ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR  BOYS
                              Chapter Two
                          "Breakfast With Ethan"

        I woke the next morning to the sound of birds chirping.  I was so
hungover I wasn't sure if the birds were real or just in my mind.
Groaning, I glanced at the window, the bright yellow light hitting my eyes
like wooden beams.  I squeezed my eyes shut and dragged the pillow over my
head.  I'd begun to drift back toward sleep when I heard the sound of boy's
voices.
        "See?  He's hungover."
        "They always get bombed the first night."
        "Shut up!  He'll hear you!"
        "No chance.  He's in la-la land."
        My dreams have always been vivid, particularly when they involve
young boys, and I assumed that I was overhearing a conversation among kids
walking down the sidewalk, past my apartment back in Kansas at the
University.  But these voices were eerily familiar.  A deep, sonorous bell
began to chime.  A church bell.  Definitely not my alarm clock.
        "First bell.  Should we wake him?"
        "Naw.  Grown ups are cranky when they're hungover."
        "Ronald took him to Mr. Harrison's.  Didn't you, Ronald?"
        "Yep."
        "Was Jeremy there?  His nose is so up in the air ever since he
started living with Mr. Harrison."
        Ronald?  Jeremy?  Harrison?  I knew those names!  Struggling toward
consciousness, I rolled again, my body heavy and tangled in the sheets.  I
heard a frantic shuffling of feet, a thump, and my bedroom door slam
loudly, shaking the walls.  I sat bolt-upright, the pillow falling away.
        A young boy was on his hands and knees beside my bed, staring up at
me fearfully, mouth open and eyes wide below brown bangs.  He wore a red
sweater over a pink shirt, the rumpled collar showing at his neck.
Cream-colored short pants with cuffed hems and white knee socks framed the
boy's narrow thighs.  Brown hiking boots completed his outfit.
        "H-h-hello, sir!" the boy stammered, frozen in place.
        Disoriented, I gazed about a room I did not recognize.  The room
was huge, decorated with fine, expensive furniture.  A red leather chair as
heavy and solid as a throne in one corner caught my eye, then an enourmous
colonial-style desk in the opposite corner.  The room was as bright as if
the sun itself was bursting through the large bay window, potted plants
flouroshing on the sill and spilling their wide leaves.  I never kept
plants.  There was no bay window or leather chair in my apartment.  I gazed
down at myself laying on a brass, king-sized bed beneath a blue comforter
stitched with gold thread.
        "Who are you?" I asked the kneeling kid.
        The boy was trembling slightly.  "It's me.  Ethan."
        Sense of place crashed upon me.  I was a teacher at a private
school, and my students had been spying on me.  Cute.
        "I'm sorry, sir," Ethan said, sitting back on his heels, cream
shorts wedging in his crotch.  He was radiant against the dark wooden
floor, awash in a yellow rectangle of light, dustmotes dancing around him
in the beam.  Sunshine rippled along his glossy thighs and glazing them to
a rich caramel.  "They pushed me."
        "Of course they did.  Never be first in a line when you're spying
on someone."
I threw my pillow at the boy who caught it deftly, an 'uh oh!' expression
on his face.
"Do you have any asprin?"
        "I can get some from the nurse.  Us kids can't keep asprin.
Something about asprin is supposed to be bad."
        "Children run the risk of Reye's Syndrome," I yawned, motioning for
my pillow.  Ethan tossed it at me, and because I was hungover and my
reflexes were slow, the pillow hit me square in the face.  I pulled the
pillow down and regarded the lad soberly.
        "Oh, wow, geez I can't believe I did that," Ethan gulped, voice
breaking with anxiety.  He sprang to his feet and snapped to attention,
puffing out his bony chest, fine hands smacking against the sides of his
thighs.
        Ethan was a real boy, as Harrison had said, spunky and full of
mischief.  I took in his rigid, beanpole figure, my heart blooming with
love even as my head pounded.  If such pranks were typical of life at
Arcadia I knew I was never going to leave.
        "Second bell," Ethan gulped as the clock tower tolled.  8:00 a.m.
"You'll miss breakfast."
        "Where's your uniform?" I snapped, experimenting with my new role
as a disciplinarian.  Ethan flinched, long legs tensing as his fingers
curled under the hems of his shorts and he yanked them up, the way he'd
done in the cafeteria.
        "It's Sunday, sir!  Boys don't have to wear uniforms today, sir!"
the lad barked, instantly formal and obedient.  I fought not to smile.
Ethan was a chameleon, a complex character of mood and manner.  Oh, what a
bad little boy!
        "Oh.  Well, run along and  bring me my breakfast.  Lots of coffee.
And bring breakfast for yourself."
        "Sir?"
        I yawned and stretched, the bed covers falling down around my
waist, exposing my torso, developed pecs and lats bulging.  Then I threw a
stern look at the fearful boy standing like a toy soldier.  "Scoot!" I
bellowed.
        Ethan jumped so hard his feet left the foor.  He bowed fast and
hard like a spring, hands smacking against his thighs, then raced for the
door, opening it in such a hurry that it banged his knees with a hollow
KNOCK!
        "Ow!"  Ethan yelped, trying to walk, close the door, and rub his
knees at the same time.  How cute!
        "Don't forget the asprin!" I yelled after him.

        Ethan sat in bed on my left, a single silver tray across both our
laps.  The top of his head reached my shoulder, his booted feet at my
knees.  We were hip to hip, thighs touching, but he was on top of the
covers and I was under them.  Even so, I could feel the warmth of his bare
leg though the cloth, suggesting the greater physical contact we would
someday share.  Neither of us spoke, the boy afraid, and I once more
intimidated by his proximity.
        "Am I in trouble?" Ethan asked finally, breaking a long silence.
        "Shhh," I whispered, placing the index finger of my right hand to
his thin, pretty lips.  "I'll ask the questions here."
        Eyes doe-wide, Ethan nodded submissively, innocent to the subtle,
vicarious kiss I was giving him.  Nodding in reply, I let my finger slip
down the boy's lips to his shin as he removed the tray cover and carefully
set it on the floor.
        I watched the boy eat, enjoying his little movements.  He took up a
fork in his left hand and used the prongs to pop the yolks of his eggs.
The yellow fluid flowed and I grew an erection.  The shiny, glistening egg
whites were symbolic of Ethan's equally white, glistening pre-pubescent
genitals, the thick yellow yolks flowing over the plate symbolic for the
sperm he could not yet produce.  There was sunlight everywhere.
        Ethan glanced sideways at me as he cut a small portion of egg, the
yolks dripping.  I made a stern face.  The boy started and bent over his
plate, bringing the fork to his small mouth quickly.  Chewing.  Cheeks
working.  Thin lips moist.  Anxious and uncertain, quick hands flitting, he
reminded me of a humming bird.  He ate like a bird, which explained why he
was so chicken-thin.
        "I won't tolerate bad boys in my dorm," I said.
        "I'll be good, sir," Ethan chirped earnestly, picking up a wedge of
wheat toast slathered with grape jam.  Outside, birds chirped and flitted
among the trees, singing their mating songs.  It was all very clumsy and
romantic, that first morning with Ethan.     Gazing upon him, I could not
help but marvel at the sweet boy's innocence and at the fact that he did
not know that the man sitting beside him had fallen hopelessly
head-over-heels in love with him.
        "Good boys spy on their teachers and barge into their rooms?"  I
sipped my coffee.
        "No, sir," Ethan whispered, biting into his toast with a crunch.  I
watched him take up a glass of orange juice.  "You're new.  That's all."
        "You've never seen a man before?" I replied, trapping him with
rhetoric.
        The boy bowed his head, lower lip pouting.  He blinked rapidly.  "I
was just playing," he said, voice quavering, ready to cry.
        Tenderness overwhelmed me.  I had no desire to break the lad's
spirit.  I reached over and straightened his pink shirt collar.  "Shhh!
I'm only upset because I'm hungover.  That's my fault, not yours.  I know
boys have to play."
        "I won't do it again," Ethan promised, already regaining his
composure.  He watched me fuss with his collar.
        "Eat.  You're so skinny," I said softly, patting his flat tummy.
The boy watched my hand until I took it away, then brought another forkful
of egg to his mouth.
        We finished breakfast in silence, the click of utensils and our
chewing the only sounds.   "You cleared your plate.  Do you want seconds,
skinny?" I asked.
        Ethan turned to me, a shy grin curling his lips.  A tingle washed
though my body. The boy gave a little twitch of his hips, leg bumping mine,
staring into my eyes.  It was devastating: I melted as the boy projected a
powerful vibe of playful approval.  "You're teasing."
        "You're right."
        We studied each other, bonding as new teacher and student.  Then
the grinning boy wriggled like a worm, sliding down under the breakfast
tray until he emerged at my feet.  He climbed out of bed, picked up the
tray and carred it to the dresser.  I drank in the sight of his goregous,
slender thighs and thought of Harrison's suggestion to put Ethan in a white
baby-doll dress.
        "You could do this for a living.  Oh, that's right, you already
do," I joked.
        The boy giggled and hunched his shoulders, turning.  Impish little
nymph.  "Can I get you anything else?"
        "The asprin?"
        "Oh!  Right here!" Ethan called brightly, holding up the pointer
finger of his right hand as his left dug into his pants pocket.  His pants
were so short it seemed there was no room to hold anythihg.  But little
boy's pockets are deep, and Ethan produced a bottle of asprin, trotting
around the bed to my right, knees bumping the mattress.
        "Good boy!" I cried happily, wrapping my hands around his bony hips.
        "Wow!  You must really be hungover!" Ethan smiled, surprised by my
affection.
        "Oh, sweetheat!  You'll never know!" I gushed, twisting the boys
hips to make him dance.  I felt a moment of regret for my outburst,
remembering Harrison's observation that Ethan needed a masculine figure in
his life.
        "Well, maybe when I grow up," the boy laughed.
        I stared at Ethan's cream shorts and the neatly cuffed hems, then
let my hands drop to his firm thighs.  His tanned flesh was immaculate and
moist.  "Don't rush to grow up," I said.  "Enjoy these days.  Let us adults
look after you.  Plenty of time to have to fend for yourself.  You just be
a good little boy"
        Ethan blushed.  I knew then that what he needed and ached for was
praise and affection.  A man who appreciated his mischief and spry
personality.  Clearly, the other teachers had dismissed him as a trouble
maker, but in truth the boy's behavior was a cry for attention.  A
round-a-bout effort to make contact.
        "Here."  Ethan held out the asprin.
        "Thank you, sweetheart."  I gave his thighs a squeeze.  Ethan drew
in a quick breath, extended arm quivering.  Yes.  Ethan ached for
affection.  At that moment I dedicated my life to fulfilling his needs, and
our joining would be a healing.
        I took the bottle, tossed the covers aside, and swung my legs over
the edge of the bed.  I wore only my white cotton briefs.  The boy started
as he gazed upon my body.  Then I dashed into the bathoom, not wanting him
to see my erection.  I doubted that Ethan would be receptive to my desires
just then, and I doubted -- correctly, as it turned out -- that he would
understand what an erection was.  Harrison had said that Ethan wasn't gay
and that seemed clear.  The boy only yearned for a man's love, something
very different from being gay.  Nor was I gay.  The attraction between men
and boys goes far beyond such limited, physical concerns.
        "Can I go now?"
        "Yes.  Thank you for a lovely breakfast."        I peered around
the bathroom door and saw Ethan standing by the dresser, holding the tray.

        The little boy smiled and ambled out, moving self-consciously,
feeling my eyes on him the whole time.  When he was gone I closed the
bathroom door, ripped away my underwear and stepped into the shower.  I was
on fire, more aroused than ever before in my life.  With shaking hands I
lathered up my cock and masturbated furiously, almost falling over as I
came, shooting jets of hot cream over the curtain.