Date: Sun, 4 Jan 1998 13:38:27 EST
From: Ross Tamarind <TheTovo@aol.com>
Subject: Double Lives

Schooldays -- the First Awakening

It is a long time since I left Maywood Vale - that wonderful and ancient
boys academy in Sussex - and entered into adulthood as a fully-fledged
product of the English public school system. My proud parents were pleased
with their investment: a few months later I joined the family business, and
went on to meet and marry a girl of whom they thoroughly approved. Our
marriage was happy, and very conventional. We have been successful, and
have wanted for nothing. Valerie bore three daughters by me before -- so
sadly - she died of cancer in 1991.

Whether she ever guessed I shall never know. I was always careful to hide
my secret. Certainly, my parents could never have known that, ever since my
seduction at the tender age of 13, the sturdy, well-spoken and confident
young Englishman who had graduated on that far-away day in 1963 had
regularly enjoyed his secret life as a gay and a transvestite. In those
days, sexual deviation was not accepted in `good' society. So, like many
others - an ambitious young man - I took care not to prejudice in any way
my chances in society and business.

Indeed, until now, nothing has been said by anyone to break the silence,
even though my secret life has continued, with several lovers, for almost
forty years.

Looking back, it all started so innocently, as horse-play during a
chemistry lesson in the lecture theatre, which quickly turned into a wild
sexual romp. The room was in darkness, and Albertson (the biology master:
nicknamed "Back-Side" in honour of his reputation for administering
six-of-the-best to bare boys' bottoms on the flimsiest pretext) was
lecturing on photosynthesis with supporting slides: it was late afternoon
and I was sitting on the back row of the theatre, with two other boys,
feeling bored. Like most lads who have just reached puberty, I was not
above comforting myself at such moments with a little covert
masturbation. Having pulled my penis out from under the thin, but
restricting material of my underpants, my fingers were caressing it gently
through a small hole in my pocket, when I suddenly became aware of a sharp
prodding sensation. The boy to my right had inserted a ruler up one leg of
my short trousers, and it had come into intimate contact with my
scrotum. Almost immediately, and without my wishing it, my cock leapt into
erection. I gasped, feeling a thrill of excitement, and moved sideways,
away from the offending ruler. As I did so, a hand descended from my
left. My fly buttons (no zips in those days!) were jerked open, and my cock
was bounced out, naked and throbbing, into fresh air.

I froze, hardly daring to look into the faces of either of my attackers. It
had all happened so suddenly, and silently. On my left, Porthouse pressed
his thin thigh hard against mine: his fingers were pulling and kneading my
bobbing organ, and as he started to nurse me to a rapid climax he chuckled
evilly in my ear.

Meanwhile, on my right, Coates continued to jab painfully at my tautening
scrotum with the ruler. Through the corner of my eye I could see the
whiteness of his own genitals: they, too, were naked in the
darkness. Suddenly his hand was on mine. Against my resistance he dragged
it between his legs, and for the first time in my life I felt the hot,
rubbery skin of another boy's cock under my palm. Almost instinctively my
fingers closed over it, and with a sharp intake of breath Coates opened his
legs wide to receive my ministrations. There was no going back now.

Porthouse was kissing my neck. My pre-cum dripped onto the floor as he
worked my foreskin back and forth between finger and thumb. Of its own
volition my left hand reached for his flies. Briefly, he left off
masturbating me to help me pull out his own engorged member. I gasped - it
was half again as large as Coates' -- fat, slippery and heavy, it was
already slimed with his cum. The smell of it pervaded my nostrils as my
fingers squeezed and teased him to an almost instant orgasm.

Porthouse grunted involuntarily as his whole body spasmed. The sudden pulse
of sperm up his shaft took me by surprise, and I looked round the room
fearfully, sure that someone must be alerted, now, by our frantic movements
at the back of the room. But no-one looked round. I turned my head: Coates'
lips found mine, and his tongue forced an entry through my opening lips as
his cock, too, spurted gobbets of man-milk over and between my dancing
fingers - dribbling from there in a viscous string all the way down to the
wooden floor.

Porthouse, his own need satisfied, bent forward. His tongue silently lapped
at my oozing cock head, and - looking down -- I dimly perceived his hand
creep under the damp material of my underpants, to feel for my balls, as
they lifted convulsively to vomit their rich, creaming contents in three,
four -- five! -- ecstatic spasms up my leaping shaft, then out into his
searching mouth. This, at last, was too much! With a soft gagging noise the
boy pulled his head back, my copious cum spilling out of his working lips.

Suddenly the room was full of noise, as everyone turned round, peering back
towards us in the darkness. Albertson's voice knifed through the gloom --

"What the devil's going on up there?"

Sheer terror! But it was Coates who had the quickest wits. He answered
immediately, and with hardly a hint of breathlessness:

"Oh God, sir! Porterhouse, sir: I think he's been sick..."

Furiously we levered our three young organs, still hard, and pumping
dribbles of cum, back into our trousers. Before the master could get more
than halfway up the steep gangway to where we were sitting, our flies had
been buttoned up. But the evidence of our orgasms lay around in puddles, on
the floor, on the bench and in damp rivers down our trouser legs. Surely
this was it! Total disgrace, followed by swift punishment seemed
certain. In my terrified mind the ultimate penalty -- sacking -- loomed
like a thundercloud. However did I get myself into this mess?

Porterhouse saved the day. His nausea was entirely genuine, and he needed
no second bidding from Coates to throw up -- violently, over all three of
us -- that little part of my cum that he had managed to get down a moment
before, together with the plentiful remains of his partly-digested
breakfast.

Strangely enough, Back-side was not inclined to examine the resultant pools
of vomit too carefully. The lecture was abruptly terminated. He may have
suspected something, but -- if he had -- he certainly didn't show it. No
punishment ensued. In fact, Coates and I even received some sympathetic
support from our classmates: "Oh bad luck, Tammo!...." "You smell like a
slaughterhouse, Coates....." "What did you have for breakfast, Porters, old
boy?"

Half an hour later we found ourselves in Matron's office, bathed, scrubbed
and re-clad in ill-fitting towelling dressing gowns.

I can see her now: Matron was a heavy, full-breasted -- and still handsome
- woman of forty-something. As the only female staff member at Maywood
Vale, for over twenty years she had acted as the nearest thing to a foster
mother to - quite literally - thousands of us. Rumour had it that she had
given more than just a little comfort, in truth, to the odd sixth-former,
here and there.

As we passed her in the office doorway, en route back to the dorm., Matron
shook her head slowly, and treated us to a knowing smile. "Boys will be
boys, eh?" she said. "Well.... least said, soonest mended, they say. But
next time, you clean up your own mess - understood?"


Schooldays II: Pay-Back for Porterhouse

Regardless of the rise and fall of governments and empires - and oblivious
to individual elation and agony - life at the Maywood Vale Academy for Boys
proceeded in the 1950's much as it does today, and as it has done for
centuries. Like the proverbial iceberg, much of what goes on at Maywood
lies hidden beneath the surface: illicit sex between boys was - and will
always be - one of the secret joys of being an English public schoolboy.

For several days after that dangerous but wildly erotic episode in the
lecture theatre, my seducers left me alone. Both Coates and Porterhouse had
been frightened by our narrow escape as much as I: there were some rumours
circulating about us, and none of us wanted to be seen talking together for
a while.

But as the days passed, my mind kept returning to the ecstatic instant when
Coates had french-kissed me, whilst Porterhouse's tongue lapped at my dick
in the darkness. I remembered the feel of Coates' slippery knob between my
fingers, and I wondered how it would feel to take Porterhouse's - much
bigger - member in my mouth, and taste his springing cum, as he had tasted
mine.

Before that blissful moment, my idea of the ultimate thrill had been to
masturbate alone, but now my appetites had been changed. I had not been so
much seduced, as opened, like a flower: and the need for more sex was
becoming an obsession. At last, I could wait no longer.

To Porterhouse's surprise, it was I that made the first move.

In the early hours of that cold January morning in 1952, the dormitory
windows were glazed with ice, and the moon cast pale shadows across the
long line of boys' beds. I had been awake for hours, and for many minutes I
had heard nothing but steady breathing. Surely everyone - by now - was
asleep? There would not be a better time.

My heart pounded with a mixture of fear and erotic anticipation as I softly
pulled back the bed sheets and rose, naked, from the bed.

Porterhouse was four beds down, on the same side of the dormitory. My bare
feet made stealthy contact with the cold stone floor. The boy in the next
bed stirred and moaned in his sleep, but I was on my way: in my mind, this
had been rehearsed a hundred times. I kept moving, though every step I made
seemed noisier than the last.
 
Kneeling by Porterhouse's bed, I slid my right hand over his mouth, and
whispered sharply in his ear -

"Shhh - it's Tammo!" In the same movement I pulled back the bedclothes,
slid under them alongside him, and fumbled for his crotch. There was a
gasp. For a moment he struggled, suddenly awake. With a thrill I realised
he, too, was naked.

"What in God's name--?" he said, softly. His body was taut, and he pushed
me sideways: I put my foot down, to stop myself falling out of the bed.
Suddenly I didn't care any more: I had to have what I had been longing
for. "Pay-back time, Porters, old boy" I whispered, as his soft genitals
stirred in my grasp. "Move over!"

I was smaller, but somewhat stronger - and more determined - than he. My
new bedfellow gave one more heave at my resisting arm, then relaxed, as the
full realisation of future possibilities hit him. In a second I was fully
under the sheets. Our bodies and mouths were together and his penis was
swelling in my hand. With delight I felt his fingers dig into my buttocks.
"Fucking hell, Tammo!" His whisper was hoarse with sudden desire.

I marvelled, a second time, at his cock's thickness.  We kissed, our
tongues diving deep into each other's sucking mouths, and dancing over each
other's teeth and gums. Pausing for a moment, I replied, "come here, Big
Boy--" I dipped my head under the sheets, where my lips found and engulfed
the swollen head of his uncut cock. It jutted up at least 6", proudly erect
- well above average for a boy of 13 - as my fingers continued to
masturbate its lower shaft.

With my teeth I gently teased back his taut foreskin. At first, it
resisted, but then, aided by my pulling fingers it popped painfully back,
baring his sensitive glans, which was already slippery with pre-cum. This
was my very first blow-job, and I tasted him gingerly, as one would a
forbidden fruit. He moaned, spurting a few drops of sweet love-juice onto
my tongue. In no time at all I had lapped it up, and he was thrusting the
full length of his rigid organ in and out of my hungry mouth. Bliss! As his
orgasm began, he pinched savagely at my buttocks with both hands, breathing
more rapidly with every thrust. Thick cum had begun to flow: his gorgeous,
fat cock was pumping it into my mouth in shaking spasms as I softly wanked,
slurped and sucked him off under the heaving sheets.

I didn't attempt to drink it all. Naïve as I was, I had learned a hard
lesson from his experience when our positions had been reversed. My cheeks
filled with his hot, viscous sauce, but I swallowed only a little, letting
most of it escape in pungent driblets from the corners of my mouth. From
there it flowed down stickily over my fingers and onto his testicles,
before streaming through his pubic hair and finally soaking into the sheet
beneath.

With a last shudder, the boy rammed himself hard into me, and ecstatically
emptied the last contents of his balls directly into my throat. Even as he
did so, his cock deflated like a pricked balloon: I was left sucking a
sticky mass of warm flesh, which I began - lovingly - to lick clean.

But Porterhouse pulled away, his breathing slowing. I felt his fingers
loose hold of my buttocks. Sensing that he was losing interest, I lifted my
head away from his flaccid cock, gripped him fiercely round the waist and
pulled his naked body hard up against mine.  He struggled and tried to push
me away. But I held on to him, crushing our genitals together. His prick
was drained and flaccid, but mine, of course, was stiff, aching for action
and oozing pre-cum.

"NOW you can do it to ME, dear one!" I whispered hoarsely. Flipping my body
round, I poked my throbbing erection into his face.  "No - Tammo - no!"
With a groan of revulsion he turned his head away, remembering all too
clearly his helpless retching, when he had gagged as he forcibly fellated
me in the lecture theatre.

I grabbed his hair, and forced his mouth back against my hard and sticky
penis. "Suck it NOW, you bastard - or I'll start shouting--" - I had just
enough self-control to keep my voice down to an urgent whisper.

"Shh, you idiot -- you'll wake everybody!" His reply, though urgent, was
made softly. With ungodly delight, I felt his mouth close over my waiting
organ.

How the tables were turned! I had sucked my aggressor to orgasm, and now he
had no alternative but to do my bidding -- his head began to bob in the
semi-darkness. Delicious sensations swept over me as his tongue and teeth
did their wonderful work, kneading and cajoling the surging seed up my
rigid shaft from the depths of my scrotum, aided by the pumping of one
hand.  At the same time - somehow - two (or maybe more) fingers of his
other hand found my ass-hole. With a swift movement his fist pushed my
cheeks apart and he plunged his fingers in. I gasped with surprise and
sudden pain: pain which quickly turned to exquisite pleasure as his
fingertips found and fondled my prostate.
 
I almost jumped out bed with the ecstasy of it all. My fingers clawed at
his hair: each backward movement of my bum sent an ecstatic dart of pain
through me, and each following thrust propelled my raging penis upwards
between his sucking lips. "Oh God, oh yes -- dear love -- I'm
c-c-coming--!"

And that was just what I did. This time, Porterhouse knew there could be no
throwing up. For several minutes, the whole episode had been acted out in a
sort of straining, moaning silence. Incredibly, no-one had woken - but it
would only take a couple of coughs to change that.

So my sweet lover swallowed again and again, as my thick love-juice pumped
ferociously upward, surged through my spreading piss-hole and flooded into
his working mouth.

Slowly my thrusts lessened. His tongue darted over my cock and balls. My
knees went up: my legs opened to give his fingers better access and his
fingers spread my ass-hole, pleasuring me with slow waves of ecstasy that
were like nothing I had ever felt before.

We kissed sensuously, our hands exploring every inch of each other's
body. More than anything I had ever wanted, I wished we could stay like
this, clasped nakedly together, for the rest of the night.

Alas, this was 1952. Homosexuality was illegal. In my family - no less than
in society at large - "queers" were mocked and despised. But I had taken
the first few fearful and intoxicating steps, marking the beginning of my
double life: a life that would be fraught with submerged fear, founded on
lies, shored up by faked emotions and redeemed by a succession of secret
liaisons.

As the first glimmer of dawn began to lighten the darkness of the
still-sleeping dormitory, I silently re-entered my own bed.

My initiation was over: nothing would ever be the same again.