Date: Wed, 06 Jun 2001 14:22:22
From: Ganymede
Subject: The Ring Around the Rose  Chapter 4.

The Ring Around the Rose, by Ganymede


WARNING:


This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts
between a men and MINOR boys. I do not condone child abuse,
however boy-love as described in this story is an entirely
different matter. If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if
this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you
are under the legal age for such material, do not read further!
You have been warned! Read at your own risk!

Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely
accidental.

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy
has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Feel
free to post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your
friends. The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. It
cannot be placed in archives that require payment for access, or
printed and distributed in any form that requires payment.


THE COPYRIGHT OF OTHERS:

Throughout the story there are poems and songs by others. I do
not claim this work as my own. These poems and songs are included
within single quotation makes. In some cases, I have modified the
original to suit my purposes. Citations and sources have not been
provided because it would interrupt the story. I appreciate the
efforts of Ianthe, who collected and posted this material.


THE NIFTY ARCHIVE:

The Nifty Archive needs your support. If you enjoy reading
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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in
your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your
thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!



The Ring Around the Rose, by Ganymede

Chapter 4. Among the Roses.



Cold! Creeping cold, that came up through the fur-skin-covered
bed, through the blankets, through the stone walls and floor.
Unforgiving cold that made me shiver constantly. It was always
cold that time of year, but everyone who lived on that exposed
pinnacle of rock appreciated that the long cold nights made for
fun in bed. It was so cold that hoar frost formed on the inside of
the narrow window, and the wind that whipped and roared about the
turrets was an everpresent raw, biting chill that penetrated the
slightest crevice. Loathsome miserable frore.

My eyes stayed closed throughout the hours of day, except those
few half-waking moments, when my nightmares paused and I found
relief. Then, I tossed and turned upon my back. It seemed warmer
that way than any other. I dimly recollected the warmth coming
from an angel looking down from above. I stared unthinking and
unfeeling at the vaulted ceiling. It seldom lasted long before I
sank back into the oblivion of painful memories. Always, my mind
engaged in shivery games of pictures behind my eyes. Bleak images
quivering with shards of ice. Images of a death and an empty white
casket. Images of a boy, inert and snow-white as glacial flow.

Throughout the day and night, voices came and went, and sounded
very distant. Hollow too, but not empty. Soft words were spoken by
seraphic voices, one so familiar that I jerked awake, tremulant
and disturbed. Then, a moment later, that radiant vision of a
golden haired child, androgynous yet male, palipating my frozen
limbs. For that vibrant child, I stayed alive. He made me think of
honey-the sweetness of the gods. The boy I loved, my Etienne, had
come back to save me.

Sometimes, leaning over, he held a spoon to my mouth. However,
there was only gruel to eat, and warmth was all I tasted. Later, I
inhaled a fresh aroma,almost apple-like, of Roman Chamomile, the
herbal treament for convulsions. He had such delicate thin hands.
His gentle touch was like the zephyr, brushing over me. The smell
he left behind was intoxicating, of flowers, the honeyed scent of
Helichrysum,the relaxing rose and mint of Geranium, and then the
warm rich smell of Frankincense, with its hint of lemon and
camphor. His fingers lingered on my brow, rubbing in the herbal
potion. I opened my eyes and saw my lover, my beautiful Etienne.
There were tears in his pale blue eyes. His eyelids flickered, and
a crystal droplet of dew fell upon my cheek. He leaned down and
kissed me, sweetly, tenderly, upon the lips, and breathed his life
into me with a sigh.

"He's dying." That angelic voice, Etienne's voice, but not his
voice, not trace of the corruption that was puberty.

"Perhaps, my Prince. He's very weak."

The latter was the Master's voice, more gentle than I
remembered it. Quiet, calming tones. The fingers stroked my
cheek. Another clear droplet fell and splashed upon my nose.

"I don't want him to die."

Although misery sounded in every word he spoke, it was the
voice of purity, of innocence, of sweetness, of Etienne before the
squeak and squawk that made me laugh. His voice broke when he
spurted semen. One change was amusing, the other serious
business. The first thin watery ejaculate, not even milky
droplets, but the purest essence oozed from the puckered tip
through straining skin, clear essentia forming a single silvery
thread. The taste was ambrosia, nectar of the Gods and man. The
fleeting time of boyhood was upon us. He died before it truly
whitened.

"Where there is life, there is hope, Michel. Don't cry, not yet
sweet Prince. Stay with him and keep him warm."

And those silky fingers, barely felt brushing though my hair.
Unforgettable yet only barely remembered. His smell, so
faint, yet so innocently human. A boy's smell, still sweet and
fresh, not tainted by others. The smell of straw, and milk, and
rosewater. A virgin smell, his lust  still unawakened, yet always
lurking, hinting at the underlying secret of his gender. Again, my
mind sought refuge in confusion. Etienne came to me with a hungry
ache to be loved. His smell was erotic, earthy, the unconscious
pheromone that instigated passion, exuded through his skin. The
powerful aphrodisiac of 'boy'. The olfactory epithelium detected
smells, but the vomeronasal organ sensed the sweaty pungent musk
of sex, and more, attracted me like a bee to honey. No smell like
that came from the boy above me, at least beyond a trace.

"But Master, he's so very cold. I've been rubbing his arms and
legs with the potion you gave me. It doesn't work. I'm sure he's
getting colder."

"There is a way to warm him with your heart alone, Michel.
Remove your robe and lie with him."

"What do I do then, Master?"

"Hold him close and press his flesh against your naked body.
You can warm him in many ways. Use what skills are within your
self and you will soon discover what to do, Favonius boy."

Then, when the Master left us, I convulsed again, groaning
incoherently, crying out his name a single painful time before
falling into silence. I slipped back into darkness. His bare soft
body was slender and smooth, yet radiating ethereal life-giving
warmth. He melted onto me and stirred my slowing heart. He pulled
the fur rugs over us so that we were nestled together in a down
coccoon. Just us, not joined, but so close that full physical
union was unnecessary. We stayed together, one limp and semi-
conscious and the other bent on saving life. His vaporous breath
was my salvation. He breathed onto me, over me, into me. He kissed
me back to life. Gentle kisses, warm wet kisses, kisses soft and
tender, on my cheek, my lips, my neck, my chest. That little
cherubic incubus even suckled on my chin.

Hours passed and with the evening, the room grew darker. He
stayed with me, kissing and sharing his young warmth with me. His
heart beat strongly and his blood flowed to every extremity. One
part gradually grew hotter than all the rest. Boys will be boys,
and if left without restraint, discover quickly what love is all
about. His boy part awakened and slowly stiffened and poked
relentlessly at me until he discovered the previously unrealized
feeling. His body found instictive rhythm, moving in a primal
dream. His breath became hotter, urgent on my chest, heaving up
and down. I jerked awake. I frightened him.

"Etienne!" I murmurred.

"My brother's dead," he blurted out as he struggled shamefully
to lift away.

I stared at him, that fair-haired angel who was poised above
me.

"Etienne?"

He shook his tousled head. He trembled fearfully. "He's dead."

I saw tears building in his eyes, those slightly bigger eyes
that were a different hue to the boy who I loved. Blue eyes of
summer skies, but with the tint of winter's gray as well. I
thought of the misty cloud-draped pinnacle of the Mount
contrasted to a pellucid halcyon day. And there were other
differences too. Ever so slight variations that divided them as
brothers. Eyebrows that on one boy were pencil-thin, were barely
visible on the other. They were so similar, yet so far apart. One
boy was older and boldly Vulturnus, the other definitely not. His
lips were different, fuller, redder, more sensuous, more enticing
than even Etienne's lips had been. His honey complexion a shade
darker, even without the sun.

"You're,... his,... brother?" I asked weakly.

He nodded slightly and promptly ended what was a very difficult
memory for him by burrowing his face into the furred skin beside
him. He sobbed in hiding. I touched his silky shoulder. That too,
was different to Etienne, even smoother. My fingers felt warm and
alive, or was it him, this lithe bare-skinned creature that seemed
to float above me. Dare I touch him? He was but a fanciful dream,
unreal, an illusion created in my confusion, a delusion caused by
extended fever. Yet, that warm-fleshed ignis fatuus did breath
and there was a small heart beating strongly in the frightened
slender chest that pressed to mine.

"Etienne,... is,... dead," I murmurred. "You were,... there. I
remember,... I,... saw,.. you,... from the hill."

I slumped back, resting my weary head in the goose-down pillow.
I remembered then, when I had seen him again.  His body was
scented with a hint of roses, the faintest trace of the water I
had used to cleanse him, cupping my hands with the ice-cold water
from the font. His hair was longer, just reaching to his
shoulders. Etienne's hair was always short, purposefully cut to
show his brazen manly spirit. He was so different to the Favonius
boy who was his brother. This boy was gentle, serene,
compassionate. Not that Etienne was ever unsympathetic, but he
lacked the empathy of his younger sibling.

"I'm sorry," I pleaded. "Forgive me.... I should have,...
realized,... I can see you are,... his brother."

He shuddered, then sniffed and lifted his head up to wipe away
his tears.

"It's okay. You weren't to know, Master Aidan."

"What's your name?" I asked. My memories of the last few days
were all but blank.

"I'm Michel, Sir," he whispered shamefully. "I think I'm
supposed to say Scorpio, and after that Favonius," he added
timidly.

I caressed his hair. It was the color of corn-silk just like
his brother, yet noticeably different in a way that denied again
that he was Etienne.

"I'll just call you Michel, I think." I smiled reassuringly.
"You're even more beautiful," I added softly. I did not add, `than
Etienne'. However, it was true.

"I'm here because I'm queer,... like Etienne was before he
died," he confided. "My father hates me. My mother, too."

"No,... you're here,... because,... you're special," I rebuked
weakly.

How could a parent reject such wondrous beauty? My senses
screamed in agony at a father who could deny his son was perfect
because he saw a flaw.

"I wish I was dead as well," he croaked in anguish.

"Never that, Michel." I stroked his cheek. His sadness
overwhelmed me, yet I summoned all my strength. "Never that.... I
loved your brother and we were happy.... My grief was such that I
also wished to die.... However, I live on to keep his memory
strong.... He would have wanted it that way.... I understand your
melancholy, but promise me, Michel, not to wish for that."

He didn't answer. Instead, his head dropped to lay upon my
breast. His zephyr-breath rose along my neck. The breath of life,
exhaled by a boy of great ruth, who wished his death in penance
for his perversion. I let him lie and stroked his back and flanks,
giving tender touches to minify his pain. An hour passed before I
dozed. For all that time, my mind repeated the words that would
not leave me in peace. Indeed, the very image of his face consumed
me. I grieved, not for his brother, but for the young Adonis who
stayed beside me.

'Long years ago there came to me in sleep

The vision of a boy divinely fair;

His eyes were moon-kissed seas, serene and deep,

Elysian blossoms crowned his golden hair;

Light flowed around him, gently fell his voice

Like a soft-singing shower of silver dew,

Long time he gazed, then smiling, spoke 'Rejoice!

Seek only for me, for I alone am true!'



'Straightway he fled upborne within a maze

Of mighty wings and music wonderful,

Whilst all the air grew dizzy with the praise

Of voices crying loud, 'The Beautiful.'

Heavenward he vanished - but his radiant face

Still haunts me - a pure spiritual joy,

And well I know he makes his dwelling-place

In the clear honest eyes of any boy.'



Then, without warning, the fetid heat returned in a fearful
rush, growing ever worse until I sweated and began to shake. It
grew worse, until I cried out, and begged for mercy, and my mind
sank into delirium. I was consumed by a feverish nightmare, this
time of Michel and Etienne, and flames bursting from their compact
loins. Their penises ignited, glowed fiery red before crumbling
to whitened ash. I was haunted by their faces, each more beautiful
than any other boy, then the flashing sparkle of a dragon's
scales. I saw both boys burning, their bodies foully blackened,
their eyes unseeing. Then cold again, that awful freezing that
numbed my body to icy rigor. I awaited death, uncognizant of the
silken warmth that stayed close by me throughout the night.

When I awoke again the room was dark. I felt much better, if
hotter down below. I shifted slightly, felt my feet reach out into
a colder region of the bed. I shivered and finally realized that
the weight was gone.  No longer that feathery soft weight above me
that felt so natural, as if it was meant to always be there. I
sighed and felt cautiously to the side before me, searching under
the pelted fur. My fingers lightly grazed his tiny shoulder, slid
along the ridge of collar-bone, then behind his thin neck to
stroke the angel-wing of his shoulder blade. Then lower, slower,
exploring the trail of tiny vertabrae bumps, the firm muscles of
his narrowing back, gliding further down until I reached his hip.
I heard his sigh, like the zephyr of his kind.

He wriggled closer, bringing his pert small nose casually into
my armpit. Some boys were like that, captivated by the otherwise
mephitic smell of sweat. He inhaled my odor into him, absorbing
what was delectable, the raw scent of man. In turn, I smelled his
smell, no less enticing but not of maleness. That boy's ambrosial
smell filled my nose, the aroma of Etienne, pungent after sex. It
was a sweet musty smell that came from within a boy, a smell like
rising dough, or mossy earth. It took some time before it
registered that it was a perfume should not have been there.

His hand caressed my chest, suddenly stopped in place with his
palm over my heart, then, his fingers spread and touched my
breast, a fingernail poking carefully at the nipple until it stood
up. My hand slid from his hip, obliquely curving downward until I
held his full firm cheek. It filled my palm and my fingers levered
into that hidden place as his lips came up to meet mine. We kissed
gently at first, barely touching lips, our noses rubbing and
getting in the way. He was hot, almost steamy, as he carefully
climbed on top. He seemed a little heavier than before. He
wriggled higher, then lay astride me with his legs on either side
of mine. The weight was suddenly less. His elbows settled beside
my chest and immediately he brought his lips back to mine. This
time his tongue licked first and left a trail of spit. His tongue,
so soft and slippery, so hot and wet, demanding mine, surged
between my lips.

I embraced him, both arms behind his back, caressing his
slender body. He pressed down harder and moaned against my mouth,
exhaling his passion into me. My hands attained the rounded
softness of his bottom, one palm on either cheek, then parting to
find his crevice while I sucked gently on his tongue. Another
groan, but louder. One thin arm crooked behind my head and pulled
us close together. Then kissing harder, exchanging juices,
tongues grappling in each other's mouths. His breath was sweet,
intoxicating like any boy upon the Mount. My organ swelled and
slowly lifted. Then hardened, beyond the limit of my endurance. My
passion, so long constrained, rushed through my veins. My hands
were shaking. My penis thobbed. My fingers glissaded along his
crevice, already slicked with slime. Again, it registered only
slowly. Not a virgin, but by then my finger was to the knuckle,
buried up inside him.

He groaned and lifted up, quickly rearranged the swollen parts
between us, and pressed back down again. This was no Favonius boy
who had come to me at night! And neither was he a virgin, for his
hole was opened up already, not only a rose in bloom but from the
slipperiness against my finger, very moist with recent seed. I
tried to guess the name of my unexpected but welcome vistor,
knowing one boy who he was not. For a moment longer, I probed his
anus. Not as loose as most boys were upon the Mount. I expected he
was younger, barely initiated and with his training just started.

"Kadri?" I asked urgently.

"Shhhh, no it's me, Sandor," the aggressive Vulturnus
whispered back to me.

"Where's Michel?" I asked.

"He's gone to eat, Master Aidan. Finally."

"Finally?"

"He's stayed in bed with you throughout all of three nights and
every day as well, and until now, he hasn't eaten. He's left your
side only to perform ablutions and drink some water."

"Michel? He did that for me?"

"You needed warmth, Master Aidan, and he saved your life. He
would not allow another boy to assume his task. Each night after
Evensong, I've come here to warm you, but only until he returns.
He's seldom gone from your side for more than a short while. And
not me alone for Kadri too, has helped. One night when it snowed
and our warmth was not enough, the other Favonius novitiates have
joined us."

"Thank you, Sandor," I said appreciatively.

"It's not me you need to thank," Sandor giggled. "Besides, I
should thank you."

"Why?" I asked. "When you've kept me alive. I owe you the
greatest debt of all."

He squirmed above me, and tightened his small rump to squeeze
my finger tight. "This isn't the first that you've been within me,
Master Aidan," he giggled shamelessly.

"You're saying that I've been inside you?" I asked awkwardly.

At that he giggled. "Kadri says I'm too eager to be Vulturnus.
He thinks that I should be Favonius like him. Perhaps he's right."

His anus pulled against my finger, no longer nibbling but
chewing when his opening closed. His muscle was startingly strong
for a boy whose rose had only recently been ringed. Yet, it had
bloomed wide, an open flower that invited discovery of what lay
within. His anus was stretched, so loosened that two of my fingers
could enter without causing him to whimper. He sat up, squatting
on his haunches above my thighs and playfully teased my penis with
his little hidden rose.

"Three nights?" I murmurred. "It seems like only yesterday
when I ascended the tower to make the roses on Michel and Kadri."

I breathed easily. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted
from my chest. I closed my eyes and tried hard to remember. I saw
vague hazy images, nothing close to real. Except a boy's honey-
toned face, his golden glistening hair, and gray-blue eyes that
cried tears of crystal dew. Michel had stayed with me that long?

I smiled and nodded feebly. "And now you've been mounted,
Sandor as well. It's a pity because ever since I first saw you I
wanted to watch you take your turn upon the Altar."

He smirked. "And I wanted you to to make my ring. Instead, I
drew Master Zaliako. The boys call him 'Woodpecker' for good
reason."

I could not remember him. Perhaps he was a recent addition to
the staff. "Why 'Woodpecker'?" I asked.

"He only has a little prick. It's no longer than your thumb,
but he pecks and pecks and before long, he's made a bigger hole
that you'd expect."

I smiled and tried to laugh, yet even that was difficult for
me. I finished by gasping and wheezing hard to get my breath.
Sandor's gazed at me with concern. And then, without a word of
warning he wriggled and gently pushed down. His anus squeezed
against my glans, then relaxed and opened far enough that I
slipped within him. Not far, just until his anus pulled in to stop
the head from passing through the ring. He had learned a lot in
just three nights.

"We're rose to rose, Master Aidan," Sandor giggled proudly. He
had reason to be proud.

He tightened slightly by pulling upwards, 'kissing' as we
called it. All boys learned to kiss a man's rose like that. It
preceded deeper penetration, done when the boy wanted to show his
need was getting stronger. He 'kissed' again, this time relaxing
the opening to his passage so that his deliberate downward
movement which followed, enscounced my penis beyond the glans. He
winced and closed his eyes, still bearing down to force it through
and into him.

How long had it been since Sandor had last been mounted? Not
long, it seemed. An hour or two at most. It slid in far too
easily. Within moments, the deed was done. My penis bottomed out
with his cheeks pressed tightly against my groin.

"Y-y-e-e-s-s," Sandor growled. His eyes were closed. His teeth
were clenched.

"Are you all right?" I asked with a tender voice.

"Of course. Since the time I served you brandy I've wanted you
inside me, Master Aidan," he murmurred with respect.

He held my penis deep within him. His contractions were
startingly powerful. I thought of Etienne. That boy's sphincter
was very strong, and he was well versed in what to do to take
advantage of it. Despite his tender age, young Sandor was not far
behind him. However, his inexperience swiftly showed itself. All
too soon, he moved. He flinched and gasped abruptly when he
started to lift away. He came off quickly, eyes wide in shock,
withdrawing nearly halfway before he stopped. His rectum churned,
grasping on my shaft. Despite Sandor's futile efforts, his body
was slowly pushing my member out. He groaned and tried to reinsert
it. He grunted like a pig stuck in mud, then shoved back with all
his strength. It went back in, but not as far.

"You're much bigger than I thought," he rasped.

He shuddered, but bravely resisted the instinctive
disengagement. He still had a lot to learn, but all the signs I
saw, suggested that he would learn as quick as any boy. I
graciously accepted the role of teacher.

I caressed his flank with a single hand, finding energy from I
don't know where. He squirmed and tried to settle down again. His
anus gripped my penis very tightly, binding and then relaxing. It
felt good for one of us at least. He grimaced in sheer discomfort,
but no amount of pain would stop a boy engrossed in achieving
deeper penetration. This was about sharing love. He was
determined to do it. I lay still and let him do it. He shifted
from squatting on his haunches to kneeling over me with his legs
beside my hips. That way he could easily move what needed to be
moved. He eased back cautiously, taking more of my thick long
shaft within him. It was hot and slippery inside his recently-used
passage.

"That's better," Sandor giggled after a while. "I can feel it
getting looser now he's in further. Can we join together properly,
Master Aidan?" he asked as he pushed down carefully.

I looked up weakly, not submitting for that was not the way of
Vulturnus, but instead I yielded to his greater need. This would
have to be on his terms or not at all. I was too weak to assist
him in what he wanted to do beyond lie beneath and let him go down
on me. I was happy that my penis saw fit to stay hard enough to do
it. I could barely move. I smiled. The little rascal took that as
assent.

He started moving slowly, keeping my penis deep within him, the
way all boys do upon the Mount. They soon learned where the
greatest pleasure was to be attained within their bodies. Sandor
pushed and pulled persistently, tormenting my recalitrant organ
with his suctioning succulence. He squirmed and rotated his
slender pelvis with shameless unreeinting lust. Etienne had done
that as well, grinning when my penis turned and twisted within his
bowels. It was a strange but delectable sensation for a boy to
have a man's penis boring up into him. Sandor grinned boldly,
visibly content to take the lead. Within moments his rectum had
lost its tension and another man's seed began to dribble down my
shaft. I felt it hot and slimey, wetting my groin hair to become a
sticky, tangled mess.

Still smiling, Sandor leaned lower, drawing the furs over his
bare back. He huddled close to me, creating a warm coccoon. His
lips brushed mine, and then he licked. My tongue extended,
entwining with his pink wriggling thing in a game of playful love.
I fretted nought and lay quietly, happy and content. He did only
what came naturally to all the boys upon the Mount. I felt him
licking, sucking, slurping wetly. At the same time, he pumped
rhythmically, keeping my glans rubbing back and forth against his
inner gland. This empyrean joy was Nirvana for any boy.

"You feel good, Sandor," I whispered weakly.

It seemed that I was both Master of Favonius and master of
understatement, using 'good' to describe the wonderful heat that
surged from him to me. He held my penis there, moving deep inside
him, enclosed in his hot throbbing flesh. His energy flowed
without restraint. I was part of him, as he was of me. We had
joined in the only way that could not breed. Man into boy, united
to become a single being. Sandor giggled and licked across my
chin. For a boy, it was very much about having fun. He licked
again, to wet my cheek. I turned to greet him and our tongues
engaged and coupled once more like two familiar lovers. Kissing
was a skill that boys perfected quickly. He had learned that first
lesson well. I took his eager little tongue within my mouth,
bathed it and let it bask as I sucked against his sweet soft lips.
All the while, Sandor kept his thighs moving with slow gentle
thrusts that were intended to delay the inevitable rush to ending.

His muscle loosened considerably, just as nature always
intended. Without much effort, I felt it stretching to a massaging
band that shamelessly, lusciously contained my maleness. He
licked again from the tip of my nose to my forehead. Then, he drew
his tongue down to my eyes and bathed each lid with careful
probes. With all the attention, my body strengthened. I began to
move in unison, greeting his downward push with an upward push of
my own. He gasped, wriggled, tightened, sighed with pleasure,
grunted in brute animal delight of being loved.

"That's better," he huffed. "It feels so big inside me, Master
Aidan."

I kissed his nose. That made him giggle. He tensed and closed,
and pulled my penis inward, drawing it past the tiny node so his
pleasure could return. He pumped within his special region, using
that timeless rhythm that all Vulturnus boys learn upon the Mount.
Yet, unlike Etienne, he squirmed around, carefully rotating his
narrow pelvis to accommodate the girth.

"Go slowly," I warned. "Let your insides stretch before you go
to work."

He nodded and slowed, barely moving up and down. I gazed into
his eyes, those liquid pools of overpowering lust. He tried to
smile. Instead, he moaned.

"I can't hold back much longer," he growled. "I need to finish
this, Master Aidan."

Far be it for any man to stop a boy who was intent on sodomy.
Sandor shuddered as his long legs began to move, to lift and
thrust, driving himself down onto me. His hands gripped my arms as
he pushed back even harder hard. My penis impaled him to the core,
and more. He whimpered. He did not stop. he was beyond stopping.
He lifted up again. Some boys were like that, desperate to be
loved by men. Vulturnus or Favonius, it mattered not. His buttocks
slammed down and he shook as his rectum absorbed the force of it.
Once more, and then again. He was so close to climax that he had
already tightened up within. His spasms squeezed my organ
frantically. How often had I seen that frenzied look in Etienne's
eyes? Near death, but full of life.

His knees clamped against my chest. He looked at me through
half-closed teary eyes. He trembled, his bowels grasping at my
shaft and compressing with surprising vigor. A moment later, it
was over and temporarily sated, he slumped against me. He
quivered. My hands roamed down his back and cupped his small firm
cheeks. I touched where my penis entered him. He was hot there,
and very slimey, and not just in his crack. His opening was
tightly stretched around the still-engorged stake of my penis.
There was a little lip, a fold of skin to show displacement from
where my penis went into him. I could also feel the slightly
swollen area that marked his rose. It usually took a few days for
the swelling to go down. It was undoubtedly tender. I caressed the
inside of his cheeks lightly, soothing the ache away.

He breathed unsteadily, his trembling gradually fading. His
tongue pressed firmly into mine, letting our saliva mix. I dozed,
content to remain quiescent and inside him until he came back to
life. In time he would become used to it, that agony of an orgasm
from behind. For the moment, he needed to rest. Time passed.

In the distant halls, I heard the sounds of boys playing. There
were a myriad games they played at night, as well as through the
day. I heard peals of laughter, and the shouted name of a boy
proclaimed the winner, followed by 'let's take hold again.' I knew
that call as well as any other. 'Blind boys in the buff', was a
favorite they played before they went to bed. The rules were
simple. They all undressed and used their loin-clothes as
blindfolds. Then without any sense but touch, each boy had to
guess the owner of the penis held within his hand. More often than
not, that game ended within the rectum.

"You didn't cum, Master Aidan," Sandor finally whispered in my
ear.

"No, I didn't," I answered softly. "I'm exhausted, but I
promise I will the next time I'm inside you, Sandor."

Gently, I drew his buttocks up and away from my still-hard
stake. He didn't try to stop me. That passage into his inner
sanctum was noticeably slacker. Not just relaxed but sloppy
loose; a hot, oozing looseness that came from having sex. His
opening sucked loudly when my penis pulled out and flopped away to
slap against my belly. Sandor giggled, apparently as amused by the
wet slurping sound as I was. He climbed from his position over me
to lie beside me with his head nestled on my arm.

"Did it hurt?" I asked.

He thought for a moment before he answered. "Not really, Master
Aidan. It was so big at first that I could barely move, that's
all."

"I'm not that big, Sandor," I said graciously.

He nodded eagerly and smirked teasingly. "Well that maybe. I'm
hardly one to judge after only four, but your's is the biggest
I've had inside me, that's for sure."

I ran my hand through the bristles of his close-cropped hair.
Boys like Sandor were so endearing. They knew exactly what to say
to make a man feel proud. I rubbed his head affectionately. He was
an easy boy to love. Just lying naked with him against me was
enough to make me happy. I walked my fingers down his side, to the
bony ridge of his hip. That part of a boy's body seemed much too
small to offer so much pleasure. He had narrow hips, appearing so
slender that I could enclose his waist with just two hands. That a
man's penis could move around and churn his bowels to quivering
jelly was surely one of the greatest mysteries of all. The boys
who had been trained on the Mount called it Elysium, the abode
behind of everlasting bliss.

"'Into you is Paradise opened,'" I whispered in his ear.

Sandor sighed sleepily and snuggled closer. "'He that will
enter into Paradise must come with the right key.'"

I would have liked to lie there longer, to muse about my
suddenly discovered role of master to a dozen boys and whoever
else would come to seek my skills. Truly, this was Paradise for
any man. He paused again and again, watching my face with devoted
eyes and he savored his own delight. From the smile I observed, it
seemed that Sandor was quite content to stay with me a while.

For once, I did not think of Etienne. There were other boys to
fill my mind, not the least being the boy whose thin smooth arm
was drapped across my chest. I also thought of Kadri, already
mounted with the ring around his rose. A true Favonius, he would
be no less affectionate than any boy who came to my bed at night.
And Michel? That still virgin boy consumed my mind. He filled my
every thought with his charm and physical perfection. I wanted so
badly for him to return. Even though I had a lot to look forward
to, I sighed. I could not clear my mind. Always Michel was there.
Michel, who was without equal. Michel, who possessed my psyche.
Michel, who saved my life. Was it possible that I loved him just
from sight alone? The possibility unnerved me. There was love, and
there was love. Love that consumed and took possession of the
person in body, mind, and spirit. Could it be the latter? Michel
was only nine, but I had loved his brother with the same perpetual
ache. Love hurt.

I was almost ready to fall asleep again when I heard the final
bell. It rang with a persistent echo throughout the halls,
announcing the end of play. Peals of laughter, crude catcalls,
hasty invitations issued for the night. The sounds of boys
running, of getting into bed, then muted whispers, sighs, groans
and whimpers mixed together with the rapid slap of greasy skin. I
had forgotten how very often young boys copulated in the night.

Footsteps padded through the darkness and two white robes
appeared beside my bed like ghostly apparitions.

"We're back, Sanshevo," Michel whispered.

Sandor's nickname took me by surprise for a moment or two until
I made the association of 'sans cheveux'. 'Without hair'! Of
course, the name could equally apply to almost any boy there. And
then the other possibility struck me. 'San chevaux', another word
for 'horseman', and just as appropriate to call a young Vulturnus,
although he had yet to take his turn with me.

The two boys simultaneously unfastened sashes and slipped
their robes off. I heard the soft rustle as the wool dropped
quietly onto the flagstone floor. In the dim moonlight, they were
dark shadows from head to toe. They were naked, their small boy
parts hanging limp but no less admirable in that unawakened state.
There was just enough light to see that both boys had the 'high-up
balls' of novitiates, their scrotal purses folded emptily
underneath. At nine years old, it would be years before either boy
was afflicted by the rush to puberty.

Even as they stood there, slivers of the moon's silver light
suddenly penetrated through the window to bath their bodies in an
aura of mystery. It was a revelation. Side by side, they were of
nearly equal height. In the dim light, Michel was slightly
thinner, while Kadri had the benefit of strength that a single
month of strenuous exercise could make. I glanced from one boy to
the other as Kadri clambered onto the bed. My eyes stayed longer
on Michel and not because he was the one who was stiill standing.
I was barely able to keep from saying what I wanted. Instead, I
thought the words I wanted to say to him. He was truly the most
beautiful boy that I had ever seen,



'You stand before me in your body of melting honey,

the west wind's breath against your smooth skin,

the sea's colour stored -- for today -- in your eyes,

the sunlight melted, liquid gold into your hair.'



With a shy smile, Michel stepped closer until his knobby knees
touched the bed. Had it not been for the little penis that dangled
between his legs, he could have been mistaken that androgynous
fairy sprite that came at night to give the boys their dreams. He
knelt on the bed and Kadri quickly moved away, yielding his place
so that Michel could lie with me.

"Are you staying through the night, Sanshevo?" Kadri
whispered.

Sandor whispered something back that I did not need to hear. He
said three words before Kadri giggled.

"You did that?" he asked boldly. Sandor nodded gleefully. "All
the way?" he added pointedly.

"All the way, what?" Michel asked curiously as he settled down
beneath the fur covers. "What are you talking about?"

"Master Aidan just mounted him," Kadri smirked. "You know,
Miel.... What we talked about last night."

If ever there was a nickname that belonged, that was definitely
it. 'Miel', for Michel, for that boy of honey-colored skin. In
every way, he was as sweet as 'honey', in word, in deed, in every
thought. 'One rich drop of honey sweet, as an alluring luscious
treat'. That was Michel.

"Master Aidan put his dick in Sandor's bum?" Michel asked
crudely, but with a tone of understated disbelief.

So much for honey sweetness. I nearly laughed aloud as he
pulled the furs over him and settled closer to me. The possibility
that the Vulturnus boy had tasted carnal joy did not disturb him.
I felt the light touch of his fingers as he tucked the furs around
my shoulders, then his fingers drifted downwards. It was only when
he encountered Sandor's arm across my chest that I felt his body
tense. He was not about to share what he clearly considered his. I
waited to see what would happen.

"Well did he?" Kadri giggled.

"Did he what?" Sandor replied.

"Did he get it all the way inside you?" There was an envious
note in his voice that quickly found my attention.

Sandor smirked and nodded proudly. Kadri giggled. He seemed
both nervous and encouraged. As I remembered, excitement and a
insatiable curiosity about what other boys did with men, were
normal reactions for a boy whose rose had recently been ringed.
Michel's reaction was quite different. He fiddled absently with
my nipple, pressing into the tip to make it harden. He was
obviously distracted as he considered what `inside' meant. With
Favonius boys more so than Vulturnus, jealousy was a fact of life.
I did not want him to be envious, but the situation I had gotten
myself into was certain to cause him to begrudge the other boys
their close proximity. It was with that in mind that I kissed his
forehead tenderly. He smelled fresh, like a spring rose in the
early morning. It was common among the boys not only to sprinkle
water imbued with the fragrance of roses upon their heads before
they went to bed at night, but also to rinse two other areas that
were likely to receive attention from their bed mates. I inhaled
and savored the familiar scent.

"Did it hurt?" Michel blurted out at last.

Sandor shrugged. "Just a little bit at first, Miel. But you
soon get used to it," he answered with an expertise that was
unwarranted given his experience or lack thereof. "It felt good,
by the end," he added hopefully.

Michel thought about that, all the while bemusedly yet not
ineptly teasing my nipples. They were as hard as pebbles by that
point. His head moved slowly closer until his hair tickled against
my nose. The smell of Rose and something else, perhaps Jasmine,
was overpowering. The more I breathed, the greater my desire
became. I felt like I was growing stronger with every breath I
took. With my fingertips barely touching the back of his small
head, I guided him closer. He appeared to know what he wanted to
do. That instinctive need was part of every boy who dwelled upon
the Mount. All they needed was the opportunity to act upon
repressed desires. He quivered and nervously licked his lips. A
person who was not familiar with Favonius boys could mistake his
nervousness as inhibition or reluctance. It was not. They were
anxious to please, nothing more or less. In few things, they were
inclined to take the lead.

My fingers continued to press against Michel's small head. His
lips came ever nearer to mine. They glistened in the moonlight,
puckering and then relaxing. There was no question that he was
excited. His lips brushed mine so lightly that I was unsure at
first whether we had touched. Something so incredibly soft, so
incredibly warm and wet, so wriggling and alive, melted into my
mouth, leaving no doubt that we had not only kissed, but that his
tongue had entered behind my lips. I wondered how he had learned
to kiss like that. The answer was lying beside me. Kadri and
Sandor both giggled. One of them whispered in the darkness. It
sounded like Favonius.

"That's right. You kiss him."

I barely touched his silky head. He trembled before his nervous
mouth lowered again. This time, his lips touched my cheek, glanced
across my nose, landed on my forehead in a trail of delicate dots.
He lifted up again, bracing himself by leaning on his elbows. He
gazed down, his eyes magnetic and nearly black. I could see his
nostrils flaring everytime he breathed. The other boys were
watching over us, curiously smiling.

"Go on. Kiss him on the lips again, Miel. Let him know the
taste of honey."

His lips returned, seeming even softer than the first time.
They pressed gently, softly touching, parting momentarily before
returning wetter, much wetter, even slippery. I closed my eyes and
relinquished my mouth to his. Vaguely, I was aware of the other
boys encouraging him to use his tongue and to kiss me harder. My
lips parted and his tongue pushed quickly forward. I placed my arm
around his back, drew him over and on top of me, then pulled him
down and held him tightly. Lying above me in that natural position
of a boy, he needed no encouragement. His urge intensified
immediately. His heart pounded when he realized what love
involved. His head came back suddenly, seeking, wanting, willing.
We kissed until he needed air. We parted in a rush, both shaking
and breathless. Even Etienne had not kissed like that. Michel
quivered above me, gasping deeply, his breath hot upon my cheek.
The taste of honey, they had called it. It was no exaggeration.
His breath was sweeter than any other boy.

I gradually moved my hand downwards, from his lean muscular
back to the firmness of his rump. I cupped the smooth rounded
globe of one cheek, and then the other, dipping my forefinger
carefully into his heated crevice. He used his elbows and his
knees to take what little weight he had. The contact between us
was like a feather, so very slight that I pressed upon his bottom
to bring him closer. His knees spread further apart, widening the
crack to a narrow chasm. My finger searched and deftly found his
tightly puckered hole. The other boys had already taught him how
to kiss, but he was virgin there in every way. I had no doubt of
it. It was the custom to leave that initial violation to the
master of the novitiates.

I rubbed gently, going around and around in tiny tender
circles, not rushing to enter that little opening since that was
not my way. Innocence was a gift, given from him to me as much as
what I gave to him.

"It tickles, Master Aidan," Michel giggled. "It feels very
strange."

"Of course. It's supposed to feel good," Kadri said gleefully.
"Just relax and let him put his finger in you."

I chuckled. "In his own good time, he will" I said. "If you
want to help Michel relax, my advice is to stop watching us," I
added in good humor. "I'm sure two boys can find something else to
do."

At my bold hint, both Sandor and Kadri burst into an extended
fit of giggles.

"I know what we can do. You can do me, if you want Sanshevo?"
Kadri suggested gleefully after he had recovered from his
laughing.

Sandor did not answer. Instead he clambered carefully over our
entwined legs to straddle Kadri. He took the superior position
that was natural for him, above Kadri, pushing him back into the
bed. Vulturnus boys were like that, demanding in most respects,
taking pleasure and accepting what belonged to them by right of
domination. By contrast, Favonius boys concentrated on giving
what was wanted, always submitting. Kadri's arms immediately
lifted up behind his head. This was the position of offering. I
glimpsed his chest and belly, stretched taut, every rib defined
clearly in the moonlight. His penis was already hard, standing
proudly stiff yet short-lived and unnecessarily. Sandor squatted
back, much as he had done with me, but instead of impaling
himself, he lifted Kadri's legs until his knees were by his head.
Kadri smirked, sharing a look of brazen lust with Sandor. They had
likely done this before. Michel was not ignoring them even as he
continued to place his tender kisses on my lips. He was very aware
of what was happening on the bed beside him.

Sandor used saliva as the lubricant of recourse. It offered
sufficient slipperiness for boys to join without the greasiness
that followed when lard was used. He drooled over his fingers and
reached down to smear it on Kadri's opening. His fingers stayed
there, pushing determinedly to open up the gate. Kadri signed as
two small fingers passed through the outer portal. He responded by
wantonly placing his hands upon his cheeks to show the way for
what he wanted. Sandor wasted no time. Once more he spit on his
fingers, this time applying the saliva to the rigid shaft of his
penis. He closed his hand and pulled back against the skin. The
rose popped out, glaringly dark against the blanched skin of the
rest of his penis. He leaned forward, taking the initiative that
was his by right.

Kadri grinned at him, waiting for the first push that would
come as soon as Sandor was in place. He barely had time to breath
before Sandor started in. Vulturnus boys were like that before
they learned the need for patience. A sharp sudden thrust was all
it took when one boy was no bigger than the other. The short, slim
shaft disappeared from sight and the distance between their
bodies closed to nought. Sandor groaned and Kadri whimpered. They
stopped there for an instant, feeling the heat flowing back and
forth between them. Then Sandor leaned down and Kadri's head
lifted up. They kissed, sucking each other's extended tongues to
begin the traditional rituals of coupling. There was no closer way
for boys to be together. Michel's head twisted around, staring
down and the sight beside him. After a few moments, he glanced
back up at me. The sight as much as his own excitement made his
eyes flicker. I sensed the unasked questions looming in his
fertile mind.

"He's inside him, Michel," I said softly. "They're making
love."

"Oh! That's what they call going rose to rose and nose to
nose?" Michel asked.

I nodded. He gazed at me with eyes that told his worry. I saw
his silent curiosity that conveyed so much more than words. He was
disturbed from seeing what made boys satisfied if sore. It was a
long while before he dared to speak. By then, Kadri and Sandor
were coming rapidly to the end.

"What's it like?" he asked softly.

"What is what like?"

"What Sandor is doing to Kadri, Master Aidan. The thing he said
you did to him earlier."

He sounded nervous. I caressed his head and brought his lips
back to mine to taste his sweetness yet again. This time, he
increased his ardor, and kept his lips firmly pressed to mine
until it was I who had to break for breathe.

"It's important, Michel, that boys learn how to make love," I
explained. "However, to be able do anything with success requires
what?" I posed.

"Perservance?" he suggested. "To keep trying to do it right?"

"In a way. We can think of that as two things, practice and
improvement, meaning to do something again and again and each time
to try to do it better than the last time. This is the key to the
training you will receive upon the Mount, Michel. Kadri and Sandor
are practicing the lessons of making love, and whenever they
practice with each other or any other, they will endeavor to it
better every time."

Michel nodded thoughtfully. "But I don't know what I'm even
supposed to do, Master Aidan."

"You will be taught, step by step Michel. The first steps you
have already learned."

"I don't understand."

"You kissed me, Michel. It is one of the fundamental skills
that lovers need to know. You will discover in time that kissing
takes skill, not just to smack your lips with someone else's, but
to achieve the ultimate bliss of tongue and lips. Watch Kadri for
example. See what he is doing."

Michel assiduously studied his friend before he spoke. "He
does it with his eyes closed," he observed. "And so does Sandor
too."

"That's right. There are times when they will not be blind.
However, as close as they are right now, they use their sense of
taste and smell as much or more than sight and touch. Watch what
Kadri does with his tongue."

"I saw him licking Sandor's face before," Michel giggled.
"Now, they're touching their tongues together."

"The tongue is the instrument of passion as much as any of
other organs, indeed because it uses two senses," I explained.
"You can learn to do it too, Michel. Just close your eyes and let
your tongue tell you what to do."

He did, already disciplined to obey and eager to be trained. He
brought his head close to mine, firmly closing his eyes when our
lips came near. His first licks were exploratory, tasting the
saltiness of my skin, then feeling braver, his lips came onto mine
and his tongue entered my mouth. He shivered with the thrill as he
tasted the different flavor of my saliva. He pulled back and
teasingly licked his lips before returning.

"It feels strange," he commented quietly. He smiled.

"Strange how?" I asked. "You can tell me how you feel."

"It makes my penis hurt, Master Aidan," Michel answered
awkwardly.

I glanced down to look between us. His penis was like a rigid
lever, so stiff and hard that it appeared qquite painful. The
veins stood out as dark twisting wrinkles. My interest was
captivated for a young boy to be merely kissing and it been enough
to promote that state. I smiled reassuringly, knowing that if we
continued Michel might possibly attain a climax by kissing alone.
He would need to learn control from Master Aubert.

Cautiously, I extended my hand and gently enclosed his thin
inconsequential maleness. It was unbelievably soft, softer than
the finest oriental silk, so soft that I had to think twice to
decide whether I was actually holding that part of him. However,
what was soft on the outside, was anything but soft on the inside.
Inside was a tube of forged metal, unyielding except to nervous
tremors and a persistent throbbing. It pulsed between my fingers,
hot and alive and thriving on my touch.

"Come higher, Michel. I have something else to teach you," I
said quietly.

He came to his knees and with one knee on either side of me,
climbed steadily higher. He stopped when he straddled my
shoulders. His knees were tucked into my armpits. With a gentle
push from behind, he leaned forward until he had to place both
hands upon the pillow to keep himself in position. The tempting
morsel of boyhood danced before my eyes. The foreskin still was
closed and shrouded the slightly distended end. His penis was
unlike Etienne, whose pubescent penis had grown sufficiently in
size that the crimson tip protruded to show a ruddy glimmer of
itself.

Michel's head turned and for a few brief moments he watched the
boys who were now lying on the bed behind him. They were nearly
finished if the grunts and groans were any indication. Kadri had
not moved beyond lifting his legs and buttocks up so high that his
back was nearly off the bed. Sandor reared up behind him, his legs
strained and his muscles very taut, his face triumphant and
transformed into the mask of unbridled ecstasy. His eyes were wild
and he pumped furiously. Despite his vigorous thrusts he lacked
what made men desirable to boys. A three inch penis was barely
sufficient to reach inside that narrow canal, let alone abrade
that hidden gland within Kadri's shaking body. What he lacked in
size, Sandor compensated for in effort. I thought of a rabbit, his
rapid thrusting driving his boy-sized penis in and out of Kadri's
dilated hole so quickly that what I saw was blurred.

With my hands behind Michel's slender thighs, I lifted my head
until I could kiss that little extended part. He giggled when he
realized that the soft wet warmth he felt came from my tongue. I
savored that first taste. It was sweet, there was no other word to
describe the delicious flavor of a boy. Sweet and refreshing, like
warm sorbet. Sweet and slippery smooth like sucking honeydew.
Yet, even those things paled to explain the sensation. The
delightful sweetness of young boys had no equal. Even my Etienne
had lost that taste.

I sucked his penis into my mouth, then with my tongue embraced
it, gave it a wet hot massage until Michel gasped and gave a happy
moan. I licked it again, twice for good measure and turned my
attention elsewhere. With my fingers lifting his loose scrotum to
my lips, I bathed him with my tongue and tasted a different thing.
This too was sweet, but slightly sweaty, that faint delectable
trace of saltiness. I licked him there again and again and he
wriggled and giggled and took deep healthy breaths. I know of no
boy would pull away, although some confront sucking of their
scrotums with apprehension. Michel was different. At first he was
hesitant when he felt his testicles pass between my teeth, felt
his scrotum being pulled tight as my suction increased. Yet, he
did not try to stop me. Indeed, he tried to lower his groin by
spreading his knees further apart.

Three days was probably long enough for the tenderness of his
glans to diminish. I cautiously retracted his foreskin with my
lips and bathed the swollen tip with my tongue. Michel stirred and
shifted his position. There was still some discomfort it
appeared, but not enough to disrupt his obvious enjoyment. I
kissed it gently and slicked it with my tongue before kissing it
repeatedly. That made him giggle. However, giggles were
transitory when a man was committed to giving pleasure. I began to
bob my head, keeping the skin firmly grasped and held between my
lips where they pulled back to cover my teeth. Just once I took
his penis from my mouth long enough to see the crimson-hued end.
Although I could not make out any detail, what I had seen in the
tower chamber was a perfect rose in bud.

One more thing remained to complete that initiation into
sensual joy. I slavered saliva onto my fingers and moved my hand
behind Michel's back. With my other hand, I parted his firm small
cheeks. He tensed noticeably, as any boy would tense when his anus
was about to be pierced for the first time in his life. He did not
stop me, or even make any effort to try to resist. He expected
this incursion. He tightened when my finger pressed inward. That
involuntary closing was only to be expected. It took time for a
boy to learn control, to deliberately loosen his sphincter and
open his anus for a man's intrusion. I felt him struggle, trying
not to resist as my obstinate finger squirmed and sought to
achieve a deeper entry. His pucker furrowed and tried to shut the
gate to paradise. However, a boy's anus is defenseless before a
determined finger. A moment later I had penetrated well inside.
His little muscle did a valiant job of trying to protect his
virginity, but to no avail. However, had I been trying to insert
something bigger, he might have been able to hold it back, for a
while if not forever. When he winced and uttered a whimper, I
quickly eased back. His sphincter did the rest, ejecting my finger
with a sudden push before it closed up tightly.

So, instead of brute force that most men resort to, I began to
move the tip of my finger back and forth, and slowly circle on the
wrinkled skin that indented just enough to indicate the anus that
was otherwise hidden from outside. That gentle rubbing I indulged
in for the next few minutes was calculated as much as to relax him
as to excite him. He responded quickly and dilated just a little
bit. It was enough. I licked my finger and put it back. I rocked
the tip into the rippled entree and he opened slightly. A moment
later his mouth sought mine and we kissed while I completed the
entry.

He was hot and tight inside. All boys were that way until they
had been fully dilated. It took just a single time to breach the
barrier of muscle. After that, each time the penetration became
easier. I used my finger with careful probing, sinking slowly
through the grasping ring, rotating and moving back and forth
while we kissed. When he was full to the knuckle I finally
stopped. Michel was breathing in quick short gasps, each gasp
corresponding to a sudden increased pressure exerted around my
finger.

"Michel?" I asked.

He startled. "I can feel your finger all the way inside my bum,
Master Aidan" he announced gleefully.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes..... It's nice,... I guess...."

His hesitant answer was promptly followed by bringing my
finger upward and gently rubbing where it was needed. He jumped
and jerked, his anus closing up momentarily. I pressed again,
grinning as his body responded to the change in feeling. His
buttocks clenched and pulled in. I levered upward and he groaned.
The feeling of ecstasy was entirely foreign to him, yet he did not
panic. Instead, he signed.

"Master Aidan?" he huffed.

"Yes."

"Why does it feel like this?"

"Because it is how boys are," I explained. "It doesn't hurt,
does it?"

"No. Not hurt exactly, but it makes me shudder."

There was no other sensation remotely like it, that pressure
building from within, a looming explosion of sublime proportion,
the growing desire that gave way to rapture. No boy was ever quite
the same afterwards. I rubbed gently until Michel's pelvis began
to jerk away. Then I stopped and held my finger steady while he
began to thrust in turn. He was timid at first, barely moving
until his urge got the better of him. His shudders became more
frenzied, his groans verging on frantic, his hips thrusting
erratically, seeking some inner sanctum. Some boys become
delirious with joy. Michel did, and more. He babbled as his first
orgasm rose up within him, then burst forth so powerfully that he
nearly tumbled from above me. I held him steady and gently
extricated my soiled finger. He settled down, moving his knees
back awkwardly until he could resume his position lying over me.

Beside us, Sandor has assumed a similar position. He was
exhausted. Kadri rubbed his back gently, his slender legs wrapped
around the Vulturnus boy. He turned his head and smiled at Michel.

"I told you it was good," he smirked.

Michel giggled back.

"Before you know it, you'll be taking cock just like Kadri,"
Sandor teased.

"Your rose is ringed as well as mine," Kadri reminded him.

"That's true," I laughed. "I happen to know that for a fact
that his rose is as red as yours."

"But why a rose?" Michel asked.

I nodded. All boys asked that question sooner or later. I drew
a deep long breath to fill my lungs.

"There are many reasons, Michel, and in time you will
understand them all. First off, the rose stands for completion,
and by inversion for the beginning. Beyond the color which
signifies the blood we share as homosexuals, the rose is symbol of
what joins us, man and boy, when one is fitted into the other. The
rose in bud is inseparable from its bloom. It is one and the same,
but seen differently merely through a change in time. More
importantly, the rose is, in its most essential meaning, the
symbol of consummate perfection. It is the sign of the heart, so
it stands for love, but it is more than love, for as only those of
the Sanctuary know, it signifies absolute love. There is however,
an even higher message. It is the mystic Center."

Michel regarded me, taking my words in and thinking carefully
before he spoke. "So when we join, rose to rose, we are complete.
The Master told me that we're all brothers because of it. He
called it the mark of the Spirit."

I nodded again. "It is the animus, Michel. Our soul and psyche,
and the source of our vital force." His fleeting confusion made me
stop. "Animus is the essence of life itself, Michel. It is the
principle of animation to be held inseparately associated with
living beings."

"The rose is who we are," Michel said softly. He considered his
own words silently. "I am complete with you, Master Aidan."

I took both of his hands and held them easily within one of
mine. My mind churned. The words were spoken aloud before I
realized what I had said.

"That is good, Michel, for I fear that indeed, I am truly in
love with you, and that simply should not be."