Date: Tue, 25 Feb 2014 17:20:03 +0000
From: Nick Wyatt <nickwyatt42@gmail.com>
Subject: It Was All Shakespeare's Fault 8

For some reason, things seemed awfully loud as I emerged from the classroom
after fainting. But weirdly so; sounds close to me had lost their volume,
while sounds further way appeared amplified. Don't know why. Mum said
`let's get you home' and away in the refectory someone remarked "At least
there's not too much mess; should be finished by nine thirty" and that
seemed much louder.

Anyway, Mum insisted that we go straight home. Dad was very irritated and
disappointed that he'd missed out on his planned slab of barely cooked dead
cow at the local Angus Steak House, but Mum insisted.

And so we celebrated at home with cheese on toast with Worcestershire
Sauce. I went to bed as soon as I could; I felt disgusting.

Wrestling with my sheets on that suffocatingly close night, I replayed the
evening's events over and over again. But then I sat up straight. Little
Marion had given me an envelope: where on earth was it?

I searched my satchel, but found nothing. Next the clothes I wore into
school; still nothing. I couldn't think what else I'd had with me or had
worn that either had a fold or a pocket that could carry an envelope. After
what seemed like several fretful hours, I gave up and tried to sleep in the
disgustingly sweaty darkness. Oh for a change in the weather. Oh, for a
breeze and some gentle rain!



And when eventually I awoke, my prayers had been answered. The oppressive
heat had been replaced by a positively golden, but fresh day with a light
breeze and puffy white clouds. The kind of weather that makes you glad to
be alive.

Saturday. So I took the bus and went to XX, the next major town to the
west. There, I went into C&A and bought a rather pretty knee length skirt
in light tan. It seemed quite fitted under the hips and I longed to try it
on, but obviously I couldn't do so there and then. Next, I went into
Woolworths for a pair of tweezers, some foundation cream and an eyebrow
pencil. I picked out a rather gorgeous lipstick as well and tried to
disguise my purchases with a packet of biscuits and a pair of shoe
laces. But when I presented my purchases to the assistant, I knew she
wasn't fooled by the way she looked at me. Her disgust was evident: I was a
weirdo and deserved whatever hatred and violence I would receive.

It chilled me, really disturbed me that I could generate such apparent
hatred by what I wanted – who I wanted - to be. And so, rather shocked,
I hurried back to the bus stop and waited for what seemed like ages before
the big, safe bus took me home.



I arrived back about two thirty and messed about in my room trying on the
skirt (which was disappointingly ordinary) and plucking my eyebrows into
shape.

Annie showed up a while later; I recognised her footsteps in the kitchen
below and heard her tap and bang her way up the rickety stairs to our
rooms.

She rapped on the door.

"Hiya! Come in."

"Hi Nicky." She inched her way in carrying several bags and two mugs of
tea.

"Take these from me if you can. They're a bit too hot" I took the mugs
before she dropped them.

"God, XX! I hate that bloody town." She exclaimed.

I said nothing, but of course, it was the same town I'd visited earlier
that day.

"Anyway. M&S. I bought you these" and she tossed me a tiny scrap of fabric,
followed by another. I picked up the first; it was a pair of low cut
bikini-style panties in pale pink and the other scrap of fabric was in
lilac.

Annie watched me carefully as I examined my gifts.

"Annie! They're lovely. You're so kind to me. They're really lovely!" And I
set the kickers aside to get up and hug my sister. She hugged me back.

"Thank you. Thank you. You've made it easier, you really have."

"'Sokay. I know." She hugged me back and more so.

"You can pay me back, though." And she pulled back and brushed my forelock
back from my face.

"Of course, how much were they?"

"No. Not in money.  I'm going to need your help."

"How, Annie?"

"I need to tell Mum and Dad something." We sat down on the bed again.

"What? Are you leaving university or something?"

"No!" And she laughed, brushing something away from her eyes this time.

"No, that's safe. But I think they might be a bit upset when I tell them."
She looked down slightly and fiddled with the edge of the lilac
panties. She glanced up quickly, then down again. Whatever she wanted to
say was serious and she needed to pluck up the courage to tell me before
enlisting my help with Mum and Dad. Oh god, was she pregnant?



"I found out something. About myself! That I never really imagined could be
true." She looked up into my face again. She was asking something of me;
almost pleading. Vulnerable and rather afraid. I felt helpless because I
didn't understand what she wanted. I didn't know what to say or how to
react and I sort of dithered as I looked her expectant face. What was she
leading towards? It was obviously something difficult and very personal.



"I think I'm a homosexual too."

And the world turned inside out for a moment or two.

I'd never thought of Annie as a hetero or homosexual, or indeed sexual at
all. She was just the big sister that had fun; not the girl that had sex or
even felt sex.  In all my teenage years, I don't think Annie had ever
brought someone home, or offered a name as a 'significant other' and maybe
that was why.

And then I examined carefully exactly what she had said `I think I'm a
homosexual too.' So that meant that she realised I was homosexual as well,
didn't it?



"But you said . . . You said it hurt. Y'know." I couldn't say it. Annie had
told me it hurt the first time she'd had sex, that must have been with a
male, mustn't it?

"I know, I know I said that. I have tried it. Quite a few times,
actually. But it's not, I dunno." She floundered about, trying to sort it
out in her mind before trying to find the right words. She squinted up and
wriggled her neck about and flicked the lifeless material in her hands. I
noted her 'diversionary activity' and knew there was nothing I could do to
help until she actually wanted to tell me what she needed to tell, me. So I
waited patiently.

"Just didn't feel right. I thought I must be doing it wrong"

"Maybe it was them, I mean the chap that erm, y'know."

"Don't think so. Tried lots of different blokes."

The silence dangled between us almost forever. This was not Annie's normal
mode, the chatter had stilled, she needed to find a new voice.

"So, how. No, why do you think that you are . . ." My voice trailed away
like water trickling into a desert.

"Met someone."

A sudden insight – "While wearing the lemon knickers?"

Annie grinned sheepishly and dropped her gaze in embarrassment. That was
the answer! Whoever she'd met on the archaeological dig had got fruity on
the coach, and it all must have clicked for her.

"What's she like?" I asked eagerly, and immensely happy for her.

"Lovely. At least I think so." And Annie was off, gushing information all
about her new love called Wendy. Lightweight, pretty, nearly blonde with
little freckles and a sweet smile. Studying German, live in Surrey,
gorgeous ears, perfect voice and soft fingers. Likes badminton and Tamla
Motown, bacon and cider; hates dogs. And more and more, all about this
wonderful creature named Wendy.

"So, when do we meet her?"

"Well, that's a bit of a problem. I've sort of invited her over the end of
next week. So I've got to tell Mum and Dad before then."

"No you don't have to tell them at all. She can just be a friend coming
over for a few days. As long as you don't start snogging at the supper
table!" Annie giggled at the thought, and I imagined doing that with Adrian
at the same time.



"Annie?"

"Mmm?"

"Do they know I'm queer?"

"Pretty sure they do."

"Hmmm. How long?"

"Dunno. I sort of guessed that you were about five years ago – how old
are you now?"

"Seventeen."

"Ooh, bit longer than that then. Maybe about seven or eight years ago."

"What made you guess?"

"Not sure exactly, but I remember you really liked that radio show Beyond
our Ken – Rodney and Charles and all that. And then it was Round the
Horne with Julian and whatsit"

"Sandy. Julian and my friend Sandy!"

"That's right! You know, 'Bona' everything and speaking pilari or whatever
it is."

"It's Polari and Kenneth Williams yes, actually I think they're fabulosa!"

"Dad thought they were all disgusting and should have been shot, Mum
thought it was funny!"

I laughed; outrageously naughty.

"You thought they were wonderful and used to sing all those pretend dirty
folk songs by Rambling Sid something-or-other!" We howled with laughter.

"It was sort of obvious to me then, and I think Mum picked up on it pretty
quickly; Dad didn't. Oh, and Mum used to ask me about your friends when you
came back from St XX. When you started in the new school ."

"Oh god, what?"

"She just wanted to know who your friends were, and what they were like."

"But why didn't she ask me?"

"Come on, Nicky! When did Mum ever ask something out straight? Do you
remember Nanny Clare? Mum never even bothered to talk to us while she was
here. Clare was all we knew; Clare was our parent! Mum doesn't do 'direct
contact', does she?"

I thought of seeing her being fucked in the studio and the deafening
silence afterwards.

"No, she doesn't" I agreed.



"And this dressing up," Annie started, and I wondered where the sentence
would finish. I cowed and shrank inwardly like a helpless oyster sprayed
with careless lemon. I couldn't be sure where this was going: I could
guess, and it wasn't going to be happy.

 "I know you've been doing it for years, but I don't think Mum `n' Dad know
at all."

She wasn't asking me if I cross dressed, she knew and she was presenting it
as an established fact. We sat in silence for a second or two.

"Sorry, Annie."

"Okay." But I knew it wasn't really okay. It must have been pretty horrid
realising that someone else was borrowing your clothes for their enjoyment.

"When di-"

"When you were about eight! You weren't very good at putting everything
back properly."

"Oh god."

"You see how nice I am! I've never told on you or complained, have I?"

I shook my head sadly.

"You're really lucky to have sister like me!"

I felt awfully guilty and suddenly quite revolted at my perversion. I
wanted to be sick; to expunge all the revolting perversion inside me. I
longed to be clean, fresh and wholesome; I longed to be "normal".

"Never mind" and she draped her arm around my shoulders and lifted my chin
with the other hand. "At least you haven't gone off and got some poor girl
pregnant at fifteen, have you? And you're still my favourite brother." I
managed a weak smile at that. I was Annie's only brother, so I was her
favourite and least favourite all at the same time.



"But you need to start buying your own clothes, please. So these knickers
are to start you off."

"Actually, I already have started. Bought a skirt at C&A today."

"Oooh, let's have a look then!"

"Bit disappointing, really. It doesn't look as nice as I thought it would."

I pranced up off the bed and retrieved the carrier bag from on top of my
wardrobe. I pulled the skirt out and showed her.

"Mmm, not bad. Colour's not really you, though."

"It was really difficult trying to choose something without, y'know,
broadcasting what I was doing!"

"I bet. The receipt's here. Do you want me to take it back for you?"

She suddenly clapped her hands and turned straight to me in excitement.

"I'll take it back while you're with me!" Darling Annie was enraptured by
the thought of secret activity that no passer by would ever expect. "Then
you can choose something else, and I'll buy it and no one will ever guess!"
She positively wriggled in naughty excitement.

"That's a fab idea, Annie!"

"We'll go tomorrow, No, it's Sunday tomorrow. Monday then."

"Can't Monday, I've got to be in school even though there's no
performance. Tuesday?"

"Tuesday then!"

She looked at her wristwatch.

"What time have you got to be at school today?"

"Five thirty, same as last night."

"Better get moving then, Nicky."



Mrs French and Maggie were there at the top of the refectory stairs as I
arrived for the Saturday evening performance.

"Didn't see you after what happened last night, Wyatt. How are you feeling
today?"

"Absolutely fine thank you Ma'am."

"Better weather helps, doesn't it? Much cooler today."

"Absolutely, Ma'am. I feel great."

I glanced across at Maggie and couldn't help but grin slightly at her. She
winked back at me.

Mrs French looked at me then followed my gaze towards Maggie and then back
again.

"I think I'm being left out here.  Probably best I don't know." And she
trailed away into silence. She turned back to me determinedly.

"That was an excellent performance last night, Wyatt. You were all
magnificent. Ready to do it again tonight?"

"Most definitely, Ma'am."

"Break a leg, then!" And she turned away to speak to someone else, but
still glanced at Maggie as she did so.

Maggie grabbed me by the elbow.

"I've got some clean erm, items, if you see what I mean. The other one will
need a wash."

I looked about nervously.

"It's okay, no one's listening. Let's walk down below and do a swop." And
so we did.

At the bottom of the stairs into the wardrobe store, I opened my satchel
and gave Maggie the girdle I'd been wearing for the past week or so. She
opened her fairly enormous leather hand bag and hauled out another girdle
in white, handed it to me and stuffed the ivory underwear back in her bag.

"The fresh one's more comfortable, at least I think so. But it's a tiny bit
longer so you won't be able to wear it under your trousers." And she gave
me her wrinkly grin again. She knew I'd been wearing the girdle for my own
sexual pleasure.

"You'll have to wear it with a skirt instead of trousers, just like that
other boy!" And off she went, grinning naughtily, and leaving me open
mouthed in surprise. Obviously Mrs French had told her all about
Adrian. And she knew and understood the relationship. That sort of decided
it for me; I felt certain that Mrs French and Maggie were either sisters –
unlikely, but still theoretically possible – or very good friends who
lived together.

Down in the wardrobe store, I stripped to my panties and slipped on the
fresh, white girdle. Maggie was right, being just an inch or two longer, it
didn't seem to cut into my thighs so much and generally felt much lighter
and more comfortable. I looked down and checked that I was all nicely
tucked in and flat just as Mr Trelawney joined me again.

He sat on the bench seat and watched me roll on Annie's white stockings and
clip them onto the girdle's straps. He said nothing as I did so, which was
not his style. Normally, he'd prattle on about something or other as though
we were having a perfectly ordinary conversation while I just happened to
be getting dressed up as a woman. Something had changed that evening, but I
didn't register the rhyme or reason at the time.



I pulled on my padded bra and dipped my head as Mrs Trellis draped the
shift over my head, gathered it carefully and eventually laced me into my
gown – not so tightly this time. Once again, I sat for a minute or two
before going to make up. In silence again, I added large amounts of
mascara, eye shadow and eye liner to my face.  But now I tilted the mirror
slightly and added a little definition with blusher and pancake to my
pretend bosoms. With just a little darkening of flesh colour in the middle
and a little lightening on this side and the other, I created the illusion
of some kind of swelling and cleavage.

Maggie was watching. She just grinned; "Looks good, y'know."

I put some perfume on and waited for the performance.



Good. Good, just good in the best possible way. I felt I had the play
worked out, sorted and wrapped up. I'd worked and shown and led,
demonstrated and resolved. I was perfectly satisfied with my performance. I
could disappear and sublimate myself into the character of Juliet in plenty
of time before the curtain up, but it wasn't easy to abandon her at the end
of the play. As we stood bathed in the applause, I was still Juliet;
thirteen and vulnerable. I could not escape or re-assume my male identity
for what seemed like ages afterwards. I stayed in character for the
applause and curtain calls and even for the interview with the reporter
from the XX Observer. I have no idea what she asked me and no idea what
replies I gave her as she scratched away in her spiral bound notebook. That
was Juliet doing the talking.



Back in the undercroft wardrobe store, I was alone again as all the other
boys had already changed and gone. Mr Trelawney clattered down the stairs a
few seconds later.

"Lovely performance, Nicky, shall I undo you?"

"Yes please, sir." And I turned my back towards him and lifted my wig curls
out of the way. He started undoing me, and I waited for the ceaseless
chatter that usually accompanied it. But there was nothing this evening;
Mrs Trellis remained silent. He swept the gown of my shoulders now and I
stepped out of the dress, backwards towards him, I brushed myself against
him. I bent sharply and picked up the gown just as I had done before.

But this time he was still right there behind me with his hands on my hips
as I sorted the gown out and hung it on the rack before me. I felt him
bunching my shift up as I finished, lifting it up and over my head. He was
standing very close behind me and I felt his trousers against my
girdle. And I felt the hard, probing rod of his erection against my bottom
as well.

I began unclipping my stockings from my girdle as though there was nothing
happening at all. I wanted it to be that way; I wanted to ignore him,
pretend it wasn't happening and yet I knew I wanted him to have sex with me
at the same time. I wanted to lusted after and to serve his lust sexually.



His hands roamed around my bottom and around my middle, pulling me back
towards him and against his penis. It seemed huge, but I'd thought that
about Adrian's too and it hadn't been as big as I'd imagined.

As I rolled down and out of my stockings, I felt him fumble behind me and
heard the gentle rasp of a zip. He was getting his willy out. Stockings
rolled off now, I put my hand in the top of the girdle and slipped it down
off my bottom and it took my panties down with it – and I hadn't planned
that.

Hard and hot, his penis pressed into the cleft of my bottom; he ground it
against me with one hand on each of my hips and pulling me back against
him. I opened my legs slightly and bent forwards just a bit. I felt him
drop his hips a bit. Still holding me tight, he thrust underneath my bottom
and straight between my thighs. Looking down I could see his enormous glans
and shaft protruding from under my scrotum, and I realised his penis really
was huge. He withdrew and then thrust again, trying to angle up and enter
me. I started to feel a bit frightened; without any lubrication I was sure
that I'd tear again.

"No! Not there. I'm very sore and bleeding. Please don't!"

I wasn't bleeding of course, but I was desperate to avoid penetration by
this monster.

"Oh, you can't mean it" he gasped disappointedly and sort of hesitated for
a moment, and that gave me time to slither round and drop to my knees in
front of him. I was going to suck him off instead.

He'd only opened his flies and so his penis merely protruded from its
cover. 'Merely', it was huge. So I put my hands on his trousered cheeks and
nuzzled in to take the head in my mouth. God, he was enormous! I could only
just get the glans in my mouth, so I grabbed the shaft with both hands
instead and began wanking him into my mouth, licking and sucking like mad.



Off we went, Mrs Trellis thrusting enthusiastically an inch or two into my
mouth as I bobbed back and forth, sucking and slobbering and trying to keep
up with him. I put one hand on his bottom again and felt the muscles
stretch and contract rhythmically as he entered my mouth. His glans was
huge and pointed and the ridge of his corona felt so sharply defined to my
lips and tongue that I really wanted to examine it. I pulled back and
disengaged for a moment while still wanking it with one hand. I looked up
at Mrs Trellis' face; she was looking down at me with eyes half closed and
mouth open, still thrusting strongly. He would be coming soon.

The glans was deep red and the corona cut back sharply onto the lengthy
shaft. I had guessed his was about twice the length of mine, but looking at
it carefully I think his willy was about seven or eight inches long and
rather fat. I was so glad it was in my mouth and not in my bottom.

I returned to energetic sucking as he pushed forwards into my mouth time
after time. I hardly moved my head at all now as he thrust more and more
urgently into my mouth. The pace hadn't changed, just the urgency. And now
his hand went to the back of my head, pulling my mouth even further around
his huge penis. I thought I'd choke, but I didn't and it just sort of
slipped in. He fumbled at the waistband of his trousers and let them
slither down towards the floor.

Harder, more urgently than ever now, he gave deep animal grunts with each
thrust of his pelvis.

And "Uugh!"

He squirted his semen into me and it almost made me choke in surprise. I
pulled away a bit as he erupted another blast, but I quickly recovered and
let him back deep into my throat.

A loud, grunting exclamation as he squirted into me again. I felt the
contraction of his stomach muscles and the spurt of semen up along the
shaft of his penis and deep into my gullet. He was so loud I was frightened
that someone would hear him and come down to find out what was going on.

Thrusts slowing, he groaned and spurted again. Now he stopped completely,
holding my head tight around his penis. He gave a wriggle and twitch as an
aftershock rippled through him And another one. Gently, slowly he withdrew
and released his grip on my head. He stepped back and sat rather heavily on
the bench.

"Oh Nicky, my goodness."

I cast about, looking for something to wipe my face and mouth
with. Quickly, Mr Trelawney produced a clean and folded white handkerchief
from his pocket and passed it to me. I wiped my face.

"I didn't mean to do that. All a bit of an accident." Liar.

I had thought he hadn't produced much semen, but it was all over me. Down
my neck and even in my bra; sticky and unpleasant. Some of my cleavage make
up came off on the hanky as I wiped.

"Sorry," I said with slight apology as I handed the mucky hanky back to
him. Sitting on the bench, his enormous willy was still hugely erect,
pointing straight up from his thatch of brown pubic hair. It was hugely
impressive and quite intimidating, but I think I preferred willies without
pubic hair surrounding them.

"What on earth have I done? That shouldn't have happened at all." He was
off, prattling again. Filling the space with words where his inappropriate
thoughts and lusts would otherwise take over.



I didn't feel that I had been abused. Yes, I'd been taken advantage of –
after all, he had sought me ought when he knew I would be changing. But I
wanted him to want me; I wanted to be lusted after when dressed as a
female. I wanted to be fucked; it was only the realisation that I was
unlubricated and that his enormous willy could have torn me to shreds that
made me stop him. In some ways, I had taken advantage of him by continuing
to undress when he was there and encouraging his lust.

Kneeling there, in my padded bra, with girdle and panties around my ankles,
I must have looked a bit of a sight. Particularly with my little pink willy
poking up from between my thighs.

Mr Trelawney cleaned himself with the handkerchief and began to straighten
his clothing.

Suddenly, there was a rather exaggerated cough from up the stairs.

We both started nervously. I looked guiltily to the stairs, and he stood
quickly stuffing his monster into his pants and trousers all at once.



"Mr Trelawney, are you down there by any chance?" it was Mr Gibson calling
down, quite theatrically.

"Yes, as it happens I am."

"Could I have a word, please."

Stuffing shirt into trousers and trying to fasten his belt, Mr Trelawney
ascended the narrow stairs away from me. I watched him go and realised that
Mr Gibson had known that Trelawney would be here. It was almost as though
it had been planned that way. I couldn't quite believe that Trelawney had
said 'I'm going down to see if I can have sex with Wyatt; call me in
fifteen minutes', but it certainly seemed that way.



I pulled my knickers back up, but took off the girdle completely. Maggie
had said it wouldn't be wearable with trousers and I was sure she was
right. Anyway, I wanted to just go home for a bath and wank so the less I
had to wear and adjust the better.

I'd managed to get my shirt on by the time there were more footsteps on the
stairs. Mr Gibson this time.

"Nicky, sorry about this. Seems that this was found here last night after
you'd erm, been taken poorly. Thought you'd better have it now."

And he handed me an envelope. It was The Envelope; the one I'd been sent
from Adrian via Marion, and now via Mr Gibson.  I took it eagerly and
examined it carefully. It was gummed down still, so it was unlikely that
anyone had opened it, although it was rather more dog-eared than when
Marion gave it to me the day before.

It looked entirely consistent with having been dropped on the floor,
stepped on, handed to someone else and stuffed into a jacket pocket for the
night. Mr Gibson sort of angled back as he passed the envelope to me and I
realised he was trying to get a look just below my shirt. He could
obviously see my little lemon panties. Involuntarily, I flinched back and
bent slightly away from him; I didn't really want him to see my
knickers. One schoolmaster a night would be quite sufficient. Quickly he
glanced up and realised I was looking at his eyes; he started and turned
away stamping up the wooden stairs again.

I sat on the bench and opened the envelope.

It contained single piece of pale blue Basildon Bond in italic
handwriting. I turned it over and read from the start



"Darling Nicky,

I'm so sorry for everything I've done. I've made a hideous mess of
everything and made everything rotten for you as well. I want you to know
that I really love you. And it's all just been horrible this week. I really
didn't mean to hurt you, I love you so how could I do that to you?

And school today. I didn't mean to be embarrassing to everyone. Now they
all hate me. Thank god you weren't there. I feel awful, it was so stupid of
me. But I just wanted to see you before I went away to say sorry. Wish I'd
been able to see you before I left. I'm writing this Thursday night before
we have to get the train to Harwich and I've told Marion to find you on
Friday. Don't be cross with me. I meant it all for the best because I love
you.

This has been a hideous nightmare for me. Please forgive me for
everything. I can't think why I did all those things and hurt you.

I'll be away until Sunday week and I promise I will telephone you the
moment I get back. I'm so sorry for every horrid thing. I love you.

Adrian"



I read it again, and then a third time. My beautiful Adrian sounded almost
panic stricken and I imagined him scrawling these desperate lines in the
minutes between packing and catching the train.



I had no idea what to do. Adrian was unattainably far away; I wasn't even
sure which country he was in now. There really wasn't much I could do until
he came home the following weekend. 'away until Sunday week' he'd written,
so did that mean he'd phone on Sunday or Monday? I decided to phone his
house to find out precisely when he'd return, but damn I didn't have the
number!



I walked home quickly, quite agitated and upset. I hurried past the
woodland even quicker than I normally did. In my mind, I'd named it 'Wanky
Wood' after being seen in there. Nothing had seemed to come from being
caught masturbating there, but I still hurried past just in case the woman
with the sensible shoes jumped out and caught me.



It being Saturday night, Mum and Dad were watching telly when I got back
and Annie had gone out somewhere. They wanted to hear all about the
performance of course, and whether I felt okay. And of course I felt fine
as it must have been at least ten degrees cooler this evening – and I
hadn't been trussed up so tightly. Naturally, I omitted telling them about
having sex with a teacher, but the thought reminded me that I wanted to
have a bath and scrub off any residue of his semen.



I had planned a nice long soak, but I felt the beginings of the 'blue
balls' discomfort, so I shaved myself again and planned to have a good wank
quickly. Then I used some of Annie's Nair stuff around my boy pussy to make
me wonderfully smooth. I crossed from the bathroom into my bedroom
completely naked and with my semi-erect willy swinging in front of me. I
felt rather luscious and attractive, probably because I had been the object
of someone else's lust and now I was on my own and able to enjoy naughty
things alone. I took the white girdle from my satchel and slipped it on
again; it felt quite exquisite as I ran my hands over my bottom and
stomach. Just by being a little longer, the girdle felt less severe and far
more comfortable. Held in check by the material, my stiff willy twitched
each time I ran my hand across my stomach. Oops, I'd have to be careful
though, I didn't want to leak any pre-cum onto the inside of the girdle if
I could help it.

I danced back across the landing into Annie's room to look at myself in her
mirror. I knew this was especially naughty as Annie had been so kind and
understanding and she'd even bought me some panties, but I just wanted a
little look.

The orange reflection of this white sheath in the sunset blasted back from
the mirror as I stood there in the last of the setting sun. I really liked
what I saw and how it felt. I turned this way and that, putting my hands on
the back of my head as though lifting long hair away from my shoulders. It
made my rib cage rise and it stretched my stomach beautifully. I stood on
tiptoe and marvelled at the tightening effect on my calves and bottom. I
gave a little wriggle of pleasure. I'd have to go back now and take it off
before I leaked.

As I stepped back into the darkening shadow of my bedroom, I flicked on the
light for just a moment without thinking. Realising what I'd done, I
cowered down and switched the light off quickly, before scootling over to
the window and yanking the curtains closed. Seeing a naked boy would be one
thing, but a nearly nude boy in women's underwear would be something quite
different.

Safe and secure now, I tugged the girdle down and hid it away under the
wardrobe drawer with my other treasures.

Now, I oiled my body carefully and luxiourously, and my willy most
carefully. I thought of myself as one of Beardsley's more disgusting
illustrations; all slim torso and enormous pointed phallus. How did I want
to have sex with myself?

With a flash of inspiration I flung on my dressing gown and hurried down to
the kitchen cupboard beneath the stairs from where I collected a very small
plastic carrier bag and a Stanley knife.

Back upstairs, I collected my sponge from the bathroom and I sliced it
neatly in half.

I took my pillow from my bed, folded it in half and stuck it underneath my
mattress. I stuffed the two halves of my bathroom sponge into the fold in
the pillow.

Next, I squirted baby oil into the carrier bag I had brought upstairs and
placed it between the layers of bathroom sponge. Holding it in place to
provide a bit of resistance, I knelt and inserted my willy and fucked my
pillow desperately.

Perfectly lubricated, I slipped in and out easily, with a delicious
constriction courtesy of the sponge at the entrance and perfect space
beyond. I thought of Mr Trelawny's willy between my thighs and then in my
mouth; I wanted to come.

But now I stopped thrusting madly and withdrew my penis and reached for my
hairbrush. If I wanted to have sex with someone again, how would it feel?
Would I ever be able to accommodate a willy like his?

I lubricated my hairbrush handle and inserted it gently. Felt fine. I
thrust it up and down with increasing urgency and then withdrew it for
inspection. No blood was visible, so I collected some Andrex from the
bathroom and wiped carefully: nothing, no pain either.

Feeling relieved, liberated and empowered, as we would say now, I slammed
my willy back into my pillow arrangement and shoved the hairbrush up my
bottom as well. But I couldn't hold the pillow tightly in place and the
hairbrush up there at the same time, so as the handle slipped out I fucked
the slippery plastic bag ever more urgently. I imagined it as Adrian's
firm, pale bottom, with his rubbery willy wobbling about between his
hairless thighs.

I gave several short, strangulated groans as I came, shoving myself as hard
and deep as I possibly could into my complicated simulated bottom
arrangement. I'm sure I squirted lots of semen into the bag; it certainly
felt as though I was draining myself of quite a build up. Thank goodness
Mum and Dad were in the front house and Annie was out.

I sat back on my heels, withdrawing my willy from the arrangement, utterly
spent. Felt marvellous; a delicious conclusion to an ultimately memorable
week. I'd had sex with an older man – a teacher, too. Well he'd had sex
with me, at least. I'd served him as a woman – a whore –
would. Fleetingly, I loved the idea of whoring for lots of men all at
once. Sucking and being fucked at the same time; willies all over me.

I washed myself carefully, cleared everything away most carefully and went
to bed, tired and satisfied.