Date: Sat, 27 Feb 2016 14:04:07 -0800
From: Jon Hold <jonhold@earthlink.com>
Subject: Three Boys, and You

Three Boys, and You
by Jon Hold
Copyright © 2015
jonhold@earthlink.net


Your first trip to Europe and your brothers fucking sister-in-law just had
to fuck you over. Travel agent cunt! Not only was the "cruise ship" a junk
merchantman with four ratty cabins. NO services, and a cook to die for ---
literally; but your "palatial accommodations in an exclusive rustic
setting" were actually a small youth hostel seven (walking) miles from the
small, train-stop town with the unpronounceable name here in beautiful,
backwoods, frozen Norway! For some reason, "I'll kill the bitch" keeps
wandering through your mind.

The old man downstairs said that you were too late for dinner, and that
breakfast would be served in the dining hall promptly at 5:30 AM.
Five-Thirty! Christ on a crutch! The room is the only private room in the
hostel, and from the size of it, it must have been a closet at one time.
The small window gives a wonderful view of the cliff twenty feet from the
back of the old building. Lovely view! If you have a thing for cliff
faces. Well, at least the room is clean and neat, and the old iron bedstead
looks somehow comfortable with its welcoming load of feather mattress and
comforter.

Resigning yourself to two weeks in the middle of Nowhere, Norway, you
decide to get cleaned up before taking to the pristine bedsheets. Douche
kit and towel under your arm, you sulk down three flights of stairs to the
only bathroom in the place, in the basement. "I'll kill the bitch!" somehow
wanders through your mind again as you negotiate the steep stairs. A double
entry door leads to a musty smelling, poorly lit room that reminds you of
the trials and tribulations of your Junior High School gym class, and a
dirty leer crosses your face as you remember... HIM.

Confronted with the lockerless lockers, you're glad you had the foresight
to hide your wallet and watch in your room. Taking your towel with you, you
enter one of the small cubicles and sit down to consider, in detail, just
exactly how you intend to exact your revenge on the fat, blonde bitch that
sent you to this hellhole.

Slamming doors and the raucous jabber of a foreign language announce the
entry of an obnoxiously noisy male group. You sigh in resignation. You are
being punished, and it just isn't going to stop! You wait, but nobody's
leaving. Resigning yourself to your fate, you wipe your ass and decide to
take your shower and get to bed. With any luck at all maybe you can sleep
for two weeks.

The naked lightbulbs in the ceiling garishly light the dingy, old
showerroom, it's three stalls with mildewed walls , raised wooden stall
floors and a brick floor somewhat in need of repair and maintenance. The
floors and lower tiles are russet and the upper tiles white, where they're
not stained black by mildew. The pipes are incongruously painted sky blue
with red handles. Of course, you don't actually notice any of this since
all you can see is a steamy room full of naked boys showering and washing
each others backs. Boner time! Your dick mindlessly leaps to attention as
you stand there with your mouth hanging open and your spit almost not
drooling down the side of your face. The heady smell of wetly naked male
youth hammers at your brain as your dick waives in response to the smiles
and welcoming sounds the boys are making to the stranger in their midst.

"Uh... Hi!" You finally manage to mumble with all the eloquence at your
disposal.

"American?" a couple of the boys ask.

"Yes.  ...uhhhhh...  Yes I am."

A slender, short-haired boy with a ring in his left ear steps out of the
center shower stall and, gesturing with his hand, says, "Please. The shower
is warm."

Gaping at the boys nearly perfect uncircumcised body, you reach over to the
wall pegs to hang your towel and step past the slickly wet boy who reeks of
lusty teen hormones. Your erection bounces across his belly just above his
pubes. You blush and he grins as your towel, unnoticed, falls to the floor.

The boys talk briefly in what you assume is Norwegian, and then the boy who
had been having his back scrubbed stepped forward with the brush in his
hand. The heavier set, more muscular boy who had been washing his back
said, in pretty good English, "Lars would like to scrub your back. You
like? Yes?"

Embarrassed, you start to mumble something, but before you can make a total
ass of yourself the boy who had surrendered the shower to you smiles and
takes your hand, pulling you out of the shower.  "Don't worry. Men in
Norway all the time take shower together." Turning you as you step out of
the shower, the smiling boy reaches up and begins soaping your neck and
face. You close your eyes and feel strong, soft hands and the soft bristles
of the brush on your back.

The third boy's hands are active. Demanding. Feeling of your dick and
balls, rubbing between your legs. You feel yourself spraddling your legs
for him. Letting him feel you up. Encouraging him to grope you and probe
you. Fingers burning slightly with soap enter you. You squeeze down on his
fingers and he friggs your butthole in excitement. You squat down as he
works a second finger into you and you seem to lose your American reticence
as you grab the boy in front of you and return the favor. Feeling him.
Really boning up as you let go of your inhibitions and really feel the
hard, lithe young body that's squirming in pleasure in your hands. His
delightful prong is only about four or five inches. None of these Norwegian
boys seem to have much cock, but a quick poll tells you that what they do
have is iron hard and functional.

That does it! You grab the boy in front of you. You've had all you can
stand from these boys. They need to learn what happens when they play
around with a full-grown, mature man. The boy laughs and lets you pull him
up against the fullness of your own body. He thrusts his stiffness into
your leg as you grope for his butt. One finger down his crack quickly finds
a tremendously hot, resistive little pucker. Laughing, the boy pushes away
from you.

"No! Not me!" He laughs, "Lars is the one who wants you!" Pointing behind
you, he turns you to confront the shortest of the boys. You take the brush
from his hands and hand it to the boy who has been eagerly fingering your
butt and dick. The hard-bodied, well-built boy is trembling and limp with
fear. You gently gather him in your arms, the heat of his hard body burning
your nerve endings like the most wonderful acid in the world. You tilt his
head up, and bend, down, time stretches, his lips seem to float up to
yours. The first tentative, wary contact, lip to dry lip, eyes sparkling
with fear and muscles trembling with the need to run. You touch his lips
with the bare tip of your tongue. He opens to you. You hoist him up as your
tongue opens his mouth and plunges within, his legs wrapping around your
waist as he moans and his arms slither around your neck. You hold him. You
kiss. He sighs.

You feel yourself guided back into the shower, soft young hands eagerly,
awkwardly rinsing soap from your bodies. Towels glissade, lips entwine,
awkward teen boys guide you, still carrying your precious encumbrance, up
the stairs and into your rented goosedown bed. Laughter echos from the
closing door. The boy, eager, untutored, willing, afraid, timidly submits.
You ensheathe, lubricate yourself. Holding, caressing the eager lust
filling your arms. Touching, entering, rigid fear. Calming kisses and
tender gentleness. A siding. An acceptance. Rolling on top you take charge.
Beneath, he surrenders, accepts your offering, encompasses your fullness
and glories in your directed passion. Fearsome in his discovery... he rapes
you with his wild reaction. You ride him. Taking all he has to give and
giving back all you can.

You have met. You have conquered. You have both won the encounter as your
private universe explodes and shatters into billions of coruscating,
multi-colored fragments. The humidity of the sweat-soaked down encompasses
you. You sink into his warmth. He holds you within him and, slowly,
tentatively, climax becomes inception. Inception, delight. Trembling, he
realizes you are not done with him and his youthful vigor matches your
mature power. The brass bedstead rhythmically bangs the wall, telling
everyone in the hostel, stroke by stoke, how you are taking care of the
boy-man in your arms. His friends listen, vicariously joining with their
good hands wrapped and pumping in time... bang.... bang...

You awaken as the new sun enlightens the window. You glory in the memory of
a wonderful dream... until that dream mumbles in your arms, wiggling back
further into your embrace to confine the warmth of your morning stiffness
more completely.

The door opens and quietly closes. Two shivering youths climb into your
warm downy nest, cuddling up into the warmth and laughing nervously.
Straight boys who have discovered that they want to know whatever magic
secret it is that their smiling friend has learned. Sighing to yourself,
you resign yourself to your role as teacher. Boys will be boys, and men
must teach them to be men. You listen as the boys eagerly question the boy
you have already impaled. You resign yourself to your fate and, with a deep
sigh, relax, smile, and begin to really enjoy yourself as you try to figure
out just exactly how you're going to pay back your sister-in-law for this.

-----

Well, it ain't Chaucer, but I think Chaucer might have liked it. This is
less than 2000 words so, obviously, there is much room for additional,
explicit whack-whack stuff, but I sort of like the balance right where it
is. Let me know how it feels to you...

Jon

-----

A nation that is afraid to let its people judge the truth and falsehood in
an open market is a nation that is afraid of its people.

     ---John F. Kennedy