Date: Tue, 27 Nov 2007 22:25:04 -0700
From: Jay roberts <diplomat1501@msn.com>
Subject: "My Sleeping Boys" by Jay Roberts    Gay High School

++++Now I am usually a very nice even tempered person, but I become grouchy
and generally unpleasant when I spy persons of an age below eighteen (18)
secretly and guiltily sampling this awful sexy material that should be
reserved for later, when they are over eighteen (18).  So-o-o-o, you have
been warned.


What I am about to tell you, I have never revealed to any person before.
Because you are one of my beloved readers, I trust you never to betray my
trust.

From 1995 to 2000, I had the most interesting position at Wembly Boarding
School for Young Gentlemen.  This was a preparatory school; equivalent to
your high school, except these were very rich young gentlemen to be sure.
However, the fact of being high born to not insure that they were any
better behaved that any adolescent boy from lower class homes.  Yes, they
could be quite nasty in their care of their bodies and in their
preoccupation with sexual matters.  Often I would find the most salacious
material hidden in the space between their mattress and bedsprings.  Really
awful stuff about women with seriously glandular breasts, or with spread
legs, revealing shaved slits.  I can't imagine why they were so taken with
these images, but it seemed to stimulate them.  Many times I entered their
rooms and found them pulling vigorously on their puds.  Oh, if only they
asked me, I could show them wonderful ways to enjoy one's prick.

I was eighteen when I began the position and twenty-three when I left to
enter my present employment at Wingate Hall as tutor to young William, but
that is another story I shall not essay at this time.

At Wembly I was in charge of the upper boys house.  I supervised the boys
when they returned from the playing fields, arranged their meals, and
generally acted like, shall I say, their mother away from home.

The boys might have been rough at times, but they missed their mums
greatly.  I saw many times that they made me their substitute mum.  Oh, how
many times they came to me with rashes, crotch itches, constipation
problems (or the reverse).  They mistakenly believed that I had the magic
cure for acne, or for sore muscles.  Ah yes, I could assist in relieving
the latter.  I was glad to massage the lad's aching back, upper legs or
arses bruised during equestrian practice.  Then there were those touching
times when some poor lad was ill.  Nothing serious, otherwise they were
sent to hospital, but those short-lived fevers, upset stomach and such.
How piteous they looked, as if this was their last day on Earth and yet one
day later they were prancing about as though nothing had happened.

The rooms were tiny.  Each boy had his own room.  That was touted greatly
in the brochure.  Rooms had no doors.  That made it easy to check the boys
at night.

I made it a self-imposed duty to say goodnight to each lad.  That took the
better part of an hour, as I had fourteen charges.  They loved these tender
moments, tenderness so excluded form their daily life of rough and tumble
sports.  I rubbed their heads and wished them good dreams and some of the
boys asked that I kiss them goodnight.... on the forehead of course.  They
considered that manly.  I loved the feel of their moist foreheads and the
smell of their hair.  Some boys actually fell asleep as I said goodnight
and administered some affectionate body rub.

The administration degreed at the end of April that the boys should sleep
in the nude, without bed dress.  Of course I was delighted with the order
and I found that my nightly ritual was even more pleasant when the lads
were naked.  But best of all was many patrols, passing open doorways,
hearing sleep muttering, viewing naked arses uncovered by boyish thrashing
about.  Seeing those young, firm, perky checks was just perfect.  But that
was eclipsed by an even greater sight, a boy lying on his back, his
surprisingly large and semi erected organ nestling against his hip, his
sparse and newly grown pubic hair glistening in the moonlight.

I must stop a moment to regain my composure.

I became a cataloger of boy's smells.  The younger ones, not yet, or barely
into adolescence, had a smell like slightly sour milk, the older boys a
heady smell compounded of sweat and soap.

I found that my trips along the corridor of open doors began to occur at
shorter intervals as I enjoyed the sights and smells as a growing
addiction.  Soon that was not enough and I began to enter the rooms and
stare down at the sleeping lads, noting the various expressions they assume
in sleep.  Some with lips puckered out as if seeking a kiss.  Others with
profound frowns as if the effort of sleeping required great concentration.
But I was entranced with the boys who smiled in their sleep, as if they had
just heard a joke or tasted a perfect trifle.

Like all addictions, they never lessen, they evince a greater hold as time
goes on.  And it was that way with me.  I felt impelled to intensify my
nighttime relationship with the sleeping ones.  I began caressing their
young chests and insolent nipples.  Often this produced a murmur in sleep,
a reaction of pleasure as I could see their penises react by lengthening.
I rehearsed in my mind what to do should one boy awaken, "You were crying
out in your sleep I wanted to see if you were alright.  Go back to sleep
lad."

But chests and nipples weren't enough.  Like a drunkard swilling more gin I
progressed to stimulating the lads.  If I was fortunate enough to find a
boy lying on his back with his boyish prick exposed I would take a
tremulous finger and gently pull it along the underside and watch the organ
grow and stick up proud and begging for more.  More I would give it.
Clever thumb strokes on the leady head, rythmatic uncovering of his glans
and then pulling it back, yes, back and forth, back and forth.  This alone
would often produce copious pre cum in sensitive young ones.  But the final
coup de grace was a firm, but gentle stroking until orgasm occurred.  Each
boy had his own way of cumming.  Some would almost jack knife as their
knees came up to their chests.  Others merely signed deeply and slide into
cum of great quantity My favorite was the boys who groaned in intensity as
their organism approached.

I am not sure that the boys were fully asleep.  My visits brought them such
joy that I think they were afraid to say anything for fear they would end.
You know young men of their age were gluttonous for penile pleasure.

This practice on my part continued full throttle during the warm weather
and somewhat less during the cold nights, yet even through the boys were
swaddled in heavy bedclothes and flannel pajamas, many obligingly lowered
their pants and uncovered themselves when they heard me approaching.

I still see their long silky eyelashes lying on their dewy cheeks, their
young mouths partly open, puffing excited air through their soft lips.  The
smell of their sweet breaths will remain in my memory forever.

But pity, all good things must end eventually and likely it was fortunate
for me.  I had taken many risks in enjoying my passion.  No one ever
reproached me, but something else happened that hit me as being too close
to the truth.  George Knowles, one of my boys, actually the one who used to
cry out so fervently when he reached his climax, that boy wrote a book
about his days at Wembly.  It was a very frank tell-all book.  It dealt
openly with his lovers from the lower forms, no names were used.  And he
wrote of a particular house father who performed much appreciated sexual
favors whilst the boys were asleep.  He wrote, "We all knew who he was, but
he was the best lover all of us would ever have."

I left my Wembly and offered myself for the tutor position at Wingate Hall.
The very first day I knew I would find this position interesting and
challenging.  That was after I was introduced to Master Tom, a curly headed
boy of sixteen, who looked me up and down with admiration, and whose eyes
lingered at my prick area.

Sir Thomas, Sr. advised me that like all the other Tutors, I would sleep in
the same room with my charge.  I agreed to these arrangements and moved in
immediately after my being offered the position..

As I unpacked, I wondered how young Tom would smell when he was asleep, how
he would like my ministrations in the sleeping hours.  I could hardly wait.


End