Date: Sat, 26 Jul 2008 19:44:40 +0100
From: jerryfell@hushmail.com
Subject: Boy at the Wedding - 8

"Come on mate!"  One of his friends was tugging at his arm, a face
bright with excitement.

"Hang on!"  He watched the Audi turn towards the school gates, and
then disappear behind the south wing of the building.  He felt like
shit.  A profound loneliness sunk into his stomach.  Every time he
came back to school he still felt this gut-wrenching, deadly
loneliness.  He had tried to beat it by trying not to care, by
telling himself he didn't feel anything, but now as he watched
Alexander leave it was back.  Big time.  He felt dizzy.

"Come on!  They will nick the best beds!"

Sebastian dumped his overnight case on top of his trunk and the two
boys struggled with it between them into the brightly lit House
wing.  The corridor was the same institutional green as he had left
it, the floor the same worn stone.  The staircase was the familiar
battered highway, seething with children and handfuls of parents.
Everything was sickeningly the same.

"Hey Seb!"

"Seb!"

"Hey!"

Even the faces of his friends were like a prison sentence.  He was
back.  It was as if he had never left.

The trunk was heavy but they managed it into the dorm.  The room
ran in one long wide corridor to the washrooms at the far end along
floor-planks worn smooth by the feet and slippers of 150 years of
schoolboys.  On either side of the corridor wooden partition walls
divided the space into a series of small rooms, each containing two
bunk-beds.  Many also contained battered sofas or ancient armchairs
bequeathed to them by former occupants.  Curtains, rather than
doors, divided the rooms from the corridor and most of these were
looped over the door frames to allow the boys to rush around,
unpacking.

A prefect, with a clipboard stood by the door as they entered the
dormitory.  "Steel.  You are in 8.  Williams you are in 6."

"Can't we be in the same room again?"

"No.  New year, new chambers.  Get on with it."

Out of earshot Williams swore under his breath.  "And guess
what....  I got both Lard-arse and Skunk in with me!"

"Who did I get?"

"Geek, the Hoss and a new guy."

"That's not too bad."  Hoss, so called for his vanity, was a mate
and Geek was a quiet spectacled slender boy who was drifting
through his schooldays like tumbleweed.  Both had been bording with
Sebastian since age seven.

As they struggled into Chamber 8 with the trunk, the Geek was
already unpacked, sitting quietly on one of the top bunks, reading.
 The others had not arrived, giving Sebastian the pick of the three
remaining beds.

"Hi Geek."

"Hi."   Geek pushed his spectacles up his nose then buried himself
in his book again, blocking out the hoots and excited racket of the
dormitory all around him.

He picked the lower bunk opposite Geek.  "This will do."  Most boys
picked the top bunks by choice, but Sebastian liked the cocoon of
the woodwork around him.

Then it was the painful task of unpacking.  Every item had been
packed by his mother.  Unpacking felt like sacrilege.  She had
folded his stuff with love.  It was too much to bear, so as he
unpacked he shook, threw and crumpled items to remove every silent
trace of her.

And as he ferried his clothes to the matron in the basement, or
took his empty trunk to the store-room he was swept up more and
more in the spirit of the place, running around in scuffed shoes,
bumping into people, shouting over the din to his mates or helping
others with their trunks.  A bell rang and boys flocked to the
dining room for supper, seated by houses at long oak tables in the
vast dining hall with its high roof.  The boys were welcomed back
by the head teacher, framed by the dark canvasses of previous heads
frozen in oil paint.

As the boys ate, served by sweating kitchen staff, the final few
pairs of parents made their escape.

The school closed its gates.

After dinner was Chapel, followed by an hour of free time before
the bell rang again to drive the boys up into the dormitories.
Bells, regime and familiarity sucked the boys back.

Sebastian returned to the chamber to find the Hoss in Geek's top
bunk.  Geek was already in his pajamas on the bunk below.

"Hossy man!"

"Seb! Stroke of luck!  Could be worse!"

"Yeah!"  then to Geek: "What happened?  Wasn't that your bunk?"

"No..., well Hoss wanted it and I didn't mind."

"Oh okay."

Hoss had something behind his back.  "Guess what I got?"

"What?"

With a broad grin the lad produced a large bottle of vodka and a
magazine.

"Que?"

"Vodka, numb-nuts!"

"No, the magazine?"

"Porno."

"Porno?"

"Keep your voice down you fucking idiot!"

"Hand it over.... oh man.  What ...?  This isn't porn its some
fucking nudist shit!"

"Give it to me.... There, you see!  That's what I'm talking about!"

Inside the magazine he had turned to a feature on the carefree life
of the typical naturist family; who's young teenage girl had
obliged the photographer by turning innocent cartwheels for him.
Her lanky legs frozen in a lewd Y had got the Hoss excited.

"You're crazy."  Seb concluded.

"Can I see?"  Piped Geek.

"No!" in chorus.

The magazine was hidden down one arm of the sofa, the bottle down
the other.

In the main corridor of the dorm a prefect was chivvying them to
get into their pajamas.  Hoss loosened his tie and peeled off his
shirt with the tie still at the collar for a quick getaway in the
morning.  Sebastian had seen Hoss naked a thousand times after
games getting hosed down in the showers or in the dorm before
lights-out.  He had never developed a crush on him.  They were
mates.  Full stop.  Both of them were naked, pulling on pajama
trousers that they tied with a knot at the front.  Hoss was
oblivious.  Sebastian was vividly self-conscious of his momentary
nakedness.  For no reason at all his cock started to swell as he
struggled into his pajama jacket.

"What are you looking at?"

Geek quickly looked back down at his book.

The housemaster put his head through their curtain door.

"Well, well well!  Three of my stirling chaps!  Welcome back.  How
are we?"

"Fine, thank you sir."  They grunted.

"Stirling Steel!"

Sebastian groaned. "Sir, aren't you tired of that one?"

"Never tired Steel!  Onwards and upwards!  Hop into bed for me now
will you, there's a good chap."

"Sir?" asked Geek, "Where's the new boy?"

"Ah...!"  The housemaster came into the chamber and closed the
curtain carefully behind him.  This was unusual.  The boys sat up
in their beds.  "Yes, now about that...."  He lowered his voice.
"Boys, I want you to meet a very special challenge.  Will you do
that for me?"  They looked puzzled.  "Your new chamber-mate is a
dutch boy from the Netherlands in Holland.  I am afraid his family
died over the summer holiday in an accident.  This is all quite
fresh and he has been an absolute soldier about it.  Now....  I am
not telling the whole dorm about this and I want the three of you
to keep this to yourselves.  Do I have your word?"

He looked between them to receive their stern nods.

"Good.  Because I want you to look out for him....  Not for ever.
He'll be over it soon enough....  But for now he needs a team on
his side.  Are you that team?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good men!  Now I don't mean for you to be all dopey around him."

"No sir."

"But I do expect teamwork....  Okay?  Good enough!"  He made to
leave.

"So is he coming tomorrow, sir?"

"Yes or the following day.  Now.... Any of you brought your mobile
phones back to school?"

"No sir."

"A flogging if I find one!  You don't want to be flogged do you
Geek?"

"No sir."

"No sir indeed.  Little chap like you flogged for a phone!  That
would be a sorry sight."

"Yes sir."

"Oh and Hoss...."

The boys smiled to hear the housemaster use their nicknames.

"Get a hair cut."

"Yessssir!"

After a few minutes a prefect announced "Lights out!  No talking."
And the entire dorm was plunged into darkness.

Somewhere, higher up the dorm, where the older boys had their
chambers, someone was talking.

"Shut it Smith!"

"It wasn't me!"

"Well shut it anyway! And you Carmichael."

Thirty boys settled down in their crisp, foreign sheets.  Each one
of them a million miles from home.

Sebastian pulled off his pajamas as he always did.  He hated the
feel of them against his skin.  Hated the way they made him feel
like he was wearing uniform to bed.  It was his little act of
rebellion to remove them and kick them down to his feet.  Bare,
with his bare chest above the sheet and his hands behind his head
he stared at the wooden bunk above him.

He thought about the Dutch boy.  Thought about his own mum and dad.
 How he would feel if they suddenly died.  He was close to tears as
it was.  Not a good idea to think about stuff like that.  He
thought about other stuff.  He thought about the fish he had caught
and toyed with the idea of pulling up the image on his mobile phone
to show to the Hoss.  But the light would alert the prowling
prefects and he didn't want the phone confiscated.  Particularly
now.  With you-know-who having the number....

Alexander.

He thought about the man.  Seemed like he was either smiling at Seb
all the time or had that sort of hungry look that sent a shiver
down Seb's spine and up into his cock.  He knew what Alexander
wanted.

`Why did I let him?'

`I let him kiss me....  What WAS I thinking?'

`He must think I am some sort of sex maniac.  Perving on me all the
time.'

`What the fuck!  Why did I give him my number?'

But then the memory of the hand slipping up the leg of his shorts
came back to him.  In sensory HD.  He had lain back surrounded by
the smell of mown grass and tennis balls, covered his eyes, and let
his legs stay wide open as the hand had wriggled in.

When the man's fingertips had bumped against his shrunken scrotum
he had been already fully boned.  His heart was thumping louder
than an iPod stuck in his ears on full blast.  He had moved his
sweaty smooth legs just a fraction wider and with that, all at once
his stiffness had been in the grip of coarse adult fingers.

Splayed out on the grass he had felt every nerve ending.  He had
felt more naked than he felt now, despite his shorts.  And he knew
that the man wouldn't stop and that he wouldn't ask him to.  And as
the man had coaxed him ever closer to cumming, with his eyes tight
shut under his forearms, blood and light had spun in a kaleidoscope
of crazy patterns.  The sunlight against his eyelids suddenly
produced the face of his mother and his father, swimming into focus
amongst the dizzying patterns.  He could see his mother's tears of
anger.  God yes.  She was furious with him.  She was disgusted at
his dirtiness.  The face of his father looming out of the blood
with the boom of his voice with the words he had used after the
incident at school last term:  "I hope to God you grow out of it.
Your poor mother almost died of shame!"  No getting away from it.
He had nearly killed his mother.  And yet, splayed out on the
grass, he was letting  a man do it to him.  And despite the shame
his cum had started to rise with a n insistent deep tickle that had
made him turn his head from side to side, his testicles tightening
and a furious throbbing all along his cock as Alexander kept up the
assault.  He had tried to hold it back, clenching his toes and
letting his legs go rigid on the prickly grass, but to no avail.
And at last with fast desperate spurts that seemed to explode from
his deepest parts he had surrendered.  Sweat,  cum,  tears and snot
had poured out of him as he felt the man's hand retreat.  `I am a
fucking pervert.'  played over and over in his head as cum dribbled
down his leg in sticky proof, and as he lay, like the Pieta, with
his mother looking on.

And as if on cue, without even touching himself, his cum again
forced its way out in a rapid pulse, leeching into the starched
sheet that covered it.

The next day was a blur.  The dining room for breakfast was heaving
as boys gulped down soggy toast and tea and then went to get their
timetables before morning Chapel.  As soon as the chaplain had said
his final Amen boys erupted out onto the cloister as the whole
school rushed into the first period of the school term.  Masters
hurried about looking stressed.  The headmaster was seen striding
down corridors, telling boys to tuck their shirts in and do up the
top button of their shirts or straighten their ties.  Then there
was lunch and a rest period back in the dorm, where the boys
changed into rugby kit to do battle on the playing fields.  Covered
in mud they trudged back up the country lanes from the sport fields
to the school, showered and then went into afternoon classes.
Supper came around, followed by "prep", and then, at long last,
free time.  Seb's mother had packed six tins of peaches and some
custard power, so Seb and Williams used a cooking ring in one of
the prefects' studies to cook.  Bells punctuated the entire day and
finally drove them back into the dorm, to change, chat with their
mates and fool around until Lights Out.

There was still no sign of the new boy.

The dorm was again in darkness and most were asleep when the door
to the dormitory creaked open and the housemaster escorted a weary
boy to chamber 8, helping him to carry his trunk.  He whispered
"Here you are Van Der Graff.  That top bunk in the corner.  Leave
your unpacking till tomorrow morning.  Sleep well."

"Thank you shir."

Sebastian, wide awake, noted the dutch accent.

The housemaster left, pulling the curtain door closed behind him.

Van Der Graff stood outlined by moonlight against the window.
Sebastian saw the silhouette of long hair.  A thin boy.  His
shoulders sloping.  Head bowed. He made no move to undress but
stood motionless.  After a while he turned his face toward the
moon.  He stood there for minutes.  Seb noticed the boy was still
carrying what seemed to be his coat in one hand.

Sebastian wanted to speak, to welcome the boy, but couldn't bring
himself to open his mouth.  It was as if he might frighten him,
startle him somehow.  The whole dorm was silent.  Geek and Hoff
appeared to have slept through the whole thing.

After an eternity Van Der Graff let his coat drop to the floor.  He
stood on the heels of his shoes to pop them off, then placed them
neatly on top of his trunk.  He shrugged his school blazer from his
narrow shoulders, folded it and set it down.  He loosened and then
pulled off his tie.  He folded the tie in half and placed it on top
of the jacket.  His elbow came level with his head as his small
fingers reached into his collar to unbutton it.  Then with both
hands he worked his way down the buttons from top to bottom.
Another shrug of the shoulders and the shirt fell loose about his
wrists.  He unbuttoned the cuffs, removed and folded the shirt and
set it down.  Sebastian was surprised to see he wore a vest that
shone white under the bright moonlight.  It hugged his slender body
and narrow waist.  Crossing his hands in front of him he took the
undershirt off in one slightly theatrical flourish.  Balancing on
one foot he removed a sock.  Then the other one.  He carefully
placed them in his shoes on top of the trunk.  Turning to face the
window he loosened his belt, unzipped his trousers and let them
fall around his ankles.  He stepped out of them, flicked them up
with his foot to smooth and fold them with his hands before placing
them carefully on the pile.  Sebastian could hardly breathe as Van
Der Graff eased his Y-fronts down and over his narrow hips.  Like
the trousers before them they slid down to his ankles and he
stepped out of them.  He picked them up and placed them like the
cherry on top of an ice-cream, delicately dropping them onto the
pile as the finishing touch.

Pretending to be asleep, but straining to see in the silver light,
Sebastian saw the moonlight washing over a thin boy with big feet.
Narrow shoulders with pointed shoulder-blades.  A flat tummy.  Long
dark hair down to his shoulders.  Thin arms.  Long fingers.

Sebastian thought: `Fuck, he's a Goth or something.... what's he
going to do when they tell him he has to get a hair-cut?' A deeper,
more basic instinct silenced these thoughts as he held his breath
and stared at the silver boy, who in turn, stood looking at the
moon.

Small silver buttocks.  Thin thighs.  Calves.  Small ankles.  Big
feet.  Silver feet.

Sebastian didn't dare move.

An age crawled past.

Van Der Graff turned slowly and made his way to the bunk where
Sebastian had narrowed his eyes to a mere slit, in case Van Der
Graff had the benefit of night-vision.  Van Der Graff was now
standing inches away.  His hands on the bedding of the bunk above.
Seb's own bunk now framed Van Der Graff from his shins to his tiny
nipples.  A slender curve.  Foreskin.  Hairless.  Dark small
testicles against silver inner thighs.  Narrow hips.  Inches away.
Sebastian's own cock, in contrast was a tight stub.  Hard.
Straining.

He froze as Van Der Graff found the wooden ladder, and pulled
himself up onto the bunk above.  Narrow, big feet the last thing to
disappear from sight.

Sebastian could breath again.  He was sweating.

Now his ears were straining to hear.  Van Der Graff was turning in
his bed.  Loosening the stiff sheets.  Silence.
But later a strangled sob kept back. Held in.  Not the pathetic
sobs of homesickness that Sebastian was used to hearing around him
at the start of term.  Much more raw.

Much more frightening.

--------
I can only write this if I hear from you that you want me to.
Writing is such a solitary act.  Then we seal the letter inside a
bottle and throw it.  As far out into the sea as we can.
jerryfell@hushmail.com