Date: Wed, 7 Dec 2011 12:19:41 -0800 (PST)
From: Mike Pendragon <mike.pendragon@yahoo.com>
Subject: Harrington Chapters 1 and 2

Harrington

Chapter 1


I had missed him; I was too late and I would never have this chance again.
At least not in this lifetime.

The room was dark, the whole building seemed empty. Nobody I knew was
there, I made sure of that before I arrived. They had all gone home until
the next day and all of the events that would unfold over the next week.

Solitude was my long-time friend, so I wasn't bothered by being alone.
Somehow that suited me.  But, I wondered, what I would do next? What would
I do without him?

I suddenly felt old.

Sitting down in the only chair, I closed my eyes against the darkness and
held my breath.

The silence was almost palpable.  I sat there, waiting -- but for what?

I heard a door slam far down the hall, echoing in the long institutional
corridor; two people spoke in normal tones but far, far away, so I couldn't
understand them.  Then the sound of one set of footsteps coming closer, not
hurried, but purposeful.

I took a deep breath, and waited. The footsteps passed, clicking down the
empty hall on old, institutional linoleum. Then silence again. I must have
dozed off for a moment ...

"Hey Mikie, let's go!"

He burst into the room, the door slamming against the wall, making me
jump. Now he was shouting, not 10 feet away, "Mike, let's go!  What are you
waiting for?"

I turned and there he was, as brilliant as he always appeared, almost
glowing. He had run in from the playing fields, where the sun was warm, the
sky crystal clear, the sweet scent of boy sweat and the faint aroma of
burning leaves filling the room.

"All the guys are waiting and I'm not going until you come, too!" he said,
no longer shouting. He paused, then, softly said, "I really want you to
come, too.  It'll be more fun."

He stood there with that magnificent grin, his wide mouth and his perfect
teeth glinting in the sunlight streaming into the room from the open window
of our dorm. It was the fall of our senior year at prep school and we were
savoring every moment.  At least he was.

"C'mon, Teach, let him stay!" someone shouted from the end of the hall.
"If he wants to be a pussy, let him be.  It's getting late and it'll be
dark soon.  This may be our last chance."

He turned back to me, smiling, but serious. "Harry's right; this may be the
last time.  Forever.  It's beautiful out there and the water's still warm."
He paused, took a breath, and said, again softly, "Please?  For me?"

How could I say no?  I closed my book, grabbed my flannel-lined shirt and
then, without really thinking, ran across the room and tackled him, pinning
him against the wall.  It knocked the wind out of him -- but only for a
second. He grabbed me around the waist, picked me up, carried me across the
floor and threw me on my back on his bed.

"Nice try," he grinned.  "But you're no match for the old Teach."  His
fingers jammed into my armpits and he tickled me mercilessly.  I laughed
and howled and pleaded for him to stop before I wet myself.  So he stopped.
Just like that. Then he kissed me, hard, on the lips and he hugged me tight
and whispered, "Later.'

I pushed him off, blushing, and tried to adjust my suddenly stiff cock in
my khakis just as Harry put his head around the doorway and shrieked "Hey!"

Teach exhaled his explosive guffaw that everybody loved -- even the stuffy
old farts who posed as faculty -- and turned to Harry.

"He thought he could tackle me, the one and only Teach, but I gave him a
lesson he'll never forget!"  Turning to me, he winked, then jumped off the
bed, grabbed Harry by the arm and threw him on my bed, all the time
laughing that big booming guffaw.

Pounding Harry on the back, he shouted, "See.  Just like that!  Right
Mikie?  That'll teach you two pussies to mess with the Teach!"

He jumped up and ran from the room, yelping, "Let's go!" to the other guys
at the end of the hall.  "We'll get there first and those two pussies will
have to catch up!"

Harry and I looked at each other and Harry shook his head.

"Your roomie is absofuckinglutely a crazy man. How could you stand four
years of that?  I mean, if I had Teach for a roomie, I'd kill him in the
middle of the night, for self-preservation or maybe just to get even."

He turned for the door and paused.  Looking back, he asked, "Hey, Mike, you
OK?"  It was the only time I remember Harry seeming genuinely concerned
about my well being.  Most of the time he ignored me and I suspected he
tolerated me only because I was Teach's roommate.

"Yeah," I said.  "I'm OK.  You go ahead.  I want to change my shoes,
especially if Teddy -- I mean Teach -- is likely to throw me into the water
when I get there."

Harry gave me a quizzical look. "Teddy?  You mean Teach.  Nobody calls him
Teddy."  He paused, shrugged his shoulders, and walked out the door saying,
"OK, see you there but don't take too long, the light's fading."

I waited until he was out of earshot and let out a sigh.  I didn't know
whether to cry, puke, or simply follow them.

How could I be so stupid?  Calling Teach Teddy? Nobody did that; not here
at St. Philip's Academy.  I simply wasn't done.  You either called another
boy by his nickname or by his last name only.  You NEVER used an intimate
family name, especially in the diminutive form, unless you had special
permission, were family, or didn't know any better.  And if you didn't know
any better, you learned quickly.

Teach was his self-proclaimed nickname.  It stood for his initials:
Theodore Elliot Augustus Carruthers Harrington. Sort of like royalty: lots
of names, all given at birth to honor parents, grandparents, illustrious
ancestors, or godparents.  It was the patrician thing to do.

Theodore was was the first name of his great-grandfather on his mother's
side, some 19th-century industrial baron, railroads I think, who secured
the family fortune. Elliot was the last name of his great uncle on his
father's side who had been the Attorney General during the second Roosevelt
Administration. Augustus was a family name that Teach claimed all the
first-born boys were given. Carruthers was a family name on his mother's
side -- something about a family connection with the Procter and Gamble
fortune in Cincinnati; and Harrington was the family name.

Everybody knew the Harringtons. Even I knew the Harringtons -- and I was a
nobody.  Well, that's not entirely true. I was the only son of an only son
who was the last in line of an old Dutch family from upstate New York.  Our
manufacturing fortune had dwindled over many generations and been almost
totally wiped out in the Great Depression.  My grandfather had recovered
enough to remake a smaller fortune by supplying military equipment during
World War II.  Then he sold out to some Canadian firm in the 1950s. They,
in turn, fired everybody, carted all of the equipment to Montreal and
abandoned the venerable brick factory and yards overlooking the Mohawk
River.  Grandfather promptly died.

My father, bless his flinty soul, inherited everything and invested
wisely. He spent most of his time on Wall Street making money off of other
people's money. My mother and I fended for ourselves. He did OK, I guess,
so we still had the family High Victorian mansion, such as it was, with all
of its gables and turrets and gingerbread, overlooking the Mohawk
River. But we didn't have each other. There were streets and parks and an
art gallery and a museum that bore my family name.  But we were nowhere in
the same league as the Harringtons.

The Harringtons were the real thing: old Bluebloods from the North Shore of
Boston. Prides Crossing to be specific, a long thin stretch along the coast
on Route 127 between Beverly and Gloucester that housed a fabulous amount
of old wealth.  At least it did in the 1970s.

Teach always said that the Harringtons, like the Lorings, Cabots and
Lodges, were no more than pirates who made their fortunes robbing British
ships during and after the Revolution.  They simply learned how to be
proper pirates -- or privateers, the more socially proper term.

"The land around there sucks," he explained the first week we roomed
together. We were only 15 and trying to figure out who we were and where we
fit in. So we probed and questioned and figured it out as best we could.
We had to -- we were stuck together for the duration.

 "Can't grow shit because it's all granite boulders and sand," he
explained.  "So my ancestors had a choice: starve or get a ship and go to
sea.  Fishing's too hard, so you learn to rob somebody else.  Pretty
simple.  It obviously worked. We've been pretty well set ever since."  He
put his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and grinned that
fabulous grin.

I was shocked!  I never heard anybody talk about his family that way.
Especially here at St. Philip's.

"Teddy, how can you say that?" I asked.  "That's so wrong!  What would your
parents say?  What would your friends say?"

"Why not, Mikie?  It's true.  Everybody knows it. Hell, most of the people
in this constipated school have skeletons in their closet.  How do you
think people make money anyway?  That's just the way it is."  That was the
end of the conversation.  It was classic Teach. But when we were alone, he
preferred Teddy.

He gave me permission to call him Teddy shortly after that conversation
because, he said, I was one of the few people he really liked.

"You're different, somehow.  I can trust you.  You're not like the other
guys here. You're kinda serious and quiet, but you're real.  In fact, you
may be the only real person I've ever known. So you should call me Teddy."
And that was that.

When we were alone in the room, I called him Teddy and he called me Mikie.
I hated Mikie. It reminded everyone of the stupid cereal commercial that
said, "Let's give it to Mikie -- Mikie hates everything!" I preferred
Michael, which is how my mother always said my name; my father could care
less.  I didn't mind Mike as a nickname.  But I hated Mikie.  So he called
me Mikie anyway, simply because he could.

"I mean, it's only fair, right?" he asked rhetorically with his usual
logic. "I let you call me Teddy and I don't let anybody call me Teddy."

He was lost in thought for a moment then snapped out of it.  "Anyway, you
call me Teddy; I call you Mikie.  That's that."

As he got up to leave I said, "But wait a minute; you told me not to call
you Teddy in front of your friends because it was embarrassing.  You said
only call you `Teach' or `Harrington'.  You know I hate being called Mikie
but you do it anyways. In front of everyone.  And now they call me Mikie,
too That's not fair!"  I was a little worked up by that point thinking of
the injustice.

He just looked at me and said, without any malice, "Ya know, Mikie,
sometime life sucks.  That's just the way it is. But you'll always have
me. So don't worry about it. C'mon, let's go get something to eat."

And he wrapped his arm around me and gave me a hard squeeze.  And then he
did something I never expected: he kissed me on the cheek.  Just like my
mother would do.  I should have been embarrassed but suddenly everything
was all right.  Because I knew, at that moment, that he was right: I would
always have him.  Always.  Because he said I would.  And I knew, right
then, that I loved him and always would.


Chapter 2

I could hear their whoops and laughter from across the playing fields, long
before I could see them through the trees along the lake shore.  I knew
they were swinging from the rope in the huge old willow that arced over the
deep pool beyond the docks.  The catcalls stopped as they waited for the
next boy to take the plunge, then the splash and the cheers as he surfaced.

Some of the splashes had their own, unique sound -- sort of a kerthunk --
as a perfectly executed cannonball hit the surface at the precise apex of
the swing from the knotted rope.  Others were belly-burning splats as a
helpless soul landed on his back or stomach, surfacing with a grimace and
spectacular commentary from the water and the bank.  Once in a while there
was a stunned silence as a boy surfaced grabbing his balls in agony -- and
awkward, subdued empathy from the other boys who knew exactly how it felt
to have your nuts crushed.

I walked slowly down the path, passing discarded shorts and shoes and jock
straps and shirts, then rounded a slight bend, looking around the willow
truck.

There they were, in all of their naked teenage glory: bodies meticulously
sculpted from hard work on the playing fields, beautiful faces, shining wet
hair, and perfect buttocks and penises, all on display, carelessly, as if
it were perfectly natural to be buck naked on a warm early October day in
New England at the beginning of our long, last school year together.

It was perfectly natural.  I envied them their lack of self-consciousness
and the complete comfort they had being naked with each other.

I was always terrified of springing a raging boner, not because I was
always turned on by their bodies, although I found most of them very
attractive; I simply felt it showed I had little control over my entire
being.  That didn't seem to be an issue for any of them; it was only a
problem for me. They were always in control. I showed my passions too
easily.

Once in a while Harry or Teach or another boy would get half hard and
nonchalantly stroke their penis, or cup their balls, or make a wry comment
that would make everyone else give a knowing grin.  I just didn't seem to
know the rules and what should be done or said or understood, so I was in
complete panic at any moment that I would be "exposed".

Teach was entirely himself -- clothed or naked. He simply was. I was in awe
of that confidence.

He stood, dripping wet, on the bank watching Harry climb up the long, low
branch toward the still-swinging rope, silhouetted against the trees and
the setting sun, oblivious to my presence and enjoying the moment.

Then, as if sensing I was there, he turned and grinned -- that great,
broad, breath-taking grin -- and smiled, his eyes lighting up, and then a
quick, almost-imperceptible nod, before returning his gaze to Harry's
imminent leap of faith.

The half dozen boys stopped chattering -- almost suspended in time and
place -- as Harry took the last step, grabbed the rope and pushed off from
the branch.  His arc was perfect, the light emphasized every muscle as he
tensed and prepared to release.  Then he let go and his sleek body paused,
suspended, then plunged into the water with almost no splash.

He surfaced and the group exploded in praise.

"That was the best one today," Tyler Channing hollered, clapping his hands
wildly above his curly head.  "You win, Harry!"

The cheers subsided as Harry effortlessly swam to shore and Teach reached
out his left hand to help Harry up the slippery bank.

"Well done, Harry, well done," Teach said in his normal voice. It was said
matter-of-factly, without envy or judgment.  "It's true," I could hear
Teach say, "what more could be said?"

Then Teddy turned to me and said, "But we can't declare a winner until Mike
takes his jump."

My skin crawled with goose-bumps and my hands were instantly sweaty.  I
hated jumping from the tree.  I wasn't a strong swimmer and I didn't like
heights and I was intimidated by the other boys' confidence.  I felt my
dick shrink and my nuts pull up tight at the thought of danger on the
slippery branch.

"No, that's OK guys," I offered.  "I just came down to let you know that
the dining hall will be closing in 20 minutes and you might want to get
dressed and head back or go hungry for the night."

"Sorry, Mikie," Teddy said.  "This is the last time this fall. Tyler said
so -- and you know he's our own inerrant meteorologist.  A cold front is
moving in from Canada later tonight and we won't have summer again.  This
is it."

I was about to respond when someone grabbed me from behind in a bear hug
and Teddy sprinted toward me with that mischievous grin.  Harry slipped to
my right and Tyler swooped low to yank my pants down, taking my underwear
with them.  I was half naked, swarmed by a bunch of naked wet guys, and my
dick, no longer shrivelled, began an ominous expansion.

Teddy grabbed my feet, yanked my Topsiders off and pulled my pants all the
way off, tossing them into the underbrush. Harry grabbed my shirt and tried
to pull it over my head and as I struggled I heard a rip and said "Shit"
when I realized my favorite, most expensive polo had torn from the hem to
the left sleeve.

I let my body go limp -- except for my dick, which had a mind of its own --
and let them strip me naked.

"Hey, Teach, I think he likes it," Tyler observed, nodding toward my
throbbing boner.  He dropped my arm and Harry followed, letting my bare
butt down onto the wet grass and mud.  I thought I was going to puke -- it
was my worst nightmare.

"Yeah, he's a regular horn-dog," Teddy said.  "But who isn't?" Teddy said
as he grabbed his own dick and jerked it slightly, making it plump up. Then
he cupped his beautiful, ample balls in his other hand and performed a slow
pirouette in front of me and the other boys.

Tyler was the first to bone up, then Harry, then Colin and Wes.  Each of
their perfect penises twitched and filled in front of me while I sat and
stared around the circle.  When he completed his turning, Teddy was full-on
hard and a tiny pearl of pre-cum graced the end of his dick head,
glistening in the dying rays of the sun.

I wanted to lean toward him and lick that perfect liquid and savor it on my
tongue -- God knows how many times I had done so in the past four years --
but knew it was forbidden here and now with this group of peers.  Teddy
would understand but they would not.  And there would be no going back if I
did.  I wouldn't survive.

So Teddy did what he always did: he took charge of the situation.

"What we have here, gentlemen, is a challenge, an opportunity, a moment in
time that may never come our way again," Teddy said.  "I believe we have
three choices: we can pretend this hasn't happened, get dressed and go to
dinner as Mike suggests; we can grab Mike, throw him in the water and call
it a day; or we can have this moment as a memory for the rest of our lives;
as Dr. Trumbull says, carpe diem, seize the day."

He paused, letting each of us contemplate the choice we would make.  Then
he arched his right brow, looked down at me and asked, "What do you say,
Mike?"

I was beyond breathing at this point.  The faces of the other boys swam in
the far distance.  I felt light headed, not with sickness, but
anticipation.

"Teddy, are you suggesting that we ..." I stammered, suddenly aware that
I'd used that most secret name in front of the others.

"Yeah, Mikie," he said, also breathlessly, "That's exactly what I'm
suggesting," as if no one else were there. "It's OK."

As if that brief interchange had decided the matter, Teddy looked at each
of the boys and smiled his most conspiratorial smile, and slowly extended
his left hand to caress Harry's pulsing hard on.

Harry flinched but didn't pull away as Teddy's right hand squeezed Tyler's
cock and gave a slight tug.

"Fuck," Harry said softly and Tyler simply moaned.

"That's it, gentlemen," Teddy crooned.  "Mikie, want to help Wes and the
others?"  It was less a question than a command so I sat up and pulled
Wes's very straight and very hard cock while the other boys fondled each
other nearby.

Wes rocked his hips slightly so I added a little pressure and slid my hand
up and down. "Ohhhh" Wes moaned, and I knew it felt good; I felt his cock
throb in my hand and a large drop of pre-cum rolled from his piss slit and
into my palm, adding lube to the action.

I looked up with sex-fogged eyes and realized Teddy's plump prick was
unattended while he pumped Harry and Tyler.  I wrapped my other hand around
Teddy's perfect cock and pulled him closer.  I knew that cock and every
time I touched it I was thrilled by the privilege of holding such
perfection and knowing it was mine.

Teddy looked down at me with half closed eyes, a serious smile on his face,
and he nodded at me.  "That's it, Mikie, you know what to do."

I did -- but I never thought it would be here, with other boys, our
friends, the scions of some of the most prestigious families in the world.
I gulped, knowing but not knowing the implications of what was about to
happen.

Then I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and did what I longed to do: I
opened my mouth and swallowed Teddy's beautiful cock, inhaling deeply to
capture his unique scent as I slid my lips all the way down to his pubes;
then I licked the underside with my tongue and stopped.

"Oh, fuck, that's hot," Harry said.  "I can't believe you're doing that!"

Wes rocked his hips faster in my hand, now slick with his pre-cum; my own
cock throbbed against my belly with a life of its own, leaking sweet drool
into my dark curly pubes.

Tyler and Harry brushed Teddy's hands away from their pricks and began
stroking themselves hard.  Then they stepped behind Teddy and reached out ,
cupping their balls in the others' hands, pressing against each other and
looking down to their jerking cocks.

The other boys stood alone, stroking themselves, watching us perform.

I let go of Wes's dick as I slid forward to focus on Teddy, cupping his
balls tenderly in my left hand and reaching between his legs to caress this
hairy butt cheeks with my right.  I knew he liked that and I felt his dick
expand in my mouth and drizzle more sweetness onto my tongue as I slid up
and down his pole.

"Uh, fuck, I'm gonna ...." Harry hissed as his jizz splattered on Tyler,
who followed shot for shot, one shot after, until they were huffing against
each other, holding each other up on shaking legs.

Other stifled moans told of other cum shots in the group and I felt Wes
splatter his seed on my neck and shoulder as Teddy stiffened, held his
breath and let loose in my mouth.

I was always amazed at the amount of cum Teddy could produce.  He only shot
four or five times but each pulse was thick and generous.  And it was
sweet, unlike my own, which I found bitter and slightly disgusting.

As Teddy blasted his third shot and Wes's spunk ran across my left nipple I
spontaneously blew my load all over myself.  The first shot hit me in the
chin while the rest ricochetted over my abdomen and crotch, sliding down my
shaking thighs to puddle in the mud under my bare butt.

Teddy's prick went soft and slid from my aching mouth, allowing me to
finish swallowing his load.  I licked my lips and looked up at his weary
but smiling face, seeing not only approval but admiration for a job well
done.

Teddy reached behind my head, bent over and pulled me toward his sweaty
face, and whispered, "Now, THAT was hot, Mike."

Then he straightened up, ruffled my hair, grabbed my right hand and pulled
me to my feet.  Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he addressed the
awkward, shuffling group, and stated, "That, gentlemen, is a
once-in-a-lifetime experience that we will remember, cherish, and take with
us to our graves knowing that every man -- at least once -- can wholly
appreciate the male human body in it's most perfect moment."

Then grabbing me by the hand we ran toward the water and together, hand in
hand, we leapt from the bank into the lake and sank together in a burst of
bubbles, surfacing together in a burst of air. Fully alive, fully human and
-- for me -- fully loved and loving another man.

It was, as Teddy said, an experience we would take to our graves.