Date: Fri, 17 Aug 2007 17:51:46 -0700 (PDT)
From: Michael Smith <wetswimboy2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Journals of Michiel Fournier

The Journals of Michiel Fournier
By: Michael Smith

Author's Note: I would love to hear any feedback.
               Please write me at
               wetswimboy2000@yahoo.ca

Introduction

My dear reader,

I dare not compare myself to the great Casanova, nor to
the Vicomte de Valmont, but I do count the stories you will
soon read to be of enough merit that my best friend in the
whole world, Jean-Pierre Dumas (of no relation, unfortunately,
to the great writer), compelled me to have them published.  He
poured over my disgustingly messy writing, helping me pull out
the interesting stories and separate them from the more dull
ones that will surely put you to sleep.

You are here, reading this, for two reasons.  Firstly,
you share my passion for the exotic; for the forbidden fruit.
Like me, you enjoy not only the sight but also the taste of
young, beautiful boys.  You are reading this also because my
English is superb, and so I was able to masterfully translate
my French journals into English, to invite a larger audience
to share these wonderfully tantalizing pieces of my life with
me.

We shall go straight to it, but one more thing first.  I
agreed to have these distributed only because of a very wise
Jean-Pierre.  My best friend shares my passion for life but
not my taste in boys.  He reminded me how lucky I was, to have
the opportunities I had, but also to have the good sense to
take advantage of them when I saw them, and he implored me to
share these with others.  He said the work would be worth it
to even bring a fraction of my own pleasure to readers around
the world.  So please, make yourself comfortable.  Pour
yourself a glass of wine, make sure that you are in a
comfortable chair, and share in my pleasure.

Yours sincerely,

Michiel Fournier

Part 1: My Boarding School Days

I grew up in France, a country of wine; on an estate with
wealthy parents.  I devoured books--and not just children's
books--and by the time I was twelve, I had an impressive list
of books read, that I know helped me learn how to take
advantage of life.  Ever since we were babies, I had Jean-
Pierre by my side, and it was together, when we were almost
twelve, that both his parents and my own decided that we
needed to take life more seriously, and so shipped us off to a
wonderful but strict boarding school.

The two of us together made two very good friends, very
quickly; the kind of friends who of course would get is into
mounds of trouble.  After my first two weeks there, the four
of us were standing side by side, at full attention, in the
headmaster's office.  Headmaster Savoie was a very large man,
with a thick, greying mustache.  He was very jolly when he
wanted to be, but very strict when he needed to be.  He was
pacing back and forth, yelling at us, coming very close to
swearing.  We were ordered to strip.  He called Jean-Pierre
first, bent the boy over his desk, and began lashing Jean-
Pierre's twelve year old bottom with the strap.  Needless to
say, I was scared.  My papa had never once laid a hand on me,
and for that matter neither had Jean-Pierre's on him, and what
was happening looked painful.  Jean-Pierre received his
punishment with no amount of dignity, screaming with every
hit, and sobbing afterwards.

The next boy was a little bit quieter, but it was clear
that he too was not used to such treatment.  But despite my
fear for myself (I was undoubtedly next), I watched this
friend much more closely.  I felt sorry for him of course, but
at the same time it was kind of exciting, and I actually found
that I enjoyed watching this.  When my turn came, I did not
flinch, nor did I cry out.  I simply rubbed my backside a
little bit when it was over, and enjoyed, even more, watching
the fourth boy receive his punishment.

"Let this teach you not to try to sneak out of my school
ever again!" Headmaster Savoie bellowed at the four of us when
we were all done.  I looked up at him as I was pulling on my
trousers, and saw a glint in his eye.  I could not fully grasp
what it was.  It seemed like excitement, but there was also a
strong sense of satisfaction on his face.  I wondered if my
eyes showed the same thing.  We left his office, and I vowed
to myself at that moment that I must be much more careful in
the future to avoid such circumstances.  The next morning, I
was called to his office again.

I was scared.  I did not think that my bottom could take
another whipping the day immediately after my first.  But I
found he was in a genuinely jovial mood, and invited me to sit
down on one of the comfortable leather couches in his office.
He even poured me a cup of tea.  He handed me, across his
desk, a story I had written for class.

"You wrote this?" he asked rhetorically.

"Oui monsieur," I answered, taking the pages from him.
It was a story very loosely based on a day that Jean-Pierre
and I had cycled down to the lake, forgotten our bathing suits
and so swam naked, only to be chased by underwater dragons.
We swam furiously, ending up in their treasure caves, and
defeating the dragons using swords which they themselves had
stolen.  We were, of course, naked during all of this, so we
could not take a lot of treasure with us.  We found some rope,
however, tied as much of it as we could to our backs (though
not too much that we would be unable to swim), and swam back
to shore, only to find that our bicycles and clothes had gone
missing.  So we dressed ourselves in bits of armour we had
found in the dragons' cave and walked home.  This was a true
story of course, save for the dragons.

"It is very well-written," Headmaster Savoie said to me.
"Especially for someone your age.  I called you into my office
only to congratulate you.  You have a lot of potential, and I
would like to see you live up to it."  I regarded him
curiously.  I had no doubt that it was a good story, but I
thought I heard something else in his voice, something he did
not say, but the way adult's minds worked rushed into my head
from so many books I had read, and whilst I knew that he was
genuinely praising my story, he liked it also because it
contained two naked boys.

"Merci beaucoup," I said to him.  I followed this with
something he was not expecting.

"It is your choosing, of course," he said to me, "if you
with to take me up on my offer, but I used to be a language
professor myself before I became headmaster, and I would love
to hold private lessons with you, to help you improve your
writing.  With extra work, you could be even more marvellous
than you are naturally!"

"I would love that," I said.  "I don't know how to thank
you."  I knew exactly how to thank him, because I had by this
time figured out one of the major reasons that he thoroughly
loved my story.

"We shall start right now," he said, "and go through your
story, and let us look at areas where you might improve on
it."

"That would be nice, but I am finding it very hot in your
office; would you mind if I loosened my tie?"

"Of course," he said.  He expected me to do only that,
and so he was shocked when I stood up, removed my tie
completely, throwing it on the chair on which I was sitting,
followed by my blazer.

"I really do wish to thank you," I said to him, "both for
liking my story and for your offer of assistance."  He simply
nodded, and I continued to strip.

From then on, for the remainder of the school year, I was
with the headmaster two nights a week.  He taught me
techniques to pleasure a man--which I did not realize until I
was older would end up benefiting me quite a bit.  And by the
same token, he is one of the people who truly developed my
writing, and one of the main reasons that I have so many books
successfully published today.

Our arrangement was beneficial in other ways as well.
Though we had to be much more careful in the future, neither
of my three friends nor me were ever caught again, though we
never ceased sneaking out of the school and causing lots of
mischief.  The headmaster seemed to have developed a sweet
spot for the lot of us.

*

Do not misunderstand me.  I love women.  I met a
beautiful one at the sister school, one night on one of our
midnight romps.  I was fourteen, and her name is Helène
Descoteaux, and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever
seen.  We became boyfriend and girlfriend at fifteen, and the
relationship has never ceased.  I believe, very strongly, that
this is partly what has caused my insatiable lust for boys.

You see, even at a young age, I never had any sexual
variety.  It was always Hèlene right from the beginning.  But
my eyes wandered constantly to the other boys in my boarding
school.  I learned, better than anybody else, how to control
erections.  I was often naked with my classmates.  Aside from
the showers and changing clothes in the dormitory, I was on
the school's swim team.  And in my penultimate year at
boarding school, I became a prefect.

I was assigned to the twelve year old boys' dormitory (I
specifically requested this from the headmaster, and he of
course acquiesced, as by then he and I had become rather good
friends), and it was my responsibility to ensure that bathing
time went smoothly, and also to inspect their beds and
belongings for neatness.  The best part about being a prefect
is something I had waited five years--ever since that day I
received a punishment in the headmaster's office--to do.  I had
the authority, as a prefect, to use the strap.

And so I made it my goal to see as many naked boys as I
possibly could.  Every evening, during the inspection time, I
would single out a different boy, finding something as an
excuse to punish him.  He would be stripped naked, asked to
bend over the bed, and whipped.  The first boy I did this to
was an Irish lad named Seamus O'Mally.  He was tall and wiry,
with red hair.  I thought his freckles rather cute, and felt
sorry that he was teased about them rather a lot.  He was,
however, the first boy I spanked, and when I did this, I
understood the glint I had seen in Headmaster Savoie's eyes
those five years before.

I of course wanted much more than to simply see the boys
naked and deliver spankings.  And it was for this reason that
I singled out Seamus more than the other boys.  He was not the
best looking of all the boys, but he was different.  And so,
one particular week, I made sure to whip him every single day
(my excuses to do so, however, became more and more flimsy
each time), and on Thursday night, I asked him to accompany me
to my own dormitory.  Once there, I explained to him that his
little bottom probably could not take another one tomorrow,
but that I would give him a chance to do something for me, and
if he did this, I would let him off tomorrow.

As a prefect, I had a private dormitory, so there we
were, naked, sitting beside each other on my bed.  I was
fondling him with one hand and guiding his hand around my
member with the other.  After that day, Seamus' soft hand or
warm mouth became a bi-weekly treat.  I pleasured him as well,
and taught him the same pleasurable tactics I had been taught
myself, not to mention the fact that because of these visits,
his bottom was spared.  So Seamus learned, like I did, that if
you give a little, you can certainly receive a lot.

When I graduated at seventeen, my first day back at home,
Hélène had a wonderfully prepared dinner with my parents, at
the end of which my father took me into his study and poured
two glasses of delightful brandy.  He handed me, also, two
packages.  The first was a box containing and exquisite
fountain pen, and the second was a rich leather journal.  The
first thing I wrote in this journal, with the pen, was about
Hélène--how I met her, our magical first kiss--generally how
much I simply adored her and could not live without her.  But
that story was told, and I wrote next about Headmaster Savoie,
and from there about my boarding school pleasures involving
Seamus.  All of this took me around a week.  And at the end of
this week, I realized that I needed more.  I told myself, very
sternly I might add, that though I was happy with Hélène, and
would never to anything to hurt her, I simply needed a bit
more fun here and there.  And I would get it.


Part 2: A Scary Movie

My uncle--my father's brother--arrived two weeks later, on
a Friday evening with his twelve year old son, Guy.  He looked
exactly as I did at age twelve.  He was very close to hitting
puberty full on, and a very handsome boy with bright blue eyes
and short brown hair.  He got his looks from his father, as I
did from my father, and so the differences were slight, aside
from the effects of age.  In short, he was beautiful.  And the
reason he was there, in my house, is that his parents and mine
were going on a weekend trip together, which they decided to
take without kids, and so Guy became my charge.  Of course I
knew about this arrangement in advance, and I realized that in
order to make the most of the weekend, I would have to come up
with a good plan.

Guy and I had a luscious supper whilst we caught up with
each other.  I allowed him even to join me in a lovely bottle
of wine, of course just enough to keep him happy and make him
randy (all members of the family on my father's side had this
side effect from good wine).  After we ate, we changed into
our pyjamas and I gave him the option between two movies
before bed.  One was suitable for him, the other extremely
frightening, something he would never be allowed to watch.
Naturally, at twelve years old, he always jumped at the chance
to do anything and everything he was not allowed to do.

It did not take him long at all to knock quietly on my
door, later on that night, and ask if he could sleep in my
bed.  It was this part of the plan that I had to handle very
delicately in order to make sure that it played out the way I
wanted.

"I think you're definitely old enough to sleep on your
own," I said to him, "so off you go."  He pleaded, as I knew
he would, and so I conceded.  He climbed in beside me, and we
turned to face each other.  "Are you still scared?"  He
nodded.  "Well, I think I know something that might make you
feel better."

I placed my hand underneath his shirt and began to feel
his stomach and his chest, pausing to make his nipples hard.
Naturally, almost immediately, he asked me what I was doing in
a shocked voice, and I responded simply that if he wanted to
sleep in my bed, he would have to do something for me as well.
It was a very scary movie.

I removed my shirt and told him to do the same.  It
remained dark, and I played with his upper body some more,
enjoying the feel of smooth skin.  I began to bite his ear,
and kiss his neck.  He was submissive.  Boys always are after
a scary movie, or a spanking.  I reached over and pulled down
his pants, leaving on his shorts, at least for the time being.
I began to run my hands up and down his legs, feeling the
smooth skin there, not allowing myself to feel the part of him
I wanted to badly.  And then I could resist him no longer.

We both removed our shorts, and lying beside each other,
facing each other, I began to play with him.  Feeling him
become hard in my hands, I instructed him to begin to stroke
me the same way.  He knew what he was doing.  He obviously did
have quite a lot of practice on himself--all twelve year old
boys do--and he brought me to climax just as masterfully as I
did him.

We performed this service for each other a few more times
over the weekend.  I wanted more than anything to know how I
would feel inside his mouth, but he was my cousin, and I
thought it best to not go too far.  Besides that, he found
that he much preferred being pleasured by somebody else, and I
was very happy that I was not the only one enjoying the
experience.


Part 3: A Bicycle

It was a beautiful summer day, and Hélène was busy.  I
had been accepted into a very good school, where I would be
studying literature and creative writing, and I did not bother
with a job for the summer.  I spent almost all of my time with
the love of my life, but around a month after the weekend with
my cousin, when she was not there, I did absolutely nothing at
home all day.  Finally, late at night, I felt that I must get
out of the house.  I packed a towel and a pair of swimming
trunks into my backpack and cycled out along a favourite trail
that would lead me to a pond that was absolutely gorgeous for
night swimming.

This pond, at certain times, was usually deserted,
especially late at night.  On this particular night, when I
arrived at this pond, it was not deserted.  There were five
boys--four of them fourteen and one of them ten--nearby, with
bicycles, wearing swimming trunks.  The fourteen year old boys
were pointing at a naked ten year old, teasing him, calling
him "guillmauve" amongst other things.  I found out later that
the boy's surname was "guillmont", which is somewhat close to
"guillmauve," which means marshmellow.  I learned very quickly
that they had thrown the poor boy's clothes into the lake, and
he was now left with nothing.

I reacted quickly.  I picked up a stick from the ground,
grabbed the boy nearest to me and began to thrash him on his
bare back, warning the others (who very quickly got on their
bikes and hurried away) that they were next.  I finally let
the one I got go, and so I was left alone with the ten year
old, who had not moved his hands from in between his legs, in
an effort to hide the one thing that I, of course, had wanted
to see.

I knew that my trunks would not fit him, and so, to his
delight, I suggested that we swim nude together, as I knew
that nobody else would be around.  I promised him, as well,
that I would find him some safe way to get home.  At this he
cheered up, and we splashed around in the warm, summer water
for a while.  The towel I had with me was very large, and I
brought him with me to sit against a tree, and spread it
underneath us, telling him that we should simply dry off with
the wind.  As he knew that I was his only chance of getting
home, he did not argue with me.

And this was my opportunity, as I sat together with this
beautiful boy under the moonlight, to have another bit of fun
during this summer.  I put my arm around him, and began to
feel his arm, slowly moving my hand to other parts of his
body.  Everything was smaller, but just as smooth, as Guy had
been.  It was an especially nice feeling him as he was wet
from the pond.

I began to fondle him, and he shifted uncomfortably, but
allowed me to continue.  As I played, I began to instruct him
on exactly what I wanted him to do for me.  I felt this boy's
warm mouth explore so cautiously the erection of an adult.
The boy had only dreamed of being so big, which he would one
day.  I continued to run my hand all over his body whilst he
pleasured me, and I exploded into his mouth.  He spit it out.
I thanked him and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

I dressed myself and helped him with the drawstring of my
swimming trunks.  They were very loose, but with them and the
carefully tied towel, he was able to get home on his bicycle.


Part 4: Jean-Pierre's Gift

Their father had passed away when they were both very
young.  So Jean-Pierre and his younger brother Gilles grew up
without a father.  My heart goes out to them both every time I
think of this.  But one day, Jean-Pierre asked me for a
favour.  Apparently, at thirteen years old, Gilles had begun
to amass some pornography, some stolen from Jean-Pierre and
others shared with his friends, and Jean-Pierre felt that
somebody would need to talk to Gilles about, well, such
matters.  Being his brother, Jean-Pierre was of course much
too uncomfortable to do it, and by the same token did not want
to approach their mother about a subject to be discussed with
other men.  And so he arranged for Gilles to spend the better
half of a day with me at my place.

I brought up the subject just at the end of lunch.
Gilles looked uncomfortable, but he allowed me to speak
without laughing and without interrupting.  His grey eyes
remained serious and his beautiful face, though not facing me,
held me captive throughout the talk.  I explained to him
things about his own body, things about girls--everything I
thought he should know.  He had only one question for me at
the end; a question I knew he would have because of some of
the things I had told him.

"What's the difference between doing it yourself and if a
girl does it for you?"

This is the first boy who, when we were together, I was
not solely thinking of myself.  After we stripped, I had him
lie on my bed.  I first explored everywhere with my hands and
then with my lips and tongue and teeth.  I kissed and licked
and bit every bit of him that I knew would react favourably to
such touching.  And by the end of this, his eyes were closed,
he was breathing heavily, and his penis was straight in the
air.

I teased it first with my tongue, until I knew he could
not take it anymore, and I completed his pleasure.  I tasted
here, for the first time, what I had made the boy Guillaume
taste by the lake.  But Gilles was still young, and he tasted
salty but still sweet, without an overpowering taste.  And I
lay beside him, and I asked him if he would do the same for
me.  By this time I was throbbing, and I needed him to say
yes.  I lay back and watched his head move expertly upwards
and downwards.  He had learned from what I had just done for
him, and he pleasured me as if he had done this a million
times before.  And that, I explained to him, is the difference
between doing it yourself, and having somebody help you out.

*

The other experiences I had that summer and in subsequent
years are not so interesting, and to describe them all would
be very repetitious.  The boys I have so far mentioned have
been my favourites, and according to Jean-Pierre, the most
interesting to describe.

Jean-Pierre and I are compiling this in my bedroom in my
parent's house, where I have recently returned from completing
university.  I have secured a job at the boarding school where
I first learned so much about how to get the best of pleasures
from life.  The journal is only half full, and we shall see
what new fruits my teaching post allows me to receive.


I would like to thank you for remaining with me this
long, and reading through these pleasures, and hopefully took
pleasure in them yourself.


Fin