Date: Thu, 15 Feb 2007 16:56:07 -0500
From: Jeff A <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: Naivete

Disclaimer: This is fiction, intended for an adult audience. No Minors
allowed! The author (sadly) does not encourage, endorse or recommend any of
the actions described herein. Any coincidence of a fictional name here with
your real name is unintended and regretted (but might be good for a laugh).

Dedication: To teachers everywhere. Also to Kent - cheers, buddy.

Author's note: I don't usually promote other writers, but if you're an HP
fan, do yourself a favour and find a story entitled 'Natural Singularity'
in the Celebrity section. If you can't wait until July 21 for Deathly
Hallows, this story will tide you over! IMHO, it beats JKR herself.

* * *

Naivete

by parrafan

If there was a word that could sum up the first eleven years of Jeremy's
life, that word would be "isolation". Not the horrid isolation of a prison
cell, for Jeremy could roam wherever he liked. Nor the isolation of
loneliness, for Jeremy had plenty of companionship, from his mother and
father, his radio, his books and his imagination. No, Jeremy's isolation
was caused by simple remoteness. He lived on a wheat farm in far western
New South Wales, one of the six States of Australia, a little larger than
Texas (N.S.W., not the wheat farm).

Most of the seven million people in N.S.W. live within fifty kilometres of
the coastal strip, which leaves plenty of room inland for the rest of the
population. Much of that room is taken up by large agricultural properties,
and Jeremy's parents, Jim and Jean Wagner, owned and ran one of these.

Jeremy's next door neighbour lived eighty kilometres away, and the nearest
shop of any description was two hundred kilometres from the front gate. So,
Jeremy was isolated, but he was not alone. His schooling was undertaken by
means of two-way radio, known as "School of the Air". He had workbooks for
his written exercises (his homework ably supervised by his mother) and
daily audio contact with a teacher.

Given his uncommon situation, Jeremy grew to his eleventh year in a rather
rarified atmosphere. The property was too distant from any population
centre to get a decent television reception, so Jeremy's parents never
bothered with TV. After all, they had the radio. The only broadcasts that
reached the farm were from the ABC, the Australian Broadcasting
Corporation, Australia's non-commercial publicly funded broadcaster, a kind
of down-under BBC. After dinner (served promptly at six p.m. by Jeremy's
Mum), the small family gathered around the radio to listen to the seven
o'clock news, which was their only daily contact with the big world outside
the farm.

Because of his upbringing, Jeremy's character was formed by only a very few
influences. They could be numbered on the fingers of one hand: his Mum and
Dad, the radio, and a small library of wholesome books. Jeremy was a
pleasant-natured child, having learned graciousness from an early age by
the example of his loving parents. He had never told a lie; he had no need
to. He possessed a fine treble singing voice, often singing along with the
classical arias on the radio. He was a delicate boy, having never played a
game of footy or ridden a motorbike through a mud puddle. He liked to write
poems in his spare time, and at night could often be found gazing at the
stars through a small telescope.

Jeremy's parents loved him dearly, he being their only child. They often
discussed their concerns about his social development late in the evening
after Jeremy had retired to bed. They had chosen their life of isolation,
but they acknowledged that Jeremy had this remote lifestyle thrust upon
him. The wheat farm, although delivering a reasonable income, was no gold
mine. Jeremy's parents had often considered sending their son to any one of
several excellent boarding schools which catered to the children of
agricultural families, to allow him to mix with others his own age, but the
farm finances could never stretch to the thousands of dollars such
schooling would cost every year. So both parents regarded it as a huge
opportunity when the School of the Air teacher happened to mention to
Jeremy's Mum about the music scholarships available at Central Boys'
Grammar School. Every year, this well-regarded School offered four full
tuition scholarships: two for boys with strong academ!
 ic credentials, and two for boys who passed a singing audition.

Of course, the School was not a charity - the two brainy scholarship
students were expected to enter (and perform well) in a range of scholastic
competitions, thus bringing credit (and more wealthy patronage) to the
School. The two singing scholarship holders were required to be the
mainstay of the School Choir, and to perform at various eisteddfods, speech
nights, school concerts and other public occasions.

On hearing of this opportunity, Mrs Wagner immediately arranged an audition
for her son. She knew that a boy's singing voice has a limited
time-frame. Jeremy had never had formal singing lessons, but his untrained
voice was easily better than the dozens of other applicants, even though he
performed his audition over the two-way radio and not in person like the
other boys. His performance of Faure's "Pie Jesu" had the judges waxing
lyrical over the clarity and precision of his voice, and he was instantly
offered a two-year scholarship, commencing as soon as he could arrange
transport for the three hundred kilometre journey to the School.

There was nothing to keep Jeremy on the farm as soon as his parents learned
of the judges' decision, so his Mum packed his suitcase and he was driven
by his father in the family car to the nearest railway station, sixty
kilometres away, for the three hour train trip to the prestigious School. A
taxi took him from the train station up to the School, the cabbie
delivering the boy and his suitcase in mid-afternoon, not long before
afternoon lessons had finished, as Term One had started a few days
beforehand.

Jeremy stood alone in the middle of the dormitory of Wiggum House, one of
twelve 'houses' that stood on the School grounds. Each House was simply a
two-storey building with an upstairs dormitory, a common room, toilet and
shower facilities and housemaster's study, and was home-away-from-home to
around twenty boys of varying ages. The other singing scholarship boy was
placed in Hibbert House; Jeremy did not meet him until some days later.

A loud rumbling sound made Jeremy look out of one of the tall windows for
signs of clouds - but it was not an impending thunderstorm that he heard
(or at least not the meteorological kind) - it was the sound of twenty
pairs of school shoes stampeding up the external wooden stairs to the first
floor dorm. Lessons were finished for the day, and the boys of Wiggum House
were returning to their roost.

The boys of Wiggum House were spread in age right across the school
spectrum, from elevens (like Jeremy) to seventeen year olds, an average of
three boys in each year group. Most of them ignored Jeremy standing in the
middle of the common room as the sea of boys swept past him: they only had
five minutes to get in, get changed out of school uniform, put on sports
clothes, and get out. The man who instituted this rule was Mister Hill, the
Wiggum House Dormitory Master (and also the conductor of the school Choir),
and his head and shoulders could be seen at the back of the pack of boys
who swept into the dormitory in front of him.

Mr Hill's presence was quite imposing. "Five minutes, gentlemen. Walker,
that's no way to treat your school trousers. Prescot, if I catch you
chewing gum in this Dorm again you'll wish you had no teeth. Baker, no-one
wants to smell your socks. Ah, you must be Jeremy. Welcome to Central Boys'
Grammar! And welcome to Wiggum House! Now, let me see...McMahon, show
Jeremy around the School, will you please? I'll catch up with you later,
Jeremy."

The first impressions Mr Hill received on seeing Jeremy standing in the
middle of the room, like a statue surrounded by suitcases, with two dozen
boys rushing past him, were quite pleasing. A little taller than your
average eleven-year-old, but somewhat thin; mousy brown hair slightly
disheveled; teeth slightly irregular behind full lips; ears sticking out a
little; light hazel eyes; clothes about twenty years out of fashion,
including a turtle neck cotton shirt and a pair of grey shorts that barely
came down to mid-thigh; the combined effect, Mr Hill thought, was of a
new-born foal, ungainly, knobby kneed and timid.

For his part, Jeremy could only gasp in wonder: "So many boys!" he
whispered to himself.

The boy Mr Hill had called McMahon did not change his clothes, but followed
the adult's instruction immediately. He stepped over to Jeremy and held out
his hand to shake with the new boy.

"Hi - my name's Peter but everyone calls me Macca", the thirteen-year-old
introduced himself. "Come on, let's put your bags over here, your bunk's
underneath mine, we can unpack them later. Let's have a look around the
School".

A bewildered Jeremy allowed his luggage to be thrown onto the bottom of a
double bunk. Everything about this place was different to home: new smells,
so many people, everyone in a big rush - Jeremy suddenly had the
overwhelming feeling that he was out of his depth.

"Come on, Jeremy!" Peter called. The older boy was already at the door, so
Jeremy ran to catch up to him. Peter was mildly surprised when Jeremy
automatically put his hand in Peter's as the two boys descended the steps
together, but he covered it well. However, he didn't want the whole school
seeing the two of them holding hands, so he took a sharp turn at the bottom
of the stairs and guided his new bunkmate towards the now-deserted
classrooms.

"So", Peter began the tour, "these are our classrooms: that's the Library
over there, and up top are the Science laboratories. That's Woodwork and
Metalwork in that building there, the one with the chimney, and over behind
that wall is the Music Room where we do Choir practice".

"Are you in the Choir too, er, Macca?", Jeremy asked, still holding the
teen's hand, gently swinging their arms.

"Sure am - I'm an alto this year because my voice is breaking soon. You'll
be a treble. There's three in the Choir in Wiggum House. Choir kids are
spread all through the Houses".

"That man who knew my name before - is he...?" Jeremy wasn't sure what to
ask.

Peter gave Jeremy's hand a subtle squeeze as he replied. "That's Mister
Hill. He's okay. He's in charge of Wiggum House, and he's also the Choir
director - but he doesn't teach any classes. Um, I hope you don't mind my
asking, but do you ever hold your parents' hands when you go out?"

"Always", was Jeremy's succinct reply. "Whenever we go for a walk on the
farm we always hold hands. Why? Have I done something wrong?" the younger
boy began to panic.

"No, no, it's okay. But usually, boys only hold hands when they are really
close friends, and when they are alone together", Peter explained.

Jeremy looked at the taller boy. "I hope we can be friends", he stated
simply. "I've never had a face-to-face friend before. Except Mother and
Dad, of course".

Peter took a surreptitious look around, to ensure they were alone. Their
walkabout had taken them down a flight of stairs and into a long corridor
off which about half a dozen classroom doors hung open. His first
impressions of Jeremy were proving to be accurate. "I think it would be
great if we were friends, Jeremy. Let's have a look in one of the
classrooms you'll be using". He pulled the younger boy into the first
vacant room and closed the door behind them.

Jeremy cast his eyes about the room, taking in the rows of desks, the
chalkboard, the various charts and posters, but Peter had his eyes only on
Jeremy. "Now that we're friends, we could have a 'friendship hug'," Peter
suggested with a glint in his eye.

Jeremy stopped scoping the room and looked at the older boy
innocently. "What's a friendship hug?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just something that boys who are friends do sometimes, to show
their friendship for each other. You hug your Mum and Dad, don't you
Jeremy?", Peter enquired.

"Of course", Jeremy replied. I give my Mother a hug after every meal, and
Dad, well, whenever he wants", Jeremy replied.

"Great", Peter answered. "So now you can give me your first friendship
hug". Wasting no more time on small talk, the older boy pulled Jeremy into
his arms and pressed him up against the door of the classroom. Jeremy
responded by wrapping his arms carefully around Peter's waist, and was a
little surprised (but not offended) when Peter's hands slipped down
Jeremy's back and began caressing and squeezing both cheeks of his skinny
bum.

Jeremy spoke up immediately. "Uh, Macca, your hands are on my bottom", he
advised.

Peter left his hands exactly where they were and replied to the younger
boy's challenge. "Sure they are, Jeremy. That's how boys do a friendship
hug. Didn't you know that?"

Jeremy thought for a moment, processing this new information. "No, Macca. I
never knew about it. It's different to how Mother or Dad hugs me. I guess I
have a lot to learn".

"Well, of course it's different from a parent hug!" Peter reproved the
lad. "You wouldn't expect your mother to put her hands on your bum and move
them about like this, would you?", he chided the younger boy, rubbing his
hands on Jeremy's buttcheeks at the same time.

"No, not my Mother, no. Um, can you show me anything else I should know
about, er, boy stuff?", Jeremy asked quietly.

""We're friends, aren't we, Jeremy? Of course I'll show ya. For example, do
you ever kiss you mum and dad? You do, I bet", Peter stated confidently.

"Kiss them? Of course. Every morning when Mother wakes me up, she gives me
a kiss, and every night before bed I give my Dad a kiss", Jeremy explained.

"Okay. But I bet you've never had a friendship kiss before", Peter
asserted.

"A friendship kiss? Is that only for boys, too?" Jeremy asked.

"You bet. You wouldn't want to give your Mum or Dad one of these - these
are strictly boys only. Pucker up". With that, Jeremy fluttered his eyelids
shut and pursed his lips, expecting a smooch on the cheek, or at most, a
little peck on the lips. Peter McMahon had other ideas, though. He took
Jeremy's face in both hands and planted a big wet slurper on the younger
boy's lips, his tongue licking all around Jeremy's mouth. Jeremy's eyes
flew open in surprise, his lips parting in a little gasp. That was all the
opening Peter needed. His tongue instantly poked into Jeremy's mouth, and
it was just as well that Peter was holding Jeremy's head at the time or he
might have bumped it against the door in shock. Jeremy soon calmed down,
and after a minute or so of Peter's tongue exploring his gums, he released
the boy for a breather.

"You- you put your tongue in my mouth!" Jeremy exclaimed, still
incredulous.

"Sure I did - that's how boys do the friendship kiss. You wanted me to show
you properly, didn't you?", Peter countered.

"Yes, but...well I, uh...I didn't...er...you..." Jeremy hunted
unsuccessfully for the right words.

"Don't feel bad about not getting it right straight off. We'll have plenty
of time to practice tonight in bed. You can sleep with me in my bunk, and
we can hug and kiss all night, if we have to, until you learn to do it the
right way", Peter assured him.

"Gosh, I'm so glad Mr Hill asked you to show me all this stuff", Jeremy
gushed. "And you wait, I'll learn really quickly, with you helping
me. Thanks, uh, Macca".

"That's okay, Jeremy. That reminds me, we hafta find you a nickname. Can't
keep calling you 'Jeremy' all the time. It sounds too much like
'Germy'. Leave it with me. Gimme another kiss. This time you put your
tongue in my mouth". Jeremy eagerly complied, poking his tongue into
Peter's waiting mouth, sloshing it around while Peter sucked on it and
continued his caressing of Jeremy's bottom.

* * *

The whole kissing incident had gone off much better than he and Mr Hill had
planned, Peter thought. Lying in Mr Hill's arms the previous night
following a session of lovemaking that rattled the windows, Peter had asked
Mr Hill whether Jeremy should be introduced to their little games right off
the bat, or whether they should wait awhile.

"Do you think this new boy that's coming tomorrow would like to...play?",
Peter asked Mr Hill as the man lightly stroked the boy's bare
flank. "Playing" was Peter's pet name for his homosexual activity - he was
uncomfortable with adopting the label 'queer' for himself, so he
rationalised his behaviour by calling it "play" - as though he had not yet
made up his mind to be serious.

"It will mean that you and I will have to cool it for a while", the man
cautioned. "You know the rules. I have to set an example."

'The Rules' to which Mr Hill referred were an informal set of guidelines
that he had devised in an ad hoc way over the last dozen years of his
tenure as Housemaster of Wiggum House. He had tried to restrict himself to
serial monogamy - he maintained a relationship with only one boy at a time
- and he expected all the boys in Wiggum to do the same. No orgies were
permitted. About half of the current population of Wiggum House had been Mr
Hill's lovers at one time or another; some had gone on to take boyfriends
of their own, some had girlfriends out of school. Mr Hill insisted that
there be no inter-House romances: if a boy requested it, he could be
transferred to another House to be with his boyfriend, or to get away from
a former boyfriend. He took special care to ensure that all break-ups,
whether between two boys or between himself and a boy, were managed
amicably. "Breaking up is a fact of life", he told the boys on more than
one occasion, "so you may as well learn at Sch!
 ool how to do it in a civilised manner".

Another of Mr Hill's rules was his insistence on discretion. He impressed
on the boys the importance of being discreet. But that did not mean they
should keep secrets from each other within Wiggum House. Secrecy within the
House was a destructive force, he told the boys. But discretion was simply
the ordinary privacy that anyone expected and needed in a
relationship. Major events were celebrated by all, such as the first time
Timmy Andersen swallowed Phil Baker's load. Timmy was twelve, in his second
year at Central Boys' Grammar; Phil was in his penultimate year. They
shared an interest in the piano, and had become lovers half way through
Timmy's first year. At the weekly House meeting, Timmy was curled up in
Phil's lap when Phil advised the House that "tonight's the night!". Timmy
had blushed, but also smiled up at his older friend and licked his lips in
anticipation. Other boys offered congrats and encouragement.

Mr Hill's own tastes in boys led him towards Peter McMahon at about the
same time, although in their case it was the junior partner who had taken
the lead. Being from a home where his parents made no secret of their
indifference to him, Peter decided to seek love in the arms of the only
adult who ever showed him any kindness: Mr Hill. The Housemaster preferred
the boys to make the running when pursuing him; it was good practice for
them in later life, he reasoned. The House followed Peter's efforts at
seduction with interest: the boy's opening gambit was to request a backrub,
which shortly lead to nude all-over massages. Within a fortnight Peter had
openly assumed the coveted position in Mr Hill's lap, sitting there at the
House meetings (and any time Mr Hill sat down in the common room). A month
after the first back rub, Peter spent his first full night in Mr Hill's
bed, for mutual oral sex. Peter nearly threw up that first time, but begged
Mr Hill for another chance. For h!
 is part, Mr Hill ensured that he gave Peter plenty more chances over the
weeks and months that followed.

Three weeks later, the House was abuzz with the news that Peter was to lose
his virginity that night. Mr Hill had tied a red balloon to his doorknob as
a 'do not disturb' symbol, and an hour after lights out Peter's triumphant
shout of painful achievement concluded twenty minutes of excited
moaning. The climactic shriek was met with a polite round of applause from
the various beds. Peter showered in Mr Hill's en-suite the next morning,
and accepted the good-natured ribbing of the other boys gracefully at
breakfast. Several of the more senior boys took the trouble to walk past
his chair at breakfast and ruffle his hair and pat his back, giving him a
few words of advice and warm humour.

* * *

"If this is my last night with you, for a while anyway, can I have one
more...go...in my favourite position?" Peter asked, shivering as the man's
fingers traced up and down his side from ribcage to knee.

"How could I deny you anything, Macca? Tomorrow, you can strike up a
friendship with the new boy, if you like, er, Jeremy Wagner is his
name. He's from a wheatgrowing property out bush, and he's never been to a
school before, so just take it steady with him". Mr Hill, happy to oblige
his lover, sat on the side of his bed, feet on the floor, as Peter climbed
onto his lap facing him. Arms around Mr Hill's neck, he wriggled his bottom
until Mr Hill's erection was in position, then pulled his hips upwards so
his own little stiffie pushed into Mr Hill's stomach, and his anus lined up
with the pointy end of Mr Hill's somewhat larger prong. With a sigh, he
lowered his bottom onto his older friend's hard dick, the familiar invader
hot inside his back passage. Sealing his lips on Mr Hill's, he began
rocking up and down like a jockey on a cantering mount.

* * *

"So, that's the School. Whattaya think?" Peter asked Jeremy at the
conclusion of their walkabout. The two boys were making their way back to
Wiggum House.

"Well, er, it's, um, it's so..." Jeremy searched for words.

"Yeah, it's a shithole, ain't it? On the bright side, I've figured out a
nickname for ya: 'Jed', like that old hayseed on the TV show about those
rednecks from the bush that strike it rich on oil. Ya like it?" Peter
babbled on.

"Er, TV show?", Peter struggled to grasp what his friend was saying. But
Peter was already loping ahead, calling over his shoulder that they both
had to hurry, because showers were starting in a minute.

* * *

Jeremy, newly christened 'Jed', caught up with Peter at their little
section of the dormitory. Each pair of bunkmates had a U-shaped section,
about the size of a domestic bedroom, bounded on three sides by the dorm
wall, the double bunk and a pair of wardrobes. Peter was quickly stripping
off his schoolclothes as Jeremy stood and gaped, dumbstruck and immobile.

"What's up, Jed?", Peter asked as he dropped his trousers and dragged his
underwear down his thighs, shimmying his hips to help the skimpy white
garment on its way, "you never seen such a great body like mine before?"

Jeremy could only stare in wonder as he beheld the first nude boy he had
ever seen (apart from his own reflection in a mirror) in his life. He had
only slipped off his shoes and socks and undone a few shirt buttons in the
time it took Peter to strip completely. Cinching a towel around his waist,
Peter stepped over to the gobstruck boy and reefed his shorts and undies
down in one movement. "We'll both be late if you don't hurry, Jed. I'll
give you a hand", he added, pulling the half-unbuttoned shirt over the new
boy's head. "Here, grab one of my towels, yours are still in your bags",
Peter remarked, throwing Jeremy a plain bathtowel. "Come on, we've only got
thirty seconds. Follow me."

Joining the rush of boys crowding into the bathroom, Jeremy's head spun in
bewilderment as he was carried along by the press of half naked male
adolescent humanity into a square-shaped, fully tiled room. Overhead, from
the ceiling, poked twenty four chrome-plated waterpipes, each ending in a
shower rose. Windows with wire grilles extended from the ceiling to head
height. This was unlike any bathroom Jeremy had ever imagined. Peter
grabbed Jeremy's forearm and guided him to a wall which was ornamented by a
row of coathooks.

"Hang your towel on one of these, Jed, and don't forget where you put it",
Peter explained, carelessly undoing his towel and hanging it on a bare
hook. Jeremy gave a sick, lopsided grin as he looked around to see twenty
or so other boys getting naked, hanging up towels, and positioning
themselves underneath the mosaic of showerheads. In a trance, he loosened
his towel and stepped over to where Peter was signalling him.

"You wash my back, an' I'll wash yours", Peter explained as Mr Hill threw
the lever which released hot water to the twenty individual showers. Only
three and a half minutes were permitted for showering, but Jeremy was no
stranger to short showers - when the family relies on tankwater a boy
learns quickly not to be wasteful.

Their shower finished (Jeremy not quite sure what to make of Peter's soapy
fingers delving into his bumcrack), the boys dried off and scuttled back to
their section in the dorm. Jeremy was highly entertained by Peter's
flamboyant use of the underarm deodorant and his meticulous hairbrushing,
so much so that he had made no progress in dressing himself before one of
the senior boys, Phil Baker (who wore his towel draped across his shoulders
but was otherwise stark naked) called by the two boys' section and directed
a question at Jeremy.

"You the new kid?", the well-built teenager asked. Jeremy's jaw dropped as
he stared at Phil's manhood, topped with a luxuriant bush of curly black
pubes. Jeremy had only caught glimpses of the dicks of other boys in the
showers, obscured as they were by steam. Here was a champion tool only a
few feet away, wobbling around as though it had a life of its own.

Peter had to answer for him. "Hi Phil. Yeah, that's him, his name's
Jed. What's up?"

Phil gave his message before continuing on to Timmy Andersen's section. "Mr
Hill wants to see him in his room. Now."

Jeremy shot a look of concern to Peter. "Er, Macca, should I get dressed
first?", he asked.

The older boy shook his head in the negative. "Nah. With Mr Hill, 'now'
means 'Now'. He's okay. Probably just wants to have a quick talk,
Jed. You've got a towel round you - just go like that. Mr Hill's room is
opposite the showers."

Jeremy decided that Peter's advice seemed reasonable, and strode out of the
section towards Mr Hill's door. His light tap on the Dormitory Master's
door was greeted with "Enter" from within, so he turned the doorknob and
stepped cautiously into the Dormitory Master's room.

"Ah, Jeremy, come in, come in", Mr Hill welcomed. "Come over here", he
beckoned with his hand. "You know, I was talking to your mother on the
phone a few minutes ago - she just rang to make sure you arrived okay - and
she asked me to give you a hug and a kiss from her." Mr Hill held his arms
wide apart, and since Jeremy could see no reason not to accept his mother's
hug, even at one remove, allowed Mr Hill to enfold him in his arms.

After giving the boy's bare back and ribs a good squeeze, Mr Hill's hands
dropped to Jeremy's towel-covered rump and clutched two handfuls of
bottom. "Oh!" Jeremy thought, "It's the friendship hug! That means Mr Hill
is my friend too!". In his delight, the innocent boy similarly dropped his
hands to Mr Hill's somewhat larger derriere and gave it a gentle flex with
his fingers.

Mr Hill was encouraged by the boy's readiness to give and take physical
affection. He brought one hand around to the front of Jeremy's towel and
slipped it underneath, grazing his fingers around on Jeremy's bare lower
tummy, right down as far as the base of the boy's tool. "Er, Mr Hill, what
are you doing?" the puzzled boy asked mildly.

"What am I doing?", the man replied rhetorically. "Well, Jeremy, as you may
know, I am Director of the school choir. You are our newest treble. I was
merely taking this opportunity, while you were wearing only your towel, to
check whether any pubic hair had started to grow around your penis yet. As
soon as it does, that's a sign that your voice will soon be maturing, and
you would have to be put into the Altos. You do know what pubic hair is, I
take it?"

Jeremy had read about maturity in boys in a very brief and vague pamphlet
his mother had given him to read the night before he came away to board at
Central Boys' Grammar, and he had already seen two close examples of pubic
hair: Peter's little auburn tuft, not much bigger than an eyebrow, and Phil
Baker's thick black hedge. "Yes, Sir, I know what it is, but I don't have
any", Jeremy confessed without any embarrassment.

"That's all right, my boy. Just make sure you keep an eye out for it, and
come see me if you think you find any", Mr Hill advised. Jeremy expected
the adult to take his hand away, but he kept it there; in fact, his fingers
moved a little further down and began to fondle Jeremy's penis.

"Er, Sir, you're touching my penis", Jeremy stated, thinking it best to
tell Mr Hill just in case the man did not realise what he was doing.

"Yes, my boy, of course I am. Once a month, all the boys who are not
circumcised have a half-hour hygiene refresher lesson. I needed to find out
whether you would be in that group or not". He continued to run his fingers
up and down the inch and a half length of Jeremy's willie, although that
dimension was steadily becoming obsolescent as the sensations of Mr Hill's
fingers was causing Jeremy's tool to stiffen.

"Um, I've been circumcised, Sir", Jeremy confessed. Thinking that Mr Hill
would now remove his hand from under the damp towel, Jeremy was a little
surprised the feel that the large fingers had moved on to his testicles,
and were now rolling those two fleshy marble-sized organs around in his
scrotum. "Er, Sir, now you're feeling my balls", he observed; farm boys did
not use big words like 'testicle'.

"Yes Jeremy, I am. I'm trying to get an idea of how long you will be in the
treble section of the choir. Forward planning and all that, you know. Be a
shame if all my trebles turned into altos and tenors at the same time now,
wouldn't it?"

This explanation seemed perfectly reasonable to Jeremy, who was also not
uncomfortable about his erection (which had now reached its full length of
three slender inches) bumping into Mr Hill's wrist while he fingered the
boy's scrotum. After all, the booklet his mother gave him suggested that
erections were normal and routine for a boy his age.

Mr Hill finally concluded his groping and removed his hand from under the
boy's towel. "Please check your balls regularly for any change in size or
shape, Jeremy. If you notice anything different, please come and see me. If
you want to sleep in Macca's bunk for a few nights, until you settle in,
that will be all right with me. I understand that new boys can sometimes be
homesick. Now there's a thought: Macca can help you with checking for pubic
hair, and also checking your balls for you!"

"Yes, Sir", Jeremy agreed. It seemed reasonable: after all, if they were in
the same bed together, it made sense that the checking of his genitals
could be done each night. It was neat how everything was working out,
Jeremy thought. Man and boy concluded their hug and began to separate. But
Mr Hill had one more surprise for Jeremy.

"Oops! I almost forgot to give you the kiss your mother sent!", Mr Hill
exclaimed. Jeremy smiled, recalling his mother's chaste kisses on his cheek
each morning. He closed his eyes and turned his head to one side,
presenting his smooth cheek to Mr Hill. Somewhat aroused by the boy's
passivity, Mr Hill yanked Jeremy's towel away from his slim waist and
dropped it on the floor. His mouth dived on the boy's cherry lips and his
tongue plundered the boy's mouth. One large fleshy hand was working on the
boy's bottom while the other gave a reprise of its earlier performance on
the boy's gonads. Jeremy was a bit shocked by the man's ardour, but quickly
realised that he was receiving a friendship kiss, and returned it in good
spirit. He wasn't sure why Mr Hill was checking his penis and balls again,
but maybe he was just making doubly sure. Jeremy was glad he had such a
thorough person looking after him.

Reluctantly concluding his snog before his desires overwhelmed his good
sense, Mr Hill released the boy, picking the towel up from the floor and
draping it over the youngster's shoulders. "Good lad, Jeremy. Off you go
and get dressed now. Then dinner." Jeremy skipped out of Mr Hill's room,
his innocent erection leading the way.

* * *

Dinner and evening study were as uneventful as might be expected in a
well-run, tightly supervised boarding school. Having not yet attended a
lesson, Jeremy simply read a book during study. Afterwards, the boys of
Wiggum House enjoyed the respite of half an hour's quiet television before
bedtime, and Jeremy was keen to see this wondrous piece of technology
working. Peter invited Jeremy to share a large overstuffed armchair, and
seeing no better vantage point, Jeremy accepted. Alongside them, in a
similar armchair, were the teen Jeremy saw naked earlier, Phil Baker, who
had a boy about Jeremy's age sitting in his lap.

Jeremy couldn't decide which scene made the more interesting viewing - the
idiot box or the two boys on the chair next to him. Phil Baker was wearing
only a pair of pyjama bottoms, as was the younger boy with him. Their arms
were around each other's necks, and their lips were locked in a tight, yet
ever-moving embrace. The little moans coming from their throats were not
audible except during the softer moments of the telecast.

"Macca - who's that with Phil?" Jeremy whispered to Peter, nodding his head
in Baker's direction.

"That's Timmy Andersen. Him and Phil are best friends", Peter replied,
unconcernedly.

"But don't they care that everyone can see them, er, kissing like that?",
Jeremy persisted.

"They aren't just kissing. Stretch over and look at Timmy's hand", Peter
suggested. "Go on; they won't even notice". Jeremy craned his neck to look
past the wide arm of the adjacent chair, into Phil's lap. There he saw a
sight that he found puzzling. Timmy's hand was gripping Phil's penis and
rapidly pumping it up and down, Every twenty strokes or so, Timmy would rub
his palm across the glans of Phil's penis before resuming the stroking
action.

"What is he doing that for?" Jeremy asked Peter.

"Phil has a problem, and Timmy's helping him out. Like I said, they're best
friends. Does it bother you?", Peter enquired.

"No, I guess not", Jeremy conceded.

"That's okay then. It sure doesn't bother them if you watch", Peter noted,
as Timmy's head suddenly dropped into Phil's lap. Jeremy could only see the
back of Timmy's head, but Phil's face showed definite signs that his
problem was being solved, as Peter said it would be.

Jeremy was hit with a sudden inspiration. He turned back to Peter, now that
whatever it was that Timmy had been doing was finished, and their movements
and noises had calmed considerably. "Er, Macca, um, have you got a best
friend?", he whispered to the boy squeezed into the armchair next to him.

"Not at the moment", Peter answered. "Why? Thinkin' of trying out for the
job?"

"Well, I've read in books that having a best friend is wonderful, and
you've already done so much to help me settle in here, and I thought, I
guess, I'd like to make you feel as good as Timmy made Phil feel just
now. If you show me what to do..." he trailled off.

Peter looked at Jeremy with wide eyes. He felt like a fisherman who had
just landed a trophy bass without any bait. Or even a hook. "We can watch
TV any night. Come on, let's go to bed". Saying this, he jumped out of the
chair and held his hand out for Jeremy to take. Pulling the younger boy out
of the armchair, he dragged him into the dormitory. Phil gave Peter a wink
as they departed.

Back in their section, Peter started to tear off his pyjamas. "It's warm
tonight", he said to Jeremy. "Let's sleep nude, okay?"

"Er, okay. Is it...allowed?" Jeremy inquired. It had never occurred to him
to sleep nude at home.

"Sure it is, if we're best friends", Jeremy replied, already naked and
pulling down the bedclothes. "We'll sleep on the bottom bunk tonight, it
doesn't squeak as much", he explained, holding the bedsheets back for
Jeremy, who was now also naked, to jump in.

The two boys lay on their sides facing each other in the narrow bed. To get
their arms out of the way, they wrapped them around each other's
shoulders. In this position, it seemed natural to kiss, which they
did. Peter's cock had begun to stiffen as soon as he undressed, with
Jeremy's following suit not long after. After giving their lips and tongues
a workout, Jeremy wanted to talk.

"Macca, can you tell me what Phil and Timmy were doing?" he asked
tentatively.

"Okay," the older boy answered. "Let me feel your dick first", Peter
suggested, unwrapping his arm from Jeremy's shoulder and groping his way
down to the boy's crotch. Finding the target, he began a slow, short
stroke, as there was not much loose skin available to manipulate. Jeremy
was prepared for this, but couldn't quite understand why Peter needed to
check his penis so soon after Mr Hill had checked it. Not to worry, he
thought, it felt nice anyway.

"That's better," Peter sighed. "You do mine too, Jed." Jeremy complied,
happy to make his new best friend feel good. "You remember when Phil called
around this afternoon?", Peter began. "Did you see how big his balls were?"

"They were enormous", Jeremy recalled, still rubbing Peter's dick.

"That's because when you're a teenager, your balls make spunk. You know
what spunk is?", Peter asked, releasing Jeremy's tool to tickle his balls.

"Um, is it the same as semen?", Jeremy asked, remembering a sentence from
the leaflet his mother gave him, and putting two and two together.

"Sure is", Peter replied. "Spunk, spoof, semen, sperm, juice, cum, jizz,
it's got plenty of names. When you're a teenager, your balls fill up with
it and they have to be emptied. That's what Phil was doing: he was asking
his best friend Timmy to help him out with his swollen balls. That's what
you saw Timmy doing tonight. Put your hand on mine."

"Er", Jeremy interrupted, "your balls feel bigger than mine, Macca. Is that
because they're full of, uh, spunk?"

"Now you're gettin' the idea, Jed. Do you wanna help me out, like Timmy was
helping Phil?", Peter begged.

"I...I guess so, Macca...if you need help, and we're best
friends...sure. What do I do?"

Peter pulled the blankets back a little so that Jeremy could see his stiff
dick. "Just put your mouth on it, and suck like a baby calf or a lamb on a
farm", he suggested.

"Well, we don't have any cattle or sheep on our farm, but I'll give it a
try, Macca", Jeremy declared bravely. He tried to imagine what a lamb or
calf might do to its mother's teat, and began suckling on Peter's tool,
which he noticed was about an inch longer and a little thicker than his
own. Peter jumped as if electrocuted a couple of times as Jeremy's teeth
clipped the ridge of his glans, but otherwise the new boy did a good enough
job to bring Peter to climax, which was another learning experience for
Jeremy.

The younger boy coughed a little as his head emerged from under the
blankets. "Was that your semen?" he asked Peter.

"Sure was. You sucked it right out of my balls, Jed, thanks. Feels a lot
better now", the older boy commented. "What did you think of it?"

"Well, frankly I thought there would be more. Timmy seemed to have a whole
mouthful of it when he sucked off Phil earlier", he reflected.

Peter was nonplussed. "Yeah, well, I'm only thirteen. When you get older,
you make more of it. What about the taste, Jed?"

"Not much taste in it, really - it was the texture that was more
noticeable: like snot, a bit", Jeremy mused.

"Charming. Well, you'll get used to it. I did", replied his older
friend. "We can do it each night and morning for a few days until you get
the hang of it. Now, how about some kissing?", he suggested, and the two
boys spent the remaining minutes until sleep took over swapping spit.

* * *

Jeremy enjoyed being at a school with other boys, and quickly took to it
like a natural. He was quite talented academically, not unusual among
home-schooled boys, but he also had a way of putting other boys at ease in
his company. One of the most serious mistakes a boy can make in an
Australian school is to appear too brainy - there is an entrenched
anti-intellectualism in Australian society which permeates all age groups,
known locally as "the tall poppy syndrome". Anyone, adult or child, who
sticks his head up above the masses is liable to get it cut off. But Jeremy
seemed oblivious to his scholarly successes to such an extent that the
other boys thought he was one of them - an average kid, who just happened
to be good at schoolwork (and singing).

Jeremy's bedtime lessons were also progressing. One night, he asked Peter
why the older boy did not suck him off very often. "Hey Macca, how come I
suck your dick every night, and every morning, but you hardly ever suck
mine?", he ventured.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it Jed?" the older boy retorted in a gentle
rebuke. "Out of the two of us, I'm the only one whose balls make spunk. So
I'm the only one that needs to get sucked off. But because we're best
friends, I sometimes give you a suck so that when your balls start making
baby juice, you'll know what it feels like. Kinda like a practice go, or a
dry run, heh heh", he added, amused by his own witticism. Jeremy accepted
this explanation as being quite sensible. After all, what would be the
point of sucking someone's dick if their balls weren't full of semen?

Mr Hill also found a way to get in on the act. Within a week of Jeremy's
arrival, he called the boy into his study, (again) after showers. Jeremy
was (again) only wearing a towel. "Come in, come in my boy, tell me how
things are going", he urged, holding his arms out for a hug.

Allowing himself to be folded into the embrace, Jeremy conceded that he was
enjoying being at the school, and taking part in school and dormitory life.

"Are you and Macca still friends?", Mr Hill probed, rubbing his hands down
the boy's back.

"We're best friends, Sir", Jeremy happily replied.

"Have you sucked his cock yet?" the man asked boldly, giving Jeremy's
bottom a gentle squeeze.

"Yes, Sir, every night and most mornings", Jeremy replied honestly. The
truth held no terrors for him.

"Do you do a good job?", Mr Hill asked, locking stares with the boy.

"Uh, well, I guess so, Sir. Macca don't complain, anyway", Jeremy added,
lapsing into the sloppy speech patterns he had learned from his classmates,
and which he used whenever he wanted to fit in.

Mr Hill thought for a moment, then spoke. "Jeremy, does your Dad ever
complain about the food your Mother serves at dinnertime?".

"Dad? Never", the boy replied. "Even if it was awful he'd never criticise
Mother".

"So, sometimes, dinner maybe isn't quite perfect, even though your father
says it is", Mr Hill persisted, still cautiously caressing the boy through
his towel.

"Well, sometimes the meat can be a bit chewy, and I guess sometimes the
vegetables are overcooked, maybe", the boy replied, with his unflinching
honesty, snuggling in the man's embrace. "But Dad would never say
anything. He always praises Mother's cooking, even if it's, er..."

"So, to return to my previous question", Mr Hill continued, "do you do a
good job sucking Macca's cock?". The dormitory master gently pulled
Jeremy's towel away and dropped it on the floor, giving himself
unencumbered access to all of the boy's body.

Jeremy understood what the dormitory master was driving at immediately. "I
guess I'm doing a good job, but I don't have any way of knowing, because
Macca's too nice a person to criticise my...technique, Sir. If only I had
some way to compare, some...reference point, or maybe an expert tutor..."

"Climb up on the bed with me, Jeremy. You can practice on my cock", Mr Hill
offered.

"Can I Sir? That would be great! I really want to learn how to suck good,
because Macca's been so nice to me and everything". He waited until Mr Hill
lowered his trousers and boxers, and doffed his shirt, stretching himself
out on his bed. Jeremy sat on the side of the bed, ready to bend his head
down to the man's loins, but the dormitory master invited him to sit on his
chest, facing away. Jeremy raised a slight concern that in this position,
with his bottom on Mr Hill's chest and his knees alongside Mr Hill's ribs,
the man would be looking straight at his bunghole when he bent over to suck
the adult's prong.

"Not to worry, Jeremy, that's the whole point. The technique we are
following today is called 'positive reinforcement' - when you suck good, I
reward you by licking your tiny hole. When you suck not so good, I stop
licking".

"Lick my...bottom, Sir?" a completely mystified Jeremy asked.

"Certainly, my boy.  Every lad your age loves to get his bottom licked. And
licking boys' holes is one of my favourite pastimes, too. Just wriggle back
a bit, that's it. Now, see what you can do with my dick, I'll look after
things back here".

And look after them he did. When Jeremy used his tongue on Mr Hill's
knobhead, he felt the exquisite rasp of the man's tongue right on his
pucker. Bobbing his head up and down also earned him plenty of licks. But
if he simply used his hand to pump Mr Hill's shaft, the licking stopped. A
combination of hand and mouth brought a modest return on his effort, but
little inspirations, such as sliding Mr Hill's foreskin up over the head
and running his tongue around inside it brought the best reward of all: Mr
Hill's tongue penetrating Jeremy's rosebud.

The dormitory master (reluctantly) drew the cocksucking lesson to a close
soon after he shot a big load in Jeremy's mouth. "Wow, Sir, that's a lot
more than Macca gives me! Sort of creamier, too", the boy observed,
sloshing his tutor's seminal fluid around in his mouth.

"Now, lad, don't judge Peter too harshly, he's only thirteen after
all. Swallow that, and give me a nice kiss before you go. Remember to come
back if you would like more tuition".

* * *

Jeremy did come back, but not at a time Mr Hill expected. The boy was
accustomed to waking early, before all the other boys (being from a farm),
but one morning he awoke even before dawn had lightened the morning
skies. Peter had rolled away from him, and a quick inspection revealed that
his bunkmate was not awake, so Jeremy sat up carefully and listened to the
sounds of the other boys. A few soft snores coming from different parts of
the dormitory, yes, but something else pinged on the boy's ears. A more
urgent, insistent, higher pitched sound. A moan. Repeated. Jeremy
recognised the sound as similar to the one Macca made when he was receiving
an especially good suck. Someone was enjoying sex - but who? He could
detect no movement in the faint moonlight, no telltale rising and falling
of bedclothes.

He eased out of bed, naked, half erect from curiosity, and crept towards
the centre of the dormitory. The noise became more
distinct. "ohh...ohhh...ohhh...oohh", and so on, rising and falling in
volume and intensity. It was emanating through Mr Hill's door. Now, no-one
had told Jeremy that he should not enter a room when the door is closed and
such noises are being made within - at home, there were not even locks on
the doors. His boyish curiosity got the better of him. He carefully opened
Mr Hill's door and slipped inside the dorm master's room.

Sufficient moonlight was admitted by the casement to permit Jeremy to see
the source of the sounds. There was Mr Hill, lying naked on his bed. Above
him, also naked, was Timmy Andersen. The puzzling aspect, to Jeremy, was
what Timmy was doing. His feet were braced in Mr Hill's armpits, toes
pointing upwards; his hands clenched Mr Hill's ankles; his head was thrown
back, and his bottom was rising and falling in and out of Mr Hill's lap. He
looked like a big upside-down spider, bobbing in its web. With each
movement downwards, Timmy made the gasping sound Jeremy had heard. Was he
in pain, Jeremy wondered to himself?

Jeremy was not visible from the bed - he cautiously remained in the shadow
of the small vestibule at Mr Hill's doorway. Timmy's groaning increased in
volume briefly, then slowed to a whimper. Mr Hill sat up and hugged the
boy, who kissed his dorm master quite a bit all over his face, Jeremy
noted. Mr Hill then turned the boy over onto his back. Timmy was now
beneath him. Mr Hill then began doing pushups, or so Jeremy thought. Timmy
started moaning again, but Mr Hill kissed him on the mouth, stopping any
further sound. The bed shook. Jeremy, puzzled, crept out the way he had
come. Creeping back to his bed, he found that Peter had thrown off the
sheets and was now erect. Jeremy gave him a suck without waking him, as he
knew Peter enjoyed that.

* * *

After showers the next evening, Jeremy decided to visit Mr Hill in his
room. He only wore his bathtowel, as he expected that Mr Hill would want to
perform his routine check for hairs and suchlike. He wanted to ask the dorm
master about what he saw earlier that morning.

"Ah, Jeremy, come here, my lad", the man greeted him jovially as he
entered. Jeremy slipped his towel off and dropped it onto a chair near the
door, to save Mr Hill the trouble of removing it. Nude, he approached his
dorm master, who smiled broadly at the relaxed attitude his newest student
was displaying. He held his arms out for the now customary hug and
inspection, which Jeremy accepted meekly.

While Mr Hill was feeling up and down Jeremy's hardening young cock
(checking for hair), the boy raised the subject that was occupying his
mind. "Sir", he began, as the dorm master's fingers probed all around his
scrotum, "I couldn't sleep earlier this morning, so I got out of bed. I
heard strange noises coming from your room, from in here. I came in and saw
you and Timmy on your bed. What were you doing, Sir?"

Mr Hill sat down on the side of his bed, pulling the naked Jeremy onto his
lap sidesaddle. His nimble fingers maintained a steady stroke on Jeremy's
tool as he composed his response to the boy's innocent question. "As you
know, Jeremy, Timmy and Philip Baker are best friends. In fact, they are
more than best friends, they are lovers. Phil Baker is one of the College's
finest athletes - he represents the school in swimming, track, football and
basketball, to name but a few. All of his many coaches require him to
undertake plenty of training, and get plenty of sleep. Timmy, on the other
hand, is a boy on the cusp of puberty. He is going through a phase of
voracious sexual appetites. But alas, poor Phil can make love with Timmy no
more than once per night, following coaches' orders! So, to help Timmy with
his sexual needs, I allow him to visit me later on at night, whenever he
feels his desires overwhelm him. I am much older than Phil, and do not need
as much sleep. I can ploug!
 h Timmy's furrow three or four times, and satisfy his physical urges".

A wave of admiration washed over Jeremy, for this man in whose lap he was
now sitting. What an unselfish, devoted person, he thought. How dedicated
he is, to forego even his own sleep, so he can meet the needs of the boys
in his care. "Plough his furrow?" Jeremy asked sweetly. "What does that
mean, Sir?"

"Timmy comes from an agricultural background, as you do, Jeremy. He uses
imagery to describe the most profound expressions of love. Stand up for a
moment". The naked boy slipped of the dorm master's lap and stood before
him. "This", the man explained, running his hand through the length of
Jeremy's bumcrack, "is the furrow. This" he continued, placing one of
Jeremy's hands on the turgid member in his trousers, "is the plough. Do you
understand?"

"You...put your penis in Timmy's bottom? Why? Macca's not done that to me."

"Have you asked him to?"

"N-no, I never thought of it before. Do you think he would he want to do
it, er, plough my furrow?"

"Why don't you ask him. But before you go, I have a little problem you
might help me with. Feel a little lower, Jeremy". The boy, who was still
holding Mr Hill's stiff dick, dropped his hand a few inches further down to
the dorm master's scrotum.

"Oh, Mr Hill, your balls feel very swollen. Are they full of semen?" he
asked earnestly.

"Yes, my boy, they are. Very full".

"Can I suck the semen out for you, Sir? You've been so much help to me, I'd
like to help you too", Jeremy declared gaily. For an answer, Mr Hill
unzipped and lay back on his bed, letting his naked student fish his hard
prick out of his boxers and begin his oral ministrations upon it.

"Do you enjoy cricket, Jeremy?" Mr Hill asked as the boy lay alongside him,
licking up the last of the ejaculate from around his groin.

"Oh, yes Sir, it's my favourite sport. I listened to the Test Matches on
the radio all the time at home - only I've never played in an actual game
before. Your balls don't feel as swollen now Sir", he advised, pulling a
stray pubic hair from between his teeth.

"That's my good boy. Maybe I can get you a start as 12th Man for the Firsts
this Saturday. They're playing away, I believe, at All Saints'
Grammar. You'd probably get to do a bit of fielding, carry the drinks,
looks after the players' kitbags and so forth. I'll speak to the Coach. Why
don't you go down to the nets tomorrow afternoon and have a chat with
him. I'll make sure I see him before then. And don't forget to ask Peter-"

"To plough my furrow! No Sir, I won't forget, I'm looking forward to that",
the boy enthused. "And thank you, Sir, for all you've done for me. I truly
appreciate it", Jeremy added, with the sincerity of innocence.

* * *

To play in the First Eleven cricket team (and thus represent the College in
matches against other schools) a boy had to be at least sixteen years of
age. Exceptions were sometimes made for outstanding fifteen-year-olds, but
this season, there were none. The Twelfth Man, however, was frequently a
much younger junior player with a keen desire to learn more about the game
- and one who didn't mind giving up a whole Saturday fetching and carrying
for the older boys. So, all of the boys Jeremy saw at the cricket practice
nets that afternoon were sixteen or seventeen years of age, tall, well
built (but tending towards leanness), fit, and very good teammates, judging
by their playful banter. Jeremy was entranced just to be near them. Here
were boys who had actually opened the batting, or kept wicket, or bowled on
turf, just like his heroes in the National team, whose exploits he listened
to on the radio back home.

Coach Sampson smiled broadly as he approached the boy who was leaning on
the cyclone fence of the practice nets ('his' practice nets). "You must be
our new twelfth man - Jeremy, isn't it? Hello! I'm Coach Sampson. Mr Hill
told me you might be coming around to visit us. What do you think so far?"

"It's terrific, uh, Coach. They're so big, aren't they! And they bowl so
fast! And they hit the ball so hard! Thank you so much for letting me, er,
be here, and come with the team on Saturday! I can't wait!"

"Come along to the equipment store and I'll show you some of the gear
you'll need to be familiar with on Saturday", the man suggested, draping an
arm over Jeremy's shoulder to guide him. He noticed right away that Jeremy
was walking a little gingerly. "Are you all right, lad? You seem to be
carrying a slight injury. I hope it will be okay by Saturday..."

"I think it will be, Coach. My best friend ploughed my furrow last night,
for the first time, and again this morning, and it's a bit tender. But Mr
Hill said the ache would wear off in a day or two", Jeremy added
cheerfully.

Coach Sampson smiled, hugging the boy's shoulder a little more tightly as
they walked. "First time, was it, eh, Jeremy?"

"Yes, Coach. Macca called it 'the spoon position'. He curled up behind me
and lifted up my leg, put his penis at my back entrance, and ploughed me
like that. He took about ten minutes, but he stayed inside me for about
half an hour after that".

"He didn't go in dry, did he? Because that can be a bit painful..."

"Oh, no, Coach. Macca tongued me good before he ploughed me. He used plenty
of spit".

"So, was it worth the pain?"

"Well, Coach, at first I couldn't see why anybody would want to get their
furrow ploughed. I mean, it was a bit uncomfortable to start with. But when
the first pain went away, it felt pretty nice, I suppose. His hand was
wrapped around my waist and he played with my penis the whole time, that
made it a bit nicer too I suppose. After he got his penis in as far as it
would go, he let my leg down, so that made it a bit more comfortable then,
too".

Coach Sampson was becoming a little flustered at the honest and open way
Jeremy was recounting his deflowering. Listening to the boy's frank account
was making his own virile member stand up and take notice. "And this
morning?"

"Well, I woke up first, as I usually do, and I saw on our side cupboard
that somebody had put a container of those baby wipes, I guess it probably
was Mr Hill. He's so thoughtful. I figured out right away what they were
for, so I pulled a couple out and wiped Macca's penis so I could give him
his morning suck. But it woke him up, and he wanted to..."

"Plough your furrow again?"

"Exactly!", Jeremy agreed excitedly. "Next to the wipes was a tube of stuff
I hadn't noticed before. But Macca saw it right off. He said it would make
my bottom slipperier, and he wanted to try it out straightaway. He said we
would try the doggy position this time, and we would keep trying different
positions until we found the one I like best".

"Macca sounds like a very considerate boy". The two had reached the door of
the shed and entered. Coach Sampson carefully locked it behind them. Jeremy
continued his recollection.

"Oh, yes, Coach, he is, really. He showed me how to lean forward on my
elbows and lie across a bunched-up pillow so my bottom was up in the
air. Then he put the slippery stuff in and around my hole with his
finger. When he climbed on top of me, it felt okay, I guess; then he
slipped his penis inside me. Even though I was still a bit tender from last
night, his ploughing felt a lot nicer. I guess because he had a better
angle and could get in a bit deeper. Anyway, by the time he ejaculated in
my bottom, a few other boys, and Mr Hill, had heard the, uh, sounds we were
making and gathered around to watch".

"You weren't worried by that?" Coach Sampson enquired, slowly taking off
his boots.

"Not really. They're all very nice in Wiggum House, very friendly to
me. They just cheered and clapped a bit, then got on with their usual
morning stuff. Um, what did you want to show me in here, Coach?"

"Well, I gather that your knowledge of cricket is all derived from the
radio, so I thought I would show you some of the more common pieces of
gear, you know, give you a chance to handle them before Saturday, find out
how and when they are used and what for, you know. For instance, these are
batting pads - notice the difference between them and wicketkeeper's
pads. And these big gloves are wicketkeeper's gloves; those smaller ones
are batting gloves".

"What about these little white ones, Coach?"

"They're called 'inners'. Wicketkeepers wear those inside the larger gloves
so they don't chafe".

"And this thing?"

"That's a thigh pad. here, I'll show you how it is worn". The man took the
item off Jeremy, undid his trousers and shucked them down to his knees. He
strapped the thigh pad around his waist and around one thigh, demonstrating
it to Jeremy who nodded eagerly, delighted to be learning about the little
bits and pieces of his favourite sport.

"What about this plastic thing, Coach?" Jeremy asked, holding up a
triangular pouch-shaped piece of toughened nylon with a padded surround.

"That's a protector. Most cricketers call it a 'box'. I believe our
American cousins would call it a 'cup', although it's clearly nothing that
I would care to drink tea from".

"It doesn't have any straps on it, Coach", Jeremy observed, turning the
object over in his hands.

"It doesn't need straps, Jeremy. You slip it inside your undies -you have
to wear briefs, not boxers- and it just sort of stays there by
itself. Here, I'll show you". Coach Sampson's trousers were already down
around his knees from his earlier demonstration, so he took the protector
from the boy, and pulled the front hem of his underwear out, ready to slip
the box in. But all the earlier talk about Jeremy's activities with Macca
the previous night and that morning had made a lasting impression on
Coach's prick, which was still rigidly erect, and sprang out from his
underwear into the open air.

"Ah, well..." Coach began. Jeremy's eyes opened wide as he saw Coach's
weapon, which was every bit as handsome and generously proportioned as Mr
Hill's. Seeing the boy's interest, Coach Sampson pushed his underwear down
a little further to release his overheated balls. "Obviously, I can't set
the protector in place while I'm...ah, in this condition"

"Your balls look very swollen, Coach", Jeremy remarked. "Would you like me
to suck the semen out of them?", he asked politely.

Coach Sampson's smiled widened. "I'd be delighted, Jeremy. Mr Hill told me
you were especially proficient at this, er, therapy". No further words were
needed, although a few wordless sounds were made, mostly by Coach
Sampson. It seemed, for once, that Mr Hill had not exaggerated one of his
boys' talents, as Jeremy brought him off within minutes. Wiping his mouth
with the back of his hand, the boy smiled at the Coach, who had now
detumesced sufficiently to allow the protector to be inserted snugly in
position inside his briefs. "You'll do well on Saturday, Jeremy, I'm sure
of it", he assured the boy. "Bus leaves at seven thirty sharp - make sure
all the players' kitbags are ready to be loaded on board by then". Jeremy
grinned his agreement and thanks as Coach discreetly unlocked the door to
let both of them out into the late afternoon sunshine.

* * *

Saturday was still three days off, which seemed to be a long time to wait
for the eleven year old cricket fanatic. School lessons helped Jeremy pass
the time during daylight hours, and Macca's love lessons took up the task
in the evenings. The older boy was quite creative, and more than once
Jeremy wondered whether Macca devised all of these erotic positions himself
(if so, he had a really dirty mind, even for a thirteen year old) or
whether he was simply passing on what he had been shown by another. Macca
even had a funny descriptive name for each position, so that once Jeremy
learned it he was able to move his body quickly into the right
configuration as soon as Macca suggested it. In addition to 'spoons', there
was the 'jockey', the 'pony', 'sidesaddle', 'legs up', the 'hover',
'twigs', the 'wishbone', the 'beast with two backs', and several
more. Macca's ardour was given a new injection of energy by these gymnastic
contortions, and rather than feel tired in the mornings,!
  Jeremy was surprised to find himself quite invigorated by their athletic
couplings.

The big morning arrived - Jeremy had the kitbags ready at the bus an hour
before the scheduled departure time. The eleven players piled on, carrying
Jeremy along in their throng. Coach Sampson drove the 22-seater.

The trip to All Saints' Grammar usually took around ninety minutes, so the
captain of the Firsts advised Jeremy. The bigger boys included their new
12th man in their conversations whenever they could, the younger boy
keeping his end up with his observations about life in Wiggum House (all
the players being from other Houses - with the notable exception of Phil
Baker, Wiggum House had the reputation of being singularly ungifted in the
way of sporting ability).

Some of the players were starting to change into their clothing for the
game - it was always chancy visiting another School: one never knew whether
a dressing room would be provided or not. Teens were pulling on white
socks, loosening bootlaces, tightening sprigs and generally preparing
mentally for the match ahead. The Captain of the team, a well-built
all-rounder named Mark Briggs, plopped himself into the empty seat
alongside Jeremy, a worried look on his face.

Jeremy read the Captain's face immediately. "What is it, er, Mark?"

"Jeremy, it's Patterson. He has a problem. He's one of our openers, and
wickie as well, so whether we bat or field, he has to wear a box at the
beginning of the game. But look-" he waved his arm towards the seat across
the narrow aisle, in which sat the said Patterson, who had stripped down to
his singlet and underwear, ready to dress in his whites. Even Jeremy could
see the problem now: a large protrusion stood up from Patterson's
crotch. There was no way he could comfortably wear a protector now.

Jeremy had a flash of insight. He recalled the incident in the equipment
shed on Tuesday afternoon with Coach Sampson. "Mark, I think I know a way
to make it, er, go down".

Briggs opened his eyes in feigned amazement. "You do? The whole team would
be ever so grateful, Jeremy. We'd hate to lose Patterson, and he can't go
onto the field unless he's properly protected".

"Leave it to me", Jeremy assured him, and squeezed past the Captain to sit
alongside the distraught Patterson. Ducking his head to the teen's groin,
the boy pulled Patterson's undies out at the front and began sucking on the
opener/wicketkeeper's pole. Half a dozen heads peered over the seats, evil
grins on their faces as they watched their teammate be serviced by the cute
boy.

"Can I be next, Jeremy? I seem to have the same problem", begged the other
opener, Crowther.

"Then me, please Jeremy", the first drop batsman Denison chipped in.

"Yeah, and me, too" several boys echoed. While Jeremy bent over to press
his face into Crowther's fly, he could feel his shorts being tugged down
from behind. He slapped away the hand that did it, without looking up from
his task. Finally Jeremy wiped the cum of the sixth boy from his lips just
as the bus pulled in to the All Saints' driveway. A little dizzy, he
accepted the thanks of the players in good spirit, even suggesting that if
anyone had the same problem on the way back to Central Grammar after the
match, he would likewise assist them.

"And", he declared dramatically, somewhat intoxicated on semen, "whoever
gets the most runs today, gets to plough my furrow on the way home". This
promise was met with loud cheering as the teens scrambled to exit the bus
and finish their preparations for the game.

* * *

"Never seen the like of it, in twenty years of cricket coaching", the man
in charge of the All Saints' team remarked to his opposite number, Coach
Sampson, after the game. "Six boys, all equal top score, with forty-two
runs apiece. Tore my bowlers apart, they did. Played like men
possessed. What do you feed them on up there at Central, Sampson? Raw
meat?"

Coach Sampson just smiled knowingly. "I believe our twelfth man gave the
lads a stirring pep-talk on the bus as we drove over. Brought out the best
in them. Inspired them to greatness".

"The little fellow you had fielding at square leg? That the chap? Wouldn't
have thought he'd have it in him".

Coach Sampson could think of at least a dozen witty comebacks to that line,
but prudently held his tongue, content to bask in the reflected glory of
his team's comprehensive victory. Two hundred and eighty seven runs for
eight wickets from their allotted fifty overs, then the All Saints' batsmen
routed for a meagre one hundred and thirteen all out in the thirty-fourth
over. Yes, a memorable day all round.

* * *

"You did really well today, Jeremy", Briggs assured the hobbling boy as he
helped him back to Wiggum House in the evening gloom. "It's a long game,
cricket, especially when you play away. That was a great catch you took, in
the deep, by the way. He was starting to look dangerous, that batsman. Was
that really your first game?"

"My first actual game. I've listened to plenty of Test Matches on the
radio, and kind of taken in what the commentators have said about how to
play well", the wobbly boy replied.

"You were a good sport about letting all those guys, er, plough your
furrow. You can keep that hankie, by the way". Briggs had given Jeremy a
handkerchief to put in his underwear to sop up the seepage of semen from
his bottom, so as not to stain his white cricket shorts. The team bus had
stopped at the Golden Arches for dinner (a treat Coach gave them to
celebrate an away win), where Briggs had taken Jeremy into the toilet and
showed him how to roll the handkerchief up and wedge it in his crack.

"Thank you, Mark. I'm glad I was able to help the team. I wasn't really
expecting so many boys to top-score. My goodness, but that Stanley Walters
has a big penis, doesn't he?", Jeremy replied sweetly.

"We call him Snake. I'm sure you can guess why. He's only sixteen, you
know. I think you're the first boy to take him without screaming"

"Well, I guess I was pretty slippery by the time he had his turn. That
helped. His penis felt so...I don't know, it wasn't just that it was
longer, it was fatter than the others, too. But it still felt, um, nice,
you know?"

Just near the well-lit front entrance of Wiggum House, a buttress formed a
dark alcove with the wall. Briggs steered Jeremy into it, and without
wasting any further words, bent slightly to kiss the boy passionately on
the lips. Jeremy had experienced a lot of lovemaking in the course of the
day, but not much simple affection, so he eagerly returned the older boy's
embrace and kisses. Briggs gently pushed the boy up against the wall,
fondling his ribs, shoulders and head as he smooched.

"Mmmm. I'm really falling for you, Jeremy", Briggs breathed between
kisses. "Your boyfriend is very lucky to have you. If you were in Flanders
House, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you". To demonstrate what he
just said, Briggs dropped his hands to the small of the boy's back and
pulled his shirt out from his shorts, then ran his hands up Jeremy's bare
back.

"Mark, be careful! You're making me all...tingly", Jeremy protested
feebly. But Briggs was nearing the edge of his self-control. He had seen
this young lad willing fellate several of his teammates on the bus that
morning, on the flimsy pretext (which he himself had dreamed up) that they
could not wear their protectors whilst erect. Though he himself had not
joined in - he had the dignity of the captaincy to maintain after all - he
had watched proceedings with feelings approaching jealousy. He had again
watched that afternoon as the boy submitted to the repeated fucking he
endured at the hands of six of his teammates, an ordeal which he oversaw
with even more conflicted feelings. Jeremy had made good on his pre-match
promise, at some cost to himself, but without complaint or
reservation. Finally, at the fast food restaurant, he had shown the boy how
to staunch the drips of seminal fluid from his bottom, carefully lowering
the boy's shorts and underwear, inspecting the bruised!
  crack of Jeremy's bottom, then padding it with his own handkerchief
before gingerly redressing the boy. Now here they were. He had to give
Jeremy back to Wiggum House.

"Jeremy", he began "You're...a great kid. I've really...grown very fond of
you. I...guess I just want to say, if you ever need a friend, you know,
like, a shoulder to cry on, someone who...well, I s'pose you know what I
mean. We don't have to do sex or anything, just, you know, cuddle, like"

"You're really nice, Mark. I hope I get picked to be 12th man again,
sometime. Especially if it means you have to walk me back to my
dormitory. Anything could happen to a boy on a dark night like this". He
squeezed his arms tightly around the older boy's neck, smooching him on the
cheek as he did so. "Mr Hill will be expecting me. See ya!" he whispered
loudly over his shoulder as he stepped into the light of the doorway and
scampered into Wiggum House.

* * *

Boys who returned to their House after dark due to sporting commitments
enjoyed the privilege of a bath, a custom that Jeremy genuinely appreciated
as he lay back, luxuriating in the hot soapy water. Mr Hill let himself in
to the small bathroom and sat on the side of the tub.

"A big day, Jeremy? Soaking away the aches and pains?"

"Yes Sir", the boy replied, a hint of weariness in his voice. Jeremy sat
up, thinking it was the polite thing to do. Mr Hill took a washcloth and
sloshed it in the water before giving the boy's back a light scrub.

"Coach Sampson was very pleased with your efforts today. And that reflects
well on Wiggum House, which makes *me* very pleased", he remarked, slopping
the washcloth all around the boy's delicate back.

Jeremy gave a shy smile at the compliment. "Sir", he ventured, idly
drizzling water over his bony knees, "Can you have more than one best
friend? At the same time, I mean?".

Mr Hill smiled at hearing Jeremy's question. It appeared that his innocent
little country boy had seen the bright city lights, and wanted more. "If
you mean can you have sex with other boys besides Peter, I think it's
something you'll have to discuss with him. Generally speaking, most boys
can only cope emotionally with one romance at a time. I suppose there are
always exceptions, though. Did you have any particular boy in mind, or was
this just a hypothetical question?"

Jeremy blushed, wriggling sensuously under the man's gentle backscrub. Mr
Hill had dropped the washcloth and was now working Jeremy's back with his
bare hands. "Well, there's one boy, Mark Briggs, he's the captain of the
cricket team..."

"Yes, I've seen him play. Fine swing bowler. Useful bat. A fine boy".

"He's nice. But there's another boy, too: Sn- er, Stanley Walters. I was
just kind of thinking that, well, it might be nice to, er..."

Mr Hill snapped into action. "Okay, I think that's enough bathtime for
tonight, Jeremy. Stand up and I'll dry you off". The boy obediently rose in
the tub, soapy water and suds dripping down his glistening skin. Taking him
under the armpits, Mr Hill lifted him clear of the tub and stood him on the
bathmat, then proceeded to dab at his beautiful body with the fluffy towel
he brought with him from his study.

"You're coming with me, young man", Mr Hill declared, wrapping the still
dripping boy in the towel and picking him up in his arms like an oversize
carnival teddy bear. The rest of Wiggum House were at Study, so the two
were alone, but Mr Hill still locked his door behind them, out of
prudence. He set the boy on his feet, and slid the towel off
him. Disrobing, he lay on the bed and held his hand out to Jeremy, inviting
him to join him.

"Jeremy, you're an intelligent boy. I'm not going to talk down to you", Mr
Hill declared, as they each caressed the other's stiffening members. "What
do you think would happen to society if men were allowed to have a hundred
wives each?"

Jeremy's rate of stroke on Mr Hill's tool slowed as he engaged his brain to
answer his dorm master's proposition. "Well, I guess, since there are about
as many women as men, soon they'd... run out of women?"

"And the men who missed out? What would they do?"

"They'd...be pretty upset. I guess they'd probably...fight to get their own
women".

"Why would they fight, do you think?"

"Well, if they thought they'd have to go their whole life without a woman,
I guess they'd be willing to...risk a lot to get one. It's human nature to
fight".

"Hmm", Mr Hill paused. "Now consider our school here. Consider Wiggum
House. Some schools enforce strict rules on boys having sex. In some
places, they won't even let boys do what you're doing to me now. Compulsory
chastity. I know you understand the meanings of all these words. Here at
Central, and at Wiggum House in particular, we try to prepare boys for
life. And life, for most people, includes relationships. Sexual
relationships. We could be like the man with a hundred wives. Enjoying
sexual pleasure with whomever we felt like. A virtually limitless stream of
partners. But, as you correctly point out, human nature is not like
that. Our instinct would be to fight against anyone who did that".

"You're telling me I have to stick to Macca, aren't you, Sir", Jeremy
observed wistfully.

"In a word, yes. But not 100 percent of the time - I know all about your
bus trip today, and I admire the many qualities you showed: teamwork;
generosity of spirit; determination; you even showed restraint with young
Briggs when it would have been so easy to let him lay you down on the grass
by our front door and ravish you. And you would have enjoyed it - he's a
very capable lover. But what would you have learned by it?"

Jeremy looked at the man. "It would just be sex, Sir, it wasn't for
learning"

"Everything is for learning, my boy. If we're not learning, we're getting
stupider. What you learn by staying with Macca, more or less full-time, is
perseverance, a vital human quality. Maybe there'll come a time when either
of you will need to move on, to be by yourself or to be with another
person. And maybe you'll just need a little time-out from time to time,
like you had today-"

"Or like Timmy has with you, Sir", Jeremy returned, starting to catch on.

"Precisely. If you left Macca now, just so that you could enjoy Snake's
prodigious tool reaming out your tight little bottom - oh, yes, I know
what's going on inside that head of yours - what would be the result? Short
term gratification, maybe? But there will always be another Snake, another
boy with a big dick, another man who says he loves you. That road leads to
frustration and ultimately incompleteness. And we all long to be
whole. Stay with Macca. If sometimes you really feel the need for a big
dick up your bum, come and see me - I'll give you a ride to remember. Now,
swing around on top of me so I can see what you let those boys do to your
pretty little bumhole. You can finish me off while I'm inspecting".

"Yes, Sir!" Jeremy agreed, attacking Mr Hill's rampant rod with his lips.

* * *

Jeremy wasn't selected for twelfth man duties with the Firsts again that
season. But he didn't mind - other boys had to get a turn, after all. A few
days after their little talk, Mr Hill called the boy to his room.

"Something I neglected to ask you when you first arrived, Jeremy - can you
swim?"

"No, Sir. The most water I've ever been in is the bathtub".

"I suspected as much. Well, we can't have that. Every boy at Central learns
to swim in his first year. It's as important as learning to read, as far as
I'm concerned. I've arranged for weekly lessons for you for the next six
months, starting this afternoon at the College pool. I've got you some
Speedos, eye goggles, sunscreen, a proper towel, and a bag to put them
in. Here you are".

"Gosh, thanks, Sir. Who's going to teach me?"

"One of the boys from the College swim team. He jumped at the chance as
soon as I mentioned it. Stanley Walters. I'm sure he'll be able to fill you
in, and give you all the help you need. Off you go", he added with a tiny
twinkle in his eye.

End

parrafan@ureach.com