squeezing and milking my cock.
Still grieving for my parents, I hadn't planned on sex with Ethan,
but my penis swelled and grew until my shaft was as big around as his
wrist. "That's better," he smiled, licking his lips. "See? You're all
right now."
Ethan radiated desire -- the boy did not know how to masturbate
himself yet, and his sexual tension was enormous -- and he needed to
express what our seductive games had built up. Moreover, making love was
Ethan's way of caring for me. He fisted my swollen cock and pulled me to
the bed. I shambled after him until my knees bumped the mattress. Moving
with a single-mindedness, Ethan climbed into bed and knelt on all fours,
another frisson wracking his thin frame. The boy's desire was profound,
and his submissal was generous. His stockinged feet pressed atop my
thighs, his toes scratching; my cock spanned the distance between me and
his ass.
"You don't have to do this," I whispered, barely able to speak.
"I want to."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"No. I mean, your pants."
"Oh." The schoolboy quickly unbuckled and unzipped his pants, then
shoved them and his white briefs down to his knees. He braced himself once
more, shoulder blades protruding from beneath his shirt. "O.K. Now do
it."
My 12 year old lover. Milky ass globes firm, skin glittering.
Puckered anus a tiny brown dot above the glossy, pink line of his scrotum.
Taking hold of his hips, hands sliding under his shirt tails, I eased
forward. My purpled glans probed his anus. In the well-lit room, seeing
the girth of my cock and the tiny dot of his hole, I doubted that I could
do it: I had no idea how I had managed at the chateau.
"We did it before, Ethan. But maybe we should wait until you're a
little older."
"No. I can take it," he said, wriggling his ass to aid my
penetration. But each time I jutted forward the boy's rubbery sphincter
resisted.
"It's not...going to work. You're...too small."
"No," he grunted, thrusting back: he wanted me inside him. "Just
push!"
Pre-cum began to lubricate my glans. Taking a deep breath, I gave
the little boy what he desired.
"UUGGHH!!" Ethan grunted, head snapping back, clawing at the bed
covers.
"We don't have to!" I called.
"NO! IT'S ALL RIGHT! I SWEAR!"
With startling commitment, Ethan went tight as a spring and pushed
back, shoving himself onto my cock, his anus dilating as wide as his
frozen, open mouth. As he'd done at the chateau, his head wagged and
rolled on his neck; he slapped and pawed at the bed covers, his face
transfixed with pain, mouth contorting in silent screams. Ethan trembled
and strained. Amazed by his determination, I held his hips and watched as
inch after inch of my cock was sucked into his rectum.
My shaved balls pressed against his ass: we were joined.
"UGH! UGH!" Ethan grunted, curling into a ball, lowering his face
to the mattress and crying into his hands. Being brave for me.
For several minutes I stood motionless, my thumbs caressing his
buttocks as the child cried. I wrapped my arms around his waist. Ethan's
stuffed tummy heaved. Snivelling, he rose up on his knees, reaching back
to take hold of my necktie.
Kissing the top of his head, I stepped away from the bed.
"OW OW OW!"
The little boy dangled in front of me, heels bumping my shins, arms
bent and elbows fluttering as he tugged at my necktie. Elongated, he
looked and felt very skinny and frail. His shirt tails draped his tiny,
rock-hard penis on either side. Ethan's tangled shorts and underwear
slipped down to his ankles.
I held him, enjoying the spasms of his rectum, his buttock
fluttering and munching on my turgid cock. I watched his 2" penis twang.
It was hard as marble, taking it's stiffness and length from my own 7"
cock.
I twisted side to side, the child's slim, spermy-smooth legs
slipping over my smooth, muscualr legs. "Is it all right? Am I hurting
you?" I cooed.
Ethan shook like a leaf, lips sputtering. Of course, penetration
hurt him, but the pain was secondary to the emotional purity of the act.
"OH OH OH!!" he piped, yanking my necktie and arching his back, his
dangling, swaying legs sliding over mine. "MR. WILSON! WILSON!"
The little boy was doing his best to accomodate teacher, grunting
and trembling on my cock. I watched his cute face go through many
contortions. Determination. Pain. Surprise at my cock touching places
deep inside him. His head snapped side to side: he cried so hard teardrops
literally sprang from his eyes and dripped from his flush cheeks to the
floor.
"I'll take it out, Ethan! Just say so and I'll take it out!"
"NO!" he squeaked. "NO, DON'T!"
The boy sounded adamant -- to pull out would upset him -- so I
remained. Ethan was my angel. My guardian angel seeing me through my
greatest loss.
Good, healthy desire surged anew in my soul.
Holding the child aloft was effortless. Gasping to be inside him,
I shakily turned and walked with him to the door, closing it, then hitting
the switch on the wall to turn off the lights. I began to breathe hard.
In the dark, I walked wth Ethan to the bay window, each step causing his
buttocks to spasm deliciously. Convulsive waves of his lower intestine --
moist, and clinging -- massaged the length of my cock. I faced him to the
campus. The snowy pines reflected moonglow. The boarding school was a
singular reality.
"This is our world, Ethan," I groaned as I swayed side to side,
stirring my dick in his ass. "A perfect world where a grown man and a
little boy can love each other."
"OW! I LOVE YOU!" the boy sobbed, and his pain-pinched voice did
not diminish the shared conviction of his words.
"Please! Always remember me, Ethan!" I prayed, rocking him left to
right.
"DON'T...TALK LIKE YOU'LL LEAVE ME!" the boy yelled, bending his
knees. His thighs shimmered with silvery moonglow, and he yanked my
necktie hard enough to make my head snap forward. "DON'T LEAVE ME AGAIN!"
I swooned: the child was desperate for my love. "No! Baby, no!"
"BECAUSE I CAN'T TAKE IT! STAY! STAY!"
"I'm here, Ethan! I'm here! Daddy's here!"
The 12 year old slammed his thighs against my forearms, and then he
shot his legs out straight, stockinged feet catching on the ledge of the
bay window, elbows fluttering as he flopped on my cock.
"DADDY!" he screamed in a piercing falsetto. "I WISH YOU WERE MY
DADDY!"
"I'm your daddy, Ethan! I'll be your daddy!"
The child blubbered and wriggled with joy, hearing what he had
always ached to hear as an orphan. And I realized then that I needed him
as a son. I needed to be his daddy. Above and beyond my role as his
adult, male lover.
"DADDY DADDY!" he screamed.
So it was that I adopted Ethan and became his father.
The boy's feet propped on the window ledge provided extra leverage
and a better angle for penetration. My cock thrummed like something
hydraulic in his straining body.
I shifted my grip, rucked my new son's shirt up to get a better
view of his genitals. I rocked side to side more quickly. With my right
hand, I explored the contours of his pevlic structure and the ball-joints
of his hips which protruded visibly as he swayed on my cock. I fingered
the triangle of his satiny, hairless pubes. The child's penis twanged
wildly. And the child cried.
"Shhh! Shhh!" I cooed, beginning to hump. Gently. Wanting to
pleasure him. Wanting to maximize contact with my dick and his
cashew-sized prostate gland smashed against his rectal wall.
"YIIEE YIIEE YIIEE!!" the little boy shrieked, bouncing on my dick.
His thin legs flexed and fluttered, his tangled shorts at his ankles, belt
buckle jangling. I alternated between stroking his thighs and his dick,
humping more urgently.
"You're my little boy, Ethan! My special little boy! My son! My
son!" I yelled, building to climax. "I love you I love you so much!"
"AH! NGH! NGH!" the 12 year old sobbed, tugging my necktie for
all he was worth, head hanging and staring at his pelvis going up and down
as I fucked him. Tears continued to spring from his eyes, and those
teardrops fell and impacted atop his narrow, hairless thighs no longer
cold.
Penetrating Ethan for the second time was unlike the first because
I remembered every moment. I remember how athletic I felt, how my every
muscle strained and flexed (as did his) as I rammed his ass, and how I
marvelled at the little boy's endurance, submissiveness, and desperate
struggle to possess me.
That was the key: Ethan wanted to possess me.
I humped him faster. I began to sweat. I kissed his teary, gummy
cheeks in passionate abandon. He and I wearing our shorts suits made the
experience more perfect. More right. Teacher and student. Father and
son. Orphans. Together.
"Oh, Ethan! Oh, baby! My boy! My little boy!"
"YAH! AH AH!"
I came. I thrust hard and ejaculated such forceful, searing jets
of sperm that tears filled my eyes, too. Grunting, shaking, bearing down
on the child, I poured my seed into him.
"DADDIIEEE DADDIIEE DAAAADDIIEEE!!" Ethan shrieked, skinny legs
groing wire-tight.
I gripped his dick. I felt it pump. I swooned as he went into
weeping, ravaging orgasm, his immature penis failing to ejaculate.
And when we were done, I slowly, slowy pulled out from the boy,
carrying him quickly to the bed and laying him upon it. I stripped to my
white undershirt, white briefs, and I stood staring down at the little boy,
who sobbed, held his sore, penetrated tummy, and stared at me. Lovingly, I
undressed Ethan to his undershirt, puled up his tiny white briefs and let
the elastic band snap around his waist. I climbed into bed beside him,
held him, kissed him.
Little Ethan sobbed in my embrace, returning my kisses, his wet
eyes filled with redemption, trust, and love.
Ethan was my son. I was his father.
My little boy cried himself to sleep within minutes.