ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
                                     Chapter Seven
                                   "Lovers Quarrel"

        On Friday, Ethan opened up to me over lunch.  He spoke of soccer
and of favorite books; he told me he wanted to be a pilot when he grew up;
and when I asked, he told me he liked to catch fireflies on Summer
evenings.  Ethan blossomed before my eyes and became more beautiful.  He
was letting me get to know him on a much more personal level beyond our
roles as teacher and student.  We were man and boy together.
        As he chatted happily, the child pretended to feed his Teddy Bear.
Unlike yesterday, he was very comfortable playing with the toy.  I realized
that Ethan was taking the opportunity to engage in this kind of play with a
grown up watching, an opportunity he'd been deprived of as an orphan.
        "Careful.  That soup's hot.  Blow on it first.  Like this.  See?"
The little boy pursed his lips and blew, showing the bear how, then pressed
the spoon to the bear's mouth.  A lump rose in my throat: Ethan's behavior
was much cuter for his being 12 years old.
        "Don't feed that bear all your food.  You're the one who needs it."
        "I know.  But I don't want Teddy catching cold, either."
        I hoped Ethan would respond this positively to the velvet purple
and black holiday dress that had arrived in the mail that morning, complete
with lacy white stockings, black patent-leather shoes and black laced
panties.  I planned to give it to him on Christmas Eve, along with a white
corsage, and the I would teach him how to waltz.  I would wear a black
short pants tuxedo, and in the chateau Headmaster Arcadia granted for our
use, Ethan and I would host a private party for couples like Harrison and
Jeremy.  I wanted to show off the little boy in the velvet purple dress cut
circular and full, knowing that the padded shoulders and high hemline would
make his  arms and legs look very slender.
        When we'd finished eating and it was time to study, I climbed into
bed.  Ethan scooted over to make room and we sat side by side against the
headboard, our knees drawn up.  I assigned a chapter and the boy began to
read quietly.  I draped my left arm over his shoulders and twirled my
fingers in his hair.  Ethan dropped his right hand atop my right thigh and
stroked it absently.  The sight and feel of the child's delicate hand on my
muscled gold leg was heavenly, all the more so for the innocence of his
touch.  Ethan was letting me know that I was his friend and nothing more.
        I hugged the boy close and he snuggled against me, his small body a
feathery warmth.  He continued to read and move his hand up and down my
thigh.  The gentle strokes were so soothing I dozed off.
        "The teacher can't sleep if the student can't," Ethan said,
slapping my thigh.
        I woke to his smiling face, took in the moisture-rich smoothness of
his skin.  I kissed him on the cheek.
        "Why'd you do that?" he asked openly.
        "Because I've never liked a boy the way I like you."
        Ethan blushed bashfully, bowing his head to stare down at the book.
I took hold of his right hand, interlocking our fingers.  Ethan gripped
back experimentally, only a slight trembling in his legs revealing that he
was very pleased.
        In unison, we leaned closer against one another, our bare legs
pressing the lengths of our thighs in a modest kiss of flesh.  Our thighs
were equally hairless, but while I regularly massaged mine with lotion to
keep them soft, Ethan's was softer by far.  The size and color of our
kissing thighs made for a sharp compliment of contrasts.

        On Saturday, when Ethan returned to school after a week in the
infirmary, everything came crashing down.  I should have seen it coming at
breakfast.  The boy-waiter went about his business, confused but charmed by
a succession of students, mostly teenagers, who approached him wanting to
shake his hand.
        "Teddy was right," Ethan whispered as he poured me coffee.
"Everyone missed me."
        "And why wouldn't they?"  I reached down to rub his thighs from
shorts to socks.  Ethan let me feel him, giving himself to me.  He leaned
his weight on his left leg, bony hip pressing into my ribs.  My fingers
scratched the silky hollow at the back of his right knee.
        "Everyone's staring," Ethan giggled, gazing out over the cafeteria.
I followed his gaze.  The teenagers sat motionless, lifted glasses of
orange juice and milk held in mid-air before their wondering faces.  Ronald
stared, too, head tilted to one side, round eyes filled with questions.
        "They like you," I whispered, patting the boy's bottom which fit in
my palm like a melon.  I squeezed; the boy's firm buttocks were juicy and
ripe.  I felt the warmth of his ass globes through the black fabric, felt
the elastic contours of his underpants.  Lord.  I can't express how
fantastic it was to finally feel Ethan's ass.
        "I don't get it," the boy-waiter mused.  He was so distracted I was
able to slide my hand up between his legs and press my thumb square against
his small, virgin anus.  My thumb was much wider than his rectal orifice,
and I had no idea how my 8" erection would ever fit inside.
        "Yah!" Ethan gasped as my thumb pressed harder.  He twisted and
peered over his shoulder to see my thumb pressing the pucker of his anus.
"You're trying to goose me!" me called playfully, smiling.  The men at the
staff table cleared their throats, watching us.  "I better serve them, too,
huh?" the boy-waiter said, nodding politely at his teachers.
        "Yes," I sighed, pressing deeper, feeling the moist, warm spot of
his anus through his pants and the promise of his slick, clinging colon
stretched and fluttering around my penis thrusting in and out of his body.
"Now run along."
        I patted Ethan's butt and sent him on his way.  I bought my thumb
to my lips and discretely traced my tongue over it.  I knew I would have to
lubricate the boy's anus with my tongue for many minutes before penetrating
him.  Young Ethan would flop and squeal wildly, and I decided that I would
ask his permission to tie him down when I did it.  But our first acts of
love-making would be much more subdued, both of us wearing all of our
clothes.
        Breakfast over and as I stood to leave, I saw Ethan and Spencer
talking by the service window.  Ethan looked very surprised that shy
Spencer had stopped him to talk, the slightly taller blonde resting his
hand on the younger boy's shoulders.  Then they were walking away somewhere
quickly and purposefully.

        Ethan was terribly disruptive in class later that morning, barking
out answers when I called on other boys and laughing when a boy answered
incorrectly.  I had to scold him several times before I was forced to have
him stand in the corner, a white 'Dunce' cap on his head.  Ethan stood
rigid and defiant with perfect posture for almost an hour.  I couldn't
lecture effectively seeing him in the corner.  The other students were
bewildered and grew quiet, sensing trouble.  I assigned some reading then
approached Ethan.
        "What's wrong with you?" I whispered, pressing my right knee
against the backs of the child's thighs, kissing his legs with mine once
more.
        "Don't touch me!" he hissed.  I gasped, knee dropping.  A cold vibe
emanated from Ethan, forcing me away when only that morning he had emanated
loving warmth.
        "What is it?"
        "Like you don't know!"
        I felt lost and confused.  Where was the beautiful child whom I had
nursed all week?  The child who'd played with his Teddy Bear?
        "Ethan.  I don't understand.  What's wrong?"
        "How could you!" he snapped, loud enough for the other children to
hear.  I glanced over my shoulder at them, and the children quickly buried
their heads in their books.
        "I don't want to punish you," I pleaded, touching the dunce cap.
"I know you're not a bad boy."
        "I don't care what you do."  Ethan began to shake with anger, tiny
fists clenched against his thighs, and I moved away quickly.
        With no other recourse, I left him standing in the corner.  Rules
were rules, especially in an environment like the Academy, and my young
lover was not above them.  Then the bell rang.  The students quickly
gathered their materials, flinching as Ethan stomped back to his desk, head
held up in defiance, wearing the dunce cap.  He threw the dunce cap onto
the floor then marched to the door, glossy round knees lifting high and
pumping.

        The problem was my song dedication and public declaration of love.
I had violated Ethan's privacy.  Coupled with my stirring his emotions and
the fact that Ethan was not homosexual, I had left the boy feeling betrayed
and confused.  But how could I have known?  I was an inexperienced
boy-lover, as inexperienced as the 12 year old lad in such matters.
Spencer had innocently compounded the problem by playing the taped
broadcast for Ethan after breakfast.
        That evening at dinner, when I held up my coffee cup, the
boy-waiter pretended not to notice, haughtily stomping his feet and turning
away.  Harrison and Frank tried to give me advice, suggesting that I give
Ethan some space, but it was impossible since the Academy was a closed
environment.  I called a dorm meeting that night because I had been
assigned the task of organizing the Halloween party.  Ronald, Emiliano and
several other children volunteered to help, but Ethan sat alone in a
corner, scowling openly at me.  Afterwards, I asked Ethan to meet with me
in my room, but he never showed.
        The following week was awful.  Ethan continued to be disruptive,
forcing my disciplining him.  He spent each class standing in the corner,
the dunce cap perched on his head like a symbol of revolution.  He avoided
me each time I asked him to stay after class.  In a move of singularly bad
judgement, I made Ethan stand in the corner one morning until the other
students had left, then I closed and locked the door, pulling the sash down
for privacy.
        "I want you to talk to me!" I yelled, angry with hurt and
frustration, advancing on the child.
        "I have nothing to say to you!" Ethan yelled, spinning around, tiny
fists raised.
        I panicked.  The child was genuinely ready to fight.  I took a
breath to calm myself and counted to ten.  I'd never been in love and
neither had Ethan, and neither of us knew what to do about our powerful,
unfamiliar and conflicting emotions.
        "Ethan.  Honey, please.  I never meant to embarrass you.  I am so
sorry."
        "Hah!"
        I reached out and the boy punched my hand away.  His tiny fist was
a harmless pat, but it hurt me worse than I'd ever been hurt before.  At
the time, I did not know that Ethan and I would eventually be intimate
sexual partners, and I did not plan on it, only hoped it might happen.  I
would be more than satisfied to love him platonically, but I couldn't live
without his love, I couldn't continue at the Academy otherwise.
        "You...hit me, Ethan?" I gasped, stunned.  The child was stunned,
too, but he raised his fists again to strike.  "Don't hit me, Ethan!
Please!  I want to apologize!"
        The little boy began to breathe heavily, his face screwing up and
flushing red.  His legs trembled, his lower lip pouted, and tears began to
spill down his cheeks.
        "Oh, honey, no!  Don't!"
        "You...you...you meanie!  You big mean man!" Ethan shrieked,
breaking down and sobbing.  "How could you do that when I didn't know?!
How could you say those things when I was sick and didn't know?!"
        "I was just trying to be nice!  I was worried about you!  I carried
you to the doctor and I like you so very much!  I'm sorry!"
        "Er!  Bwew heh heh!" went Ethan, blinded by tears and punching the
empty air feebly.  "Wah!" he wailed, throwing his head back, eyes squeezed
shut and mouth open in despair.  The dunce cap fell to the floor.  My heart
fell, too.  I had hurt the boy terribly.  I had been careless and was
paying the price.  The child-orphan simply was not ready for the
unconditional love of a man after a liftime of being alone, at least not
before he had time to accept it in private and at his own pace.
        "Baby!  Baby don't cry!" I sobbed, reaching out to hold him.
        "I'M NOT A BABY!  STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!" Ethan screamed.
        The boy's shrill voice peirced the classroom.  Blubbering, he ran
to the door and threw it open, blinding pushing his way past the crowd of
high school students waiting to enter, the teenagers shocked.  In a booming
silence, they entered and sat at their desks.  The bell rang.  I could not
look at them, standing in the corner where Ethan had stood.  I finally
mururmed a reading assignment then excused myself and left for the
restroom, washing my face in a sink of cold water, devastated.

        Spencer caught up with me that night to tearfully apologize for
what was not his fault.  I had to hug him and reassure him that he had done
nothing wrong, and I thanked him for looking after me that night in the
radio station.
        "I didn't know, Mr. Wilson!  Honest!  I thought Ethan loved you, too!"
        "Shhhh!"  I stroked the DJ's blonde hair.
        One morning, I yelped and bounced up from behind my desk.  A
glistening, silver thumbtack was on my seat.  The children let go a
collective gasp; such a prank had never been committed at the academy.
Wordlessly, I brushed the thumbtack aside, ignoring Ethan's sly smirk.
        I stopped eating in the cafeteria, unable to endure the way the
boy-waiter ignored me.  I began to lose sleep.  I thought of my life before
the Academy -- barely a month had passed, but it seemed like a lifetime.  I
wrote a letter to my parents and told them of my new job, wanting their
reassurance.  Of course, I could not tell them of my problems or that I was
a boy-lover although I wanted to, and in a flight of fantasy I imagined
bringing Ethan home to meet them, the child dressed in his short pants
school uniform.  I wanted my mother to cluck and fuss over the beautiful
little boy the way she used to fuss over me, and my father to shake my hand
proudly and make me promise to do right by Ethan.  I wondered if any man
had ever brought a boy home to his parents, statistically sure that there
must be more than a few parents who would understand that gender and age in
themselves were not definitive criteria for true love and healthy
partnerships.  After all, worldwide there were many happily married,
heterosexual men who had been loved by men when they were little boys.
        Drafting the letter, I walked out to drop it in the mailbox by the
library, then wandered without direction, following the paths that led to
the chateaus.  The lights were on in one of them, and without thinking I
walked up to stand in the bushes outside the living room window.  I saw Mr.
Johnson -- the math teacher and soccer coach -- lying naked on a mohagony
coffee table, with a 16 year old boy named Eric sitting on his cock.  Eric
was dressed in a soccer uniform, his long, brown legs straddling his
teacher's, bouncing up and down on Mr. Johnson's dick impaled in his ass.
The teenager looked so pleased, black hair flopping, weaving side to side,
smooth and muscular thighs flexing.  Mr. Johnson looked asleep, letting the
boy do all the work, reaching up now and then to massage the boy's crotch.
        I had never seen a man and boy together.  It looked so right, so
pure and so natural.  It wasn't like seeing a sexual act at all, judging by
their expressions.  They looked perfect together, perfectly content.  Then
I saw Eric begin to bounce harder, his teen thighs rippling, Mr. Johnson's
hairy balls flopping against the teen's orange short-panted ass.  It had
never occurred to me to fuck a boy through his shorts, and again I
marvelled at my virginity and inexperience.  Why not fuck a boy through his
shorts?  Why not when I loved boys in short pants and when short pants were
so utterly definitive of what constituted boys clothes?
        High whines from Eric filtered through the window and reached my
ears.  his cute face contorted with rapture, and he dug his fingers into
his soccer coach's flabby stomach.  Mr. Johnson began to wriggle and grope
the boy's crotch madly, and as they built to orgasm I turned away, leaving
them to their business.  The image of handsome Eric fucking himself on the
man's cock, wearing his soccer uniform, thigh muscles rippling in his brown
legs, made me think of Ethan bouncing on my cock and how, at that time, it
seemed such a thing would never happen.
        Back in my room, I changed into my pajamas -- a plain white shorts
set to match the boys -- and then there was a knock on my door.  it was
nearing midnight, and I immediately grew concerned, expecting a crisis.  I
opened the door and found Ethan standing there, dressed in the plain,
regulation white pajamas, the blue silk pajams and the teddy bear in his
hands.
        "Ethan?"
        "Here.  I don't want them anymore," the boy said coldly, dropping
my presents on the floor.
        It was too much.  Numb, I stared at the boy, my eyes moving over
his small, haughty face, down his beanpole form to his legs to the silk
pajamas and teddy bear at our feet.  My vision clouded with tears.  I
pulled at my hair so hard I loosened the roots.
        "Please don't hurt me anymore," I sobbed, my voice breaking.  Then
I lost control.  I began to cry freely, in a way I hadn't since I was
Ethan's age.  "I made a mistake.  Oh!  Poor Teddy!" I whined, dropping to
one knee to pick up the bear.
        "That's what you get," Ethan said.
        I looked up, the child so commanding, so in control.  I saw his
expression soften with regret -- the boy had committed himself to punishing
me and was following through with his intentions, but was clearly moved and
sorry by the pain he caused me -- then I buried my face in my hands and
wept, my open mouth over the teddy bear's.  I sensed Ethan standing before
me, knowing that he was on the verge of apologizing, amazed by his power
over me.  But then I gripped the door and slammed it shut, sobbing
pathetically, scrambling into bed and hiding under the covers.  It was a
long while before I regained my composure, I don't know how long, and just
before I had emptied myself and cried my way to sleep, I thought I heard a
tentative knock at the door, then the sound of heavy, child footsteps
walking away.