Date: Sat, 15 Feb 2003 08:06:39 -0600
From: bobby blue <blbobby2@hotmail.com>
Subject: children of the night - boarding school3

The Children of the Night

The usual disclaimers and copyrights apply here.  If you don't like
stories about kids enjoying life--including its sexual aspects--then
read no further, because that's what this story is about.  Some folks
have suggested that I put something in here about a copyright.  Well,
you don't have permission to sell this story; but I do ask that you
help keep the Internet free.  You do have my permission to give this
story away to anyone you think might read it.  But you can't use it to
promote advertise or assist in any way a group or site which requires
pay for access. nor may you distribute this through e-mail except that
your e-mail address is in the "from" line.

If you wish to e-mail me with criticisms, praise or story ideas,
contact me at blbobby2@hotmail.com.

What has gone before: I have written  previous stories in the series
called "The Children of the Night" in which I describe my first sexual
experiences at a state-supported school for the blind. The first
encounter was between Bill, a slightly older boy, and myself, Bobby. I
was twelve years old and had just begun to have budding sexual urges.
I was poised between childhood and puberty.  The year was 1959.  As
with most of us, "it was the best of times, it was the worst of
times."  The fact that a bunch of boys lived together for most of the
year in a boarding school, and that all of us had little or no sight,
are just our little wrinkles in the universe.  For the most part, our
universe is one of cruel and lovely innocence, and lust, lust, lust.
But, doesn't lust define most of our universes at twelve years old?

Now, on with our tail:

Sleep, I cannot sleep; I must not sleep.  But, I am so  excited and
tired.

Tomorrow my Mom and Dad will come pick me up for a glorious three
weeks of freedom.  Christmas: the time to revel in luxury; the time to
praise our Lord (but I can't now that Bill has come into my life), the
time to visit with family. A time without teachers, supervisors and
guilt.  A time to be a kid. Little do I know--if indeed I even think
about it--that kids have guilt, just like adults.  They lay it on
themselves like blankets, realizing that what they are is not what
they want to be.  At first the blankets are a comfort; a place to
hide.  Then, when the blankets wear them down so they feel they can't
breathe, their Mother or Father or Grandparents add more blankets of
guilt because the kid isn't what they want them to be, until what the
man the kid will become is smothered in layers and layers of guilt.
Hidden, unable to reveal himself to himself.

I dare not sleep because Bill told me he was coming up to my room
tonight and I want to enjoy every second of our sexual activity.  Bill
had promised that he would come up many times before--but he never
had.  When we meet in our secret rendezvous it seems like it has
always been at my initiation and Bill is the one who gets his rocks
off while I might, or might not.  But, within half an hour I would be
dreaming of loving him again.  I can't call what we have "love" love
is something that is reserved for Mothers, sisters and, maybe,
fathers.  It certainly isn't Bill and me; that sorted thing we have.

I'll think about girls: just like the bigger boys do.  Girls are so
mysterious.  They play different games, and sing bizarre songs of
courtly love.  Do they ever dream of having penises stuck in them? at
least as much as we dream of sticking our penises in them?  Surely
not!  Now, that's nasty.  Isn't it?  But, what do their pussies feel
like?  It seemed that all the guys my age had touched someone: their
girlfriends, their cousins, or, some whore in their town.  Maybe (oh
my God) their sister.  Except for one exploration with my cousin
Maggie last summer, a girl's pussy was as foreign to me as the night
sky, or the color blue.  Little do I know that all the guys--except
for the precocious one or two--could have been having exactly the same
thoughts I was thinking that night.

Is a pussy  warm, soft and does it beg for a dick inside it?  I feel
my own butt to see if I can find any similarity; but the analogy is
lost on me.  I love feeling my butt, though, and I continue to rub it.
Then I start to get a hard on.  Sometimes I wish I were a girl, but,
I'd never admit that to
anyone, not even myself.

I realize that I have slept.  I cannot sleep.  I must not sleep.  What
time is it?  I check my Braille watch--the one my mom and dad gave me
last Christmas--and find that it is ten minutes after twelve.  God
it's late.  I could hear Brent, my suite mate, moving around his room.
A mutual bathroom
joined the two rooms; each tiny room consisted of a bed, closet, and
dresser.  I wish that
son-of-a-bitch would go to bed, I thought.

I hear a radio in the distance playing Jerry Lee Louis's "All Shook
Up."  I wonder if he really means what I think he does when he says
"shake that thing, just a little bit"?  Surely he just means weird
dancing, don't you think?  That song reminds me of Ryan, my roommate
for a little while earlier in the year.  He loved that song.  There
was something wrong with Ryan: all the guys knew it.  He had a limp
wrist and a twang in his voice; but he was a nice guy.  I mean, like,
he once had this Sandy Kofax baseball card.  Sandy was the only card I
needed to complete my Phillies collection.  He just gave it to me; no
trade, no nothing.  I don't even think he knew who Sandy Kofax was:
for Christsakes. He had wanted so much to be liked.  We all knew,
though, that it wasn't too smart to be seen enjoying things with Ryan.
After all, the collective consciousness of the dorm had defined Ryan
as different.
It just wasn't smart, or safe to hang around with Ryan.  Guilt by
association.  Of course he was my roommate and I had
to stick up for him, but, not too much.  It was an unwritten code
among us boys that no matter what kind of roommate you had, you and he
stuck up for each other.  You could have your differences--in fact
many wars had gone on between roommates--but you protected each other
from the other guys. I remembered the day that I came in from the
library and found a group of boys at my door taunting Ryan. They were
calling him queer, and fag and laughing at his attempts to defend
himself.  And me, I was thinking "that could be me or Bill, if we ever
got caught." It made me mad and I told them to clear out before I
kicked their asses.  Then they got on my case too, saying that Ryan
and I probably kissed each other after lights out.  Ryan tried to
defend us by saying something like "oooo what a horrible thought" but
it came out in this high-pitched girlish voice; like some girl had
just seen a mouse.  That was no defense at all.  The guys started
asking us to kiss each other right there in front of them.  I got mad
and got Danny (one of the smaller kids with a real smart assed mouth)
down on the floor and sat on his face.  I tried to cut a fart, but one
just wouldn't come. Then, I chased all the guys down the hall yelling
that they were queer and I was going to clean house.  I said I'd fart
in all their faces.  Pretty soon it became another roughhouse game
with no other purpose but to give vent to some boyish energy. The
other guys and I forgot about it and went out to skate. When I got
back, Ryan was crying.  He asked me what he could do to make the other
guys like him?  My only answer was not to try, just be himself. I
mean, shit, why ask me? "Just, well you know, just don't be so
different,"
I said.  I meant to be kind, not realizing that different was exactly
what
made Ryan the person he was. Ryan, the fucker, said he was going to
call his folks to
come get him. He hated this place. He did call them, and either they
wouldn't come, or he didn't ask them because two nights later Ryan
killed himself.  He cut his fucking wrists.  But, I thought he was a
nice guy, though.  I just wish I
had told him so.  I just wish Ryan were here tonight. When his folks
came up to get his stuff, they didn't talk to me, I think they blamed
me.  But, I liked old Ryan.  I felt really bad especially when I met
his little brother and sister.  They didn't remember Ryan as
different: they just remembered Ryan as old Ryan.

Twelve forty-five.

Linny Welch was singing "since I fell for you" on that distant radio.
That song sounded so lonely.  Fuck!  Maybe I should jack off--but,
then would I be ready for Bill if he came up?  So, I take out the old
talliwhacker and start beating it furiously.  I didn't have to worry
about messes since I didn't cum yet.  Goddammit, what if I never came?
I mean, hell, we don't know the future, do we?  But then the feeling
starts to rise in my dick and I know it won't be long.  "Oh Jesus,
Bill, stick it in me suck my dick kiss me let me kiss you stick it
deeper as deep as you can deeper... Oh my God!Then it hits: wham, and
OH
MY GOD!  OH YES!  And it's over.  Spent, wasted, I feel the end of my
quickly sagging dick for a hoped for wetness: but it was dry as the
desert.  Shit!  Maybe my voice would never change, maybe my balls
would stay as small as marbles, maybe I'd never get to shave, maybe
I'd never cum.  Maybe, when the other guys were getting hair down
there, maybe I'd grow two breasts--who the hell knows.  Hell, I knew I
was queer, a freak.  Maybe queers were like Peter Pan--they never grew
up.  It
reminded me of this older guy named Dennis in an older boy's dorm--
about sixteen--who still sounded like my little sister.  Was he queer?
A lot of the guys said so, but there was no evidence of it (except he
could sing soprano).

Twelve fifty.

I wished Bill would hurry up, I was getting sleepy.  I didn't know how
long I could fight it off.

I began to think about my project.  It was a solitary stupid,
dangerous project, but it was fun.  My project was to see if I could
jack off in every room of the school.  It had started one day when I
was in the library reading a book.  Suddenly I realized that I had a
hard on, and that I could play with it through my pants.  Thus had
begun one of the big adventures of my young life.  So far I had
masturbated in the sixth, seventh and eighth grade home rooms, the
auditorium, the janitor's
closet, and both girl's and boy's bathrooms.  Even the library.  Shit
I almost got caught there.  I was thinking that I
might have to skip the teacher's lounge as that was too dangerous.

And then I could hear Mrs. Johnson--the old witch of a math teacher--
as she said, "What on earth is that in your hand Bobby?" . . . I was
asleep.  Drifting lower and lower into sleep.  I had lost all
awareness of my surroundings and was almost in the grasp of a dream.

One oh five.

Suddenly I felt my covers moved back, and I felt a hand on my pecker.
I was awake instantly.  Bill had come up to see me.

"God, I'm horny," Bill whispered.  "Move over."

He slipped in bed behind me.  "Shit, why do you still have your
pajamas on?  I told you I was coming up here."  I quickly slipped out
of my pajamas and reached for Bill's dick.  As usual, my heart thudded
franticly when I thought of the ennormity of what we were doing.  But,
I couldn't help myself.  I wanted to kiss Bill.  Of all the stuff we
had done, we had never kissed.  The other stuff we could justify as
"getting our rocks off" but not kissing; that was showing another
person that you cared.

I turned my neck and put my lips to Bills.  I wanted to die in his
arms.  I wanted to be safe----

"What the fuck are you doing, are you queer?"  I wanted to say
something smartass like 'where do you think we are?  What do you think
we are doing here?'  But I said, "No
man, I just wanted to see what it felt like."

Bill pushed my head down towards his dick and, once more, I could
smell the beautiful musky smell of him.  It drove me crazy.

I put his dick in my mouth and started to suck on it.  It was great.
I could do this all night--or what there was left of it.

"Hurry up," Bill said.  "Wait," he said and pushed my head away from
his dick.

He turned me with my back to him, and brutally forced his dick in my
butt.  It hurt like hell.  I didn't have to take this, I thought.
But,
I would, and I did.

Bill fucked frantically for a minute or two, then I could feel his
dick throb in my ass, and he was done.

Maybe he would suck me this time, I thought.

"Hey dude, I've gotta go," Bill said.  "I'll do you after Christmas,
okay?"

"Sure thing," I mumbled

And he was gone.  And tomorrow was the beginning of a three week
vacation.  And I would take my guilt and fear home with me.  But,
tonight, I must sleep.  So, at one twenty, I went to sleep.


Thanks for reading.  I hope you've enjoyed the story thus far.
Please send criticisms, or just write to tell me that you did or
didn't like the story.  I answer all e-mails and ignore all spam and
flames.
Send comments to blbobby2@hotmail.com.