Cliché

by Kit

Beep-beep-beep-beep... Beep-beep-beep-beep...

Peter was awakened from a deep sleep by what was probably the most annoying sound in the world. Groaning and opening his eyes to the early morning light that filtered through the thin bedroom curtains, he rolled over and viciously slammed his palm down onto the top of the bedside alarm clock.

Beep-beep-beep-beep... Beep-beep-beep-beep...

"Bloody hell!" he thought. "I'm sure I hit that effing off-button!"

"Beep-beep-beep-beep... Beep-beep-beep-beep..."

Then he noticed that the sound was not actually being emitted by the clock, though it was a remarkably accurate reproduction. He glared blearily across the room at Monty, his Norwegian Blue parrot, who in turn was looking back at him, head tilted sideways and with an evil glint in his tiny eye.

"Beep-beep-beep-beep... Beep-beep-beep-beep..."

Peter picked up the alarm clock, briefly noted that it showed the time to be just after 6 am, and threw it at the bird, who didn't even bother to duck as the projectile bounced harmlessly off the bars of his cage. Monty tilted his head smugly to the other side, and Peter knew that if the parrot had lips he would be smirking. However, at least the bird was now quiet, no doubt satisfied that its purpose had been accomplished.

The fifteen year old boy had often considered strangling the annoying bird, but it was the sole survivor of the car crash that had killed his parents and three younger siblings a couple of years previously. Peter had been staying at a friend's house on the night of that terrible accident, and he'd often wondered where his whole family had been going to at such a late hour on that fateful night, and why they'd taken Monty with them. He also never found out why most of the family's belongings had been packed into cardboard boxes or why all the furniture had been put into storage during the three days he'd spent at his friend's house.

Anyway, Monty had miraculously survived the crash, and now the bird was one of the very few remaining links to his lost family. So Peter, as on so many other occasions in the past, exerted a great deal of self-control in order to resist the urge to strangle the annoying animal. Instead, he lay back in his bed and stared the ceiling, realising despondently that with only about an hour to go before his scheduled wake-up time, there was no point in trying to get back to sleep.

One reason he was so tired was that when he'd gone to bed the previous night it had taken him a long time to fall asleep. The main cause of his insomnia had been the excitement and nervousness generated by the prospect of starting at a new school that morning. Over the summer, his uncle, with whom he'd gone to live after his parents died, had been killed in a lumberjacking accident that was so horrific that it still gave Peter terrible nightmares.

The nightmares were even more vivid because he'd later seen the photos that someone had ghoulishly posted on the Internet. He couldn't help wondering what sort of bizarre accident could cause a chainsaw to do such particular damage to a human body. Another source of puzzlement was that shortly after the accident he'd heard a rumour that a hidden wardrobe filled with women's clothes had been discovered in his uncle's bedroom. Peter assumed that some ex girlfriend had left the clothing behind, although he'd never seen the girlfriend and never heard mention of his uncle ever having had one.

Anyway, now Peter had been moved across the country to live with the aged grandmother who was now his sole surviving blood relative. Her house was as old and decrepit as the woman herself; the decor was faded, and the furniture was worn out and uncomfortable. His bed, being one such piece of furniture, was another source of his difficulty in sleeping.

The boy sighed and absent-mindedly began to play with his woody. This didn't provide him with as much pleasure as it might have given to most other teenage boys, probably because this particular woody was indeed made of wood. It was a five-inch long wooden rod that he kept with him at all times, and he fondled and stroked it whenever he felt stressed or had the urge to masturbate. His woody was not the sort of thing he could discuss with anyone, not even a hypothetical closest friend. In any case, as he currently had no local friends at all, the opportunity to share his secret was unlikely to arise in the near future.

Peter had discovered masturbation even before he reached puberty, and when he was eleven years old his mother caught him doing it. She shrieked loudly and fled the room, and when his father got home from work his parents, who were very religious, lectured him on the evils of self-abuse. Then his father had beaten him severely with a thick leather belt that was kept specifically for such chastisement. Two days later his father had come up to his bedroom.

"Peter," he said solemnly, "after today we will never speak of this again, so I want you to listen to me very carefully."

The boy nodded apprehensively, and his father continued his well-prepared speech.

"We've already discussed the disgusting thing you were caught doing and how it can harm both your body and soul. Yes, I know that part of your body can bring you pleasure, but such pleasure was intended by God only as part of the act through which a husband and wife can make a baby. However, I know how difficult it can be to resist temptation, so I've brought you this."

His father reached into his trouser pocket and brought out a five-inch wooden rod. Peter, who'd noticed the bulge in his father's trousers and thought it was a stiffy, breathed a sigh of relief. After all, the bulge had been rather small and the boy had been concerned that such a meagre endowment might be a familial trait.

"Here," his father said, holding out the rod. "This is for you. Whenever you get the urge to touch your private parts then you should touch this instead. Then, when you eventually get married you will be pure and unsullied for your wife."

Blushing with embarrassment, the boy took the gift and placed it in his own pocket, noting that the bulge it produced looked much more impressive on his smaller frame. Without another word, his father left the room.

For the next few months Peter managed to follow his father's directive, but once puberty began to kick in it became more and more difficult, and once he'd discovered orgasms he found himself playing more and more frequently with the fleshy rod between his legs instead of the piece of wood given to him by his father. Sometimes he even masturbated with other boys, and on one such occasion, while staying at a friend's house, he experienced the pleasure and pride of his first ejaculation.

That fateful night, however, was also the night of the fatal car crash, and when he received the news of the deaths of his family he believed that God had punished him for his sinful pleasures. Ever since then, and despite grievous temptation, he'd touched his fleshy rod only while peeing or taking a shower. From then on he obeyed his father's admonition and confined himself to playing only with his wooden woody, finding that he still derived some emotional comfort when he stroked it.

After a few minutes fondling the smooth and comforting piece of varnished wood, Peter realised that he badly needed to piss, so despite the early hour, he decided to get out of bed. At least he'd get the chance to take a long and leisurely shower and to prepare himself both physically and mentally for the day ahead. Before getting into the shower, however, he took a little time to admire his developing teenage body.

He knew that he would stand out in a crowd, not least because he was very tall for his age. He liked the way his dark brown hair straggled over his dome-like head and hung down limply to the middle of his neck. He thought that he was incredibly lucky that the mud-brown colour of his eyes went so well with the colour of his hair, and he was eternally grateful that he didn't have the boring blond hair and blue eyes shared by the rest of his now defunct family.

He also considered himself to be extremely lucky in the way that his spindly arms and legs made such a sexy contrast to the small but cutely rounded paunch that gave his abdomen such character. However, in his not-so-humble opinion, the thing that was most impressive and which he was most proud of was the size of his reproductive equipment. He examined it carefully whenever he got the chance to be alone and was pleased to note that it had continued to grow steadily ever since he'd started puberty.

Of course, being very modest about such things, when changing clothes before and after PE lessons he took care to keep his back turned toward his class mates so that hardly anyone else got the chance to see and admire this source of his pride and joy. Despite that, he hoped and prayed that one day he could find someone special, a soul mate, so that they could each enjoy the exploration of one another's intimate body parts. However, there was an enormous fly in the tiny jar of ointment that was his dream; he was attracted only to boys.

Thus, even if he found a boy who could share his special desires, it would not be within the acceptable relationship of man and wife, so he expected that if he indulged such desires with a boy then God would punish them both. He wondered if he would have to content himself with his loneliness and his wooden woody for the rest of his life.


A couple of hours later, as Peter strode through the main entrance to his new school, he noticed several of the other students looking at him, and he modestly decided that their interest was because he was new rather than because they were admiring his good looks. Despite this modesty, he held his head high, which was perhaps a little unfortunate because it meant that he didn't notice the foot that had been deliberately placed to trip him up. Thus it was that he found himself on the floor, lying on top of his briefcase and surrounded by the pens and pencils that had spilled from the breast pocket of his shirt.

As he was getting up and gathering together his belongings, he looked directly into the face of his scowling assailant, whose viciously twinkling dark eyes were not dissimilar to Monty's. That observation, combined with the unprovoked attack, led Peter to conclude that this was a school bully, and perhaps he was even the leader of the school bullies. In his previous schools Peter had not hesitated to stand up for himself against bullies, but in this case he decided not to make a fuss.

After all, it was his first day at a new school, and he didn't want to make a bad impression by getting into a fight. Also, although this particular bully was extremely skinny and almost a foot shorter than Peter, the largest group of nearby onlookers appeared to be supporters of his attacker. Bearing in mind that a pack of dogs is more dangerous than a single bear, Peter decided that in this particular case his best response was not to react at all.

"Fag!" the bully taunted him before moving off to join his smirking friends.

Sighing, Peter finished picking up his pens and headed off to find the room where his class attendance was to be taken. When he eventually found the right place, it turned out that he was the last to arrive. Because the form master was already there, Peter just stood quietly at the back of the room and waited for the teacher to begin the roll call. As each name on the register was read out, the designated student made his or her presence known.

"Peter Dribble."

"Here!" Peter answered, and all the students not too deeply immersed in conversation with their fellows, turned to stare at him.

Peter was a little disappointed that at this school their full names were used. At his previous schools, where the surnames followed by their initials were called out, Peter's name had always brought smiles to the faces of his classmates. He'd always been proud of the fact that his mere name could thus bring a little sunshine into the lives of others. He was saddened to think that he would no longer have that small joy on every school day.

A few minutes later, as they were all leaving the room to go to their first lesson of the day, Peter bumped into another boy who'd been walking along the hallway. As their eyes met, their gaze lingered a little, and what was left of Peter's lingering sadness was quickly banished by the sunshine of the other boy's smile. On talking a closer look, however, Peter was disappointed to find that the overall appearance of the stranger did not match up to the promise suggested by the hazel eyes and the slightly crooked smile.

The boy, who was a couple of inches taller and who appeared to be perhaps a year or two older than Peter, had finely chiseled features, aristocratic high cheek bones, and a broad forehead which was topped with short, dark-blond hair. The boy's well-defined muscles were emphasised by the tight T-shirt that was stretched from the broad shoulders to the narrow waist of the jeans.

"Er, Hi," the boy said.

"This guy's just another dumb jock," Peter thought. "It won't do my geek-cred any good if I'm seen hanging out with him."

Peter wasn't unfeeling, and if this had been his old school, where his reputation had been secure, he might have taken pity on the other boy and maybe even bestowed upon him a few kind words. However, on his first day at the new school he couldn't afford the risk of being seen socialising with a mere jock.

"Hi," Peter responded as minimally as politeness might allow, already beginning to turn away.

"You new here?" the jock asked, obviously not taking the hint.

"Yeah. Sorry, but I've got to get to my next class," Peter said. Then he turned and started walking off down the hall.

That might have had the desired effect, except for the fact that he had no idea where his next class was, so after just a few paces he had to stop and consult the class schedule that he kept in his shirt pocket. While he was trying to work out where he should be going, the other boy caught up with him.

"You lost?" he asked. "What's your next class?"

"Maths," Peter admitted reluctantly, showing the other boy his schedule.

"Hey! That's where I'm going."

"But..." Peter said rather dubiously, looking the other boy up and down.

"Oh, I'm younger than I look," the boy said, grinning. Obviously, he'd taken a guess at what Peter had been thinking. "By the way, my name's Donnie. Donnie Day."

Actually, that guess had been wrong, and in fact Peter had not been wondering about Donnie's age. He'd been wondering how a jock had managed to get into an advanced Maths class.

Peter sighed inwardly, realising that he needed Donnie's help if he was going to get to his next class on time. It seemed as if he'd have to go along with the boy, and thereby risk his status at the new school. "Still," he thought, "he may be an unattractive jock, but at least he seems to have a pleasant and helpful personality."

"My name's Peter Dribble," he said. "I guess we'd better hurry or we'll be late for class."


By the time they arrived at the classroom they were indeed a little late. Fortunately, the teacher was still handing out textbooks, so the only punishment they received from him was an annoyed frown. However, all the desks at the front of the room, where Peter would have preferred to be, were already occupied, and the locations of the few empty places meant they had to sit close together at the rear of the room. Peter was not at all surprised to find that Donnie was the only jock in the advanced Maths class, but he was very surprised when it became clear that Donnie actually understood the material and took an active part in the lesson.

When the rest of the class began to squeeze through the doorway at the end of the lesson, Peter remained where he was and consulted his timetable to find out where he should be going next.

"What's your next class?" Donnie asked as he stood by Peter's desk.

"Er, um, biology," Peter stuttered, looking up.

He was startled by the question and by the proximity of the other boy, who seemed to be towering over him. Lowering his gaze from Donnie's face, he found that his eyes were at the level of the other boy's crotch. That in itself would have made Peter uncomfortable, but what was more disturbing was that the sight of the unusually large bulge in Donnie's tight jeans was very arousing.

""Oh, I don't do biology," Donnie responded, sounding a little disappointed, "but if you tell me the room number I can tell you how to get there."

"Ess one oh two."

"Okay, the 'S' means it's in the science block on the other side of the quad. One oh two is on the ground floor on the right of the main doors."

"Thanks," Peter said as he stood up.

"Erm, what are you doing at lunch time?" Donnie asked hesitantly.

"Why do you ask?" Peter said, frowning a little and wondering if he'd managed to attract a stalker on his first day at the new school.

"Well, just thought, erm, as you're new here, that, well, you won't have any friends and might want some company for lunch. Maybe I could show you the cafeteria, what food to avoid, and stuff like that."

"I expect I'll be pretty busy at lunch time. I thought I'd see about joining a few groups like those I was in at my old school, like the debating team, the chess club, war-game club, and so on."

"But you have to eat, though," Donnie persisted. "So I'll look at for you in the cafeteria."

"Okay. If you want," Peter replied without enthusiasm.

At his old school jocks and geeks were separate tribes, often warring, and each always contemptuous of the other. If this new school were the same then it wouldn't be good for the reputation and standing of either himself or Donnie if they were seen sitting together in the cafeteria. As it turned out, Peter had time only to stop by the cafeteria briefly to get a sandwich, and he didn't see Donnie until English class, which was the last lesson of the day. However, although they exchanged brief nods of acknowledgement, they didn't get a chance to speak, and as soon as the final bell sounded Peter quickly left the room and went home.


That night as he lay in bed, Peter began his usual pre-sleep ritual by lying back on his bed and raising his knees to touch his chest. He was almost shivering with excited anticipation as he licked the ultra-smooth varnished surface of his woody, which he then inserted slowly into his rectum. The slowness of the penetration was not because there was any difficulty with the process, which was in fact accomplished with much-practiced ease. No, the speed of insertion was deliberately chosen in order to enable him best to savour the pleasurable sensations.

He sighed and began to twist and twirl the woody until it touched that magic spot inside him, at which point he made no effort to stifle his moans of pleasure. He knew there was no possibility that his grandmother could hear him because she had difficulty with stairs and so slept on the ground floor. Even if she did hear something it could no doubt be ascribed to Monty's large repertoire of weird sounds.

Indeed, at that very moment Monty was mimicking Peter's moans and adding his own variations on the theme, thereby giving Peter the thrill of imagining that the sounds were being made by a real person who was in bed with him. His groans became an almost continuous moaning hum as he moved the woody in and out, stroking it back and forth across that magic spot. After a few minutes of this intense pleasure, and without ever touching his penis, his seed shot out over his chest and belly.

As he mopped up the mess, the twinge of guilt he felt was not because he had pleasured himself in this way. After all, he had obeyed his father's command and had not touched his penis. His father had never once mentioned his anus, and had certainly never told him that it was wrong to gain pleasure from it. Indeed, his father had given him the woody, whose very size and shape were ideal for providing him with this source of pleasure. Thus Peter was reasonably sure that this had been at least one intended purpose for the object, though of course his father would never have spoken openly about such a thing.

The true source of Peter's guilty feelings was not the physical pleasure that he'd given himself, but the thoughts that had accompanied those feelings. He'd been thinking about Donnie and the impressive bulge he'd seen in Donnie's jeans, and he'd been trying to imagine a naked Donnie. It was bad enough that he was attracted to other boys, but being attracted to a blond, muscular jock was truly horrifying. Peter comforted himself with the thought that Donnie was not a typical jock, but appeared to be a considerate and surprisingly intelligent person.


The following morning, Peter turned up for his Maths class to find Donnie standing in the hallway. Suddenly remembering the fantasies that had played a part in his bedtime ritual, Peter blushed deeply, and as he got closer he was sure that the other boy had noticed.

"Hey, Peter!" Donnie greeted him warmly.

"Hey," Peter replied in a more subdued tone. "I thought I was going to be late and had to rush to get here."

This lie was quickly invented in the hope that it might provide an innocent explanation for his red face, but he immediately realised the lie was pointless as there was no way that Donnie could guess the true reason.

"There's loads of time," Donnie said, a slightly puzzled frown flickering across his brow. "Anyway, you don't seem out of breath, so if you had to run here I guess you must be pretty fit."

He had indeed noticed Peter's appearance and had suspected that the explanation given was not really truthful. However, he hoped that the flushed face was an indication of physical attraction. That preferred interpretation, if true, could mean that Peter might be able to return his feelings. Donnie desperately hoped it was true because from the moment their eyes had first met, Peter had been constantly in his thoughts.

The jock had always considered himself to be straight, so at first he'd found that this attraction for another guy had been quite disturbing. However, having had a whole twenty-four hours to consider things, after much painful soul searching and wrestling with his inner self, he now accepted that he must be bisexual. Certainly, there was something fascinating, intriguing, and indeed attractive about this new kid, Peter.

"Didn't see you at lunch yesterday. You weren't avoiding me, were you?" he asked, only half joking and hoping that Peter wouldn't notice the nervousness in his voice.

"No, of course not!" Peter replied a little too quickly. "I was just very busy, finding my way around, looking at notice boards, and stuff like that."

"So you're settling in okay, then? Want to meet up for lunch today?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, but I'm busy at lunch time. I want to go and join the debating society."

"Oh. Right," Donnie said, hiding his disappointment as he sensed that he was being given the brush-off.

With that, he turned and went into the classroom, and as he did so, Peter couldn't help noticing how his bubble-butt was emphasised by the tight jeans. He realised that there were indeed some attractive aspects to Donnie's appearance, and he concluded that it was a pity that the most attractive of those aspects were below the waist.

Over the next few days Peter saw Donnie at school only when they had their two shared classes, Maths and English. On those occasions they didn't have any opportunity to speak, which gave Peter a feeling of mildly guilty relief, because he was beginning to make friends with the popular geek crowd, and it might have been embarrassing to be seen fraternising too closely with a mere jock. However, he did feel a little sorry for Donnie, who must have felt a little isolated, being the only jock in those two advanced classes.


When Peter went to join the debating society he also enquired about getting onto the school debating team. He'd been the star speaker on the team at his previous school, so he was reasonably confident that he could do the same at his new school, and when he put his name down on the list for the try-outs he became even more self-assured. There were four places to be had on the team itself, plus four places for reserves, and there were only about a dozen people on the list.

He also found out that after school on Friday there was to be an audition for places on the team. Each applicant would be expected to prepare an argument for or against any proposition that they chose and they would have three minutes to present that argument. That gave him three days to prepare, and he felt very comfortable with that challenge. However, at the audition itself they would also be given a topic and have only two minutes to think about it before having to speak on the subject for one minute. He was not quite so comfortable with that.

Peter prepared and rehearsed his chosen argument, which he'd decided would be about the evidence for global warming. Because it was such an esoteric topic that hardly anyone had ever heard of, he found it difficult to find enough material to fill three minutes, but he hoped that by choosing such an unusual topic he'd get a better score. He was a little nervous about the as yet unknown subject upon which he'd be expected to extemporise, but as that was out of his control he put that worry to the back of his mind. So it was that on the Friday afternoon he went into the assembly hall thinking calming thoughts as he waited for the proceedings to begin.

For a few moments he stood just inside the main entrance, getting his bearings and casting his eyes around the large room. Then he saw someone entering through one of the smaller doors in the side of the room, and this new arrival was the most beautiful, most gorgeous, most attractive person that he'd ever seen. No one he'd ever seen in real life, or on TV, or in the movies could match the beauty and grace of the boy who strolled into the hall as if he owned the place. He appeared to be a year or two older than Peter, which would explain why their paths had never crossed before, for surely there was no way that Peter could ever have missed him or forgotten him if they had ever previously been together in the same room.

This wonderful boy, who on closer inspection could perhaps be more accurately described as a young man, was similar to Peter in height, but that was the only resemblance. His most striking feature was his short, tightly curled red hair, and it was only after Peter's gaze drifted down that he noticed the brilliant green eyes, the sprinkling of freckles on the plump cheeks, and then the thin red lips, curled into a self-confident smile. The roundness of the face perfectly matched the sturdy body and perfect buttocks, and the size of the bulge in the front of his jeans was considerably bigger even than Donnie's.

Peter almost swooned with the strength of the emotions that washed through him. Though he couldn't have specified exactly what all those feelings were, there was no doubt in his mind that lust and love were a significant part of the mix. He stood entranced as the young man made his way to the far end of the room and sat in one of the chairs closest to the dais.

Just a couple of minutes later, while Peter was still in a daze and staring at the red curls on the back of the young man's head, two adults entered and went to stand at the front of the room. The older of the two, a tall, thin man with mousy hair, who appeared to be in his late thirties, cleared his throat and spoke out loudly.

"For those of you who may not already know, I'm Mr Rosencrantz, Head of the English Department, and this is Ms Guildenstern from the Drama Department," the man said in a somewhat pompous tone. Peter was impressed by the way his intonation was able to indicate which words began with capital letters. After a brief pause to let his words sink in, Mr Rosencrantz continued, "We are going to be running this audition and will be choosing those who will be on the debating team. We will also be attending all competitive debates and ensuring that those of you fortunate enough to represent the school will behave appropriately."

The diminutive Ms Guildenstern looked around the room, her long blond locks bouncing as she nodded her head in agreement.

"Those of you who are auditioning will have seen the notices and know what we expect from you, so we'll get straight down to it," the man said then quickly glanced at the clipboard in his hand. "Ms Adams, you're first. And remember, everyone, that it's not just what you say but the way that you say it. There's little point in having a good argument if no one can hear it properly."

The two teachers sat down on the opposite side of the aisle to the redheaded young man, and Peter sat a few rows behind them, in a position from which he could just about see his beloved's profile. Despite the fact that only a short time had passed since Peter had first seen the gorgeous boy, he'd already become firmly ensconced in Peter's fantasy life as his beloved. A girl with dark hair, presumably Ms Adams, went up onto the podium and began speaking in a voice that was surprisingly large for her relatively small frame, but Peter was far too engrossed in his fantasies to pay any attention to her words.

"Mr Dribble. Mr Dribble!" The man's voice dragged him out of his reverie, and he realised that it was his turn to speak.

Usually Peter didn't need to consult his notes for such a short set piece, but on this occasion he was glad that he'd brought some jottings with him, because his mind had gone completely blank. Hurriedly scanning the scrap of paper, he got up onto the dais and found that the easy flow of his speaking style had deserted him. When he looked at the stunning red haired boy on the front row, he even began to stammer, so he tore his eyes away and looked to the back of the room, focusing his gaze on a bored looking girl.

Suddenly, he felt calmer and he managed to set out his argument coherently, even if it wasn't as elegant as he'd hoped and expected. He was then given his previously unknown topic, "Why sunny days are enjoyable", and managed to give a reasonable performance. When he finished, he returned to his seat, feeling slightly disappointed.

"Mr Eddings," Mr Rosencrantz called out, still scribbling notes on his clipboard. With a supreme self-confidence, Peter's beloved stood up and nonchalantly stepped onto the dais. When Peter heard the topic that the young man had chosen, his heart skipped beat.

"Why I believe that gay people should be allowed to marry," Eddings announced.

The exposition that followed was well argued and delivered with passion, and Peter realised that Eddings was an excellent public speaker, probably as good as Peter himself would have been if he'd been at his best. The choice of topic made Peter wonder if Eddings might also share his secret desires. His heart leapt as he dared to hope and dream that this young man might be a soul mate as well as a visual delight.

Peter, who'd decided to stay and listen to all the competition, was disappointed when Eddings left the room immediately after finishing his audition. After the last speaker, a Ms Wainwright, had finished, Mr Rosencrantz announced that he and Ms Guildenstern would make their decision over the weekend, and their selection for the team would be posted on the debating society's notice board on the following Monday.

That night, as he was performing his usual bedtime ritual with his woody, his fantasies were filled with images of Eddings. However, sometimes images of Donnie's bubble-butt and lop-sided smile also flashed across his mind. Despite those deviations from his intended fantasy, at his climax the woody inside him was transformed by his imagination into Eddings' penis.

Afterwards, the post orgasmic glow faded into a feeling of confusion. He couldn't understand why his imagination had created the strange chimera, especially as his strong physical desire was directed solely toward Eddings. Donnie was just another jock with unattractive rippling muscles, and like most jocks he was probably homophobic, whereas Eddings' chosen audition topic indicated that he might share Peter's forbidden desires.


On Monday, as soon as the last class of the morning ended, Peter rushed to check the debating society's notice board. He was very pleased to see that he'd made it onto the team, as did Eddings, whose first name was revealed to be Rufus. Also on the team were two girls, one of whom was Vicky Adams, and he noted that two males and two females also comprised the four reserves. Of course, this perfect gender balance in both team and reserves might have been a fortunate coincidence, but it also suggested to him that perhaps speaking ability was not the sole criterion used in the selection process.

During the course of that week, Peter saw Rufus a few times, mostly during debate team meetings, and the more Peter saw, the more enamoured he became. On the rare occasions Peter saw him around school, he was always with his own small group of friends. Those friends, both male and female, were mostly good-looking, though of course none could match Rufus' beauty. Peter admired not just his looks but also his bearing and especially his self-confidence, though admittedly he sometimes appeared to be rather haughty and seemed to distance himself from the others at the meetings. However, perhaps that could be explained by the fact that Rufus was a year or two older than the rest of them.

On the Friday afternoon, the first practice debate didn't go particularly well, but at least it showed up the areas that really needed work. Peter was relieved to note that he wasn't the only one who was nervous and concerned by the fact that there was such a short time left until the contest. Rufus was the only one who appeared to be totally calm and confident. However, although he was the best performer during the practice, even he wasn't perfect and would need to do a quite bit of work.

After the practice, Peter saw Rufus standing by the school gates, possibly waiting for a ride home. This was the first time he'd seen Rufus alone, and Peter decided to be bold and take the opportunity to speak to him privately.

"Hi, Rufus."

"Hi."

The brief disinterested response was accompanied by an equally disinterested glance. Rufus turned his eyes away and returned his gaze to the road just outside the gates.

"This contest topic isn't so easy is it? But I'm sure we'll win." Peter persisted, hoping that Rufus might approve of the self-confident tone that he tried to project.

"Maybe if the rest of you don't let me down," Rufus said without looking at him.

"Well, I'm sure we can all do much better," Peter responded defensively. Then in a more placatory tone he added, "Anyway, it's easier when we can choose a topic for ourselves, especially if it's something we can believe in. You did really well in the audition and I thought you were very convincing."

That not very subtle hint was not lost on Rufus, who turned and glared angrily at him.

"I only chose that topic because Rosencrantz is a fag. I want to make sure I'm first speaker, so it pays to keep him sweet."

Peter was disappointed by the response, but he thought that maybe Rufus was just being cautious and therefore reluctant to admit anything to him. He decided to take things a bit further.

"If Rosencrantz is gay then I bet you'd be first speaker no matter what topic you chose. After all, you're very good looking, and I bet he'd want to keep you sweet."

Rufus frowned and then smiled, and Peter, who didn't detect the slyness in the smile, took this as an encouraging sign.

"So you think I'm good looking, do you?" Rufus asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

"Oh, yes, very!" Peter said without thinking, and then he immediately regretted his gushing tone.

Rufus smiled again, and this time Peter was too dazzled by the beautiful teeth to notice the predatory expression on the rest of his face.

"Look," Rufus said, his voice a confidential whisper, "this place is a bit too public for a private discussion. Anyway, my ride will be here any minute now. Why don't we meet up for a chat sometime? How about after the contest on Friday?"

Peter was speechless at the wonderful way things had turned out, so he just nodded his head, but he did it so eagerly that he felt a sharp pain in his neck.

That night, and every night until Friday, Peter worked his woody so hard that in places the varnish was almost worn off, and on each occasion all his fantasies involved Rufus. In fact, even when he wasn't playing with his woody, and even when he was at school, his mind was filled with thoughts and images of his red haired demi-god.


As it turned out, their team won the first debating contest of the school year, and Peter had no doubt that Rufus' performance had played a significant part in gaining the victory. After the result was announced, Rosencrantz warmly congratulated them, and Peter looked over at Rufus, who winked at him. Peter blushed as his heart fluttered and his loins tingled. When he saw Rufus leave the room, Peter quickly followed, maintaining a discreet distance until they reached a deserted shadowy alley at the side of the science building.

"Well," Rufus said as he turned to face Peter, "do you still think I'm good looking?"

"Yes."

"And would you like to make me happy?" Rufus asked, his voice so quiet it was barely audible.

"Yes. I'd do anything," Peter replied, his voice trembling. He guessed that this might be a test, and if it was then he didn't intend to bottle out now.

Peter was both shocked and thrilled as he watched Rufus unzipping his pants and pulling out his dick. He stood transfixed in hypnotic fascination as the redhead stroked himself until his penis grew from a soft but meaty seven inches to a thick and hard eleven inches. It surpassed all of Peter's wildest fantasies.

"Come here," Rufus said, his voice quiet yet carrying a tone of command that Peter could not refuse.

When the gap between then had closed, Rufus grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to his knees, and at that point Peter realised that things had gone far beyond what he'd expected and probably further than he actually wanted. He was now dangerously close to breaking his vow and risking the wrath of God by committing forbidden acts, and yet there was still temptation.

"Suck it, fag!" Rufus growled.

Hearing those harsh words and faced with the reality of the monster appendage before his eyes, Peter found the strength to resist temptation.

"No!" he cried, struggling to stand up, but the older boy used his superior strength to press down on his shoulders and keep him on his knees.

Rufus used one hand to grab his hair and pull his face closer to the oozing rampant phallus, but Peter managed to twist away, though he fell to the ground as he did so.

"A fag is no use if he won't suck a real man's cock," Rufus said as he viciously kicked him in the stomach. "I think I need to teach you a lesson in how to be a useful fag."

Just as Rufus' foot was being drawn back for another kick, he was knocked over by a boy who flung himself out of the shadows.

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" Donnie shouted.

Peter wanted to cheer at his rescuer but, still winded from the kick to his stomach, he could only groan as he tried to catch his breath. The other two boys struggled briefly on the ground, but Donnie's determination and the advantage of being a fit jock meant that his victory was never in doubt. Rufus quickly gave in and fled, shouting insults as he went.

"Th-thanks," Peter managed to gasp as Donnie helped him to stand up. "But what are you doing here?"

"I was just going home from football training when I heard Eddings' voice. Knowing his reputation as a bully, I suspected that he was up to no good and I came to investigate. So are you okay?"

"I'm fine now. You got here just in time."

"Well, you're still shaking. Do you want me to take you home?"

"No, thanks. I'll be okay."

"Will there be someone to take care of you when you get home?"

"My gran. If she's still awake."

"Well, I'd feel guilty if I let you go home alone and it turned out you were injured more badly than you think. Why not come back to my place? We can both calm down with a nice stiff drink. Do you like champagne?"

"Don't know. I've never tried it."

"Oh, it's great. My favourite drink in the world."

"Won't your parents mind?"

"They won't be there, and what they don't know won't hurt them. Anyway, even if they knew, they wouldn't care as long as I don't get into any trouble."

"Won't they notice the champagne missing?"

"Nah. Dad has dozens and dozens of bottles, and he only keeps track of the really expensive stuff. Even if he notices a bottle missing, he'll probably just assume that Mum took it."

"Okay, let's go!" Peter agreed, throwing caution to the winds.


A little later, they arrived at Donnie's house, which was so large and imposing that it made Peter's home seem like a garden shed. When they got inside he saw that the interior of the house was just as grand as the exterior, and while he admired the decor, the jock admired Peter's attractively generous buttocks. Then Donnie led the way through to the kitchen, which wouldn't have looked out of place in a high-class hotel, and opened a refrigerator that was as big as some people's kitchens. Everything looked sparkling and new.

"Wow! I bet you can cook some great meals in here."

"Yeah. Well, Brenda's a great cook."

"You call your mum Brenda?" Peter asked, surprised and shocked at the idea of such familial familiarity.

"Nah, of course not. Brenda's the cook. Mum's hardly ever home for meals, and even if she was, she couldn't prepare a meal to save her life."

"Your mum works then?"

"Yeah, she's a surgeon," Donnie replied proudly, then he added, "And she always seems to be either working or on call."

"What about your dad?"

"He's a lawyer. He's hardly ever here," Donnie said dismissively. "Anyway, let's forget about them and have ourselves a relaxing drink."

A couple of hours later, they were sitting in the kitchen, about half way through their second bottle of champagne, and both rather more than merry, when Peter had a worrying thought.

"What time will your parents be home? Won't they be angry if they catch us like this?" To his own ears, the words sounded fine, though they were in fact rather slurred.

"Mum's working nights, and Dad's out at a 'business dinner', which probably means he's shagging his secretary," Donnie said, using his fingers to put quotes around the words 'business dinner'. He didn't seem to care either about his parents' absence or their infidelities. "He said he wouldn't be home until late, which in Dad-speak translates as definitely after midnight and probably not before breakfast."

"So you're usually on your own?"

"I'm used to it," Donnie responded, perhaps a little too defensively.

"I guess that means you've no brothers or sisters, then?" Peter asked, trying to hide the fact that he was taken aback by Donnie's nonchalant attitude to such unusual family circumstances.

"No, I'm the only son and heir. So when the rents pop their clogs it'll be mine, all mine!" Donnie replied, laughing and rubbing his hands together in mock glee.

Donnie's apparently uncaring attitude toward the potential demise of his parents dismayed and saddened Peter, whose face showed his feelings.

"What's the matter?" Donnie asked. "Did something I said upset you? I'm sorry. I was only joking."

Seeing that Donnie was genuinely concerned, Peter explained to him that for him the loss of one's parents wasn't something to joke about, and then he went on to tell Donnie how he'd lost his own family. With the help of a little more champagne, that minor dramatic moment between the two boys was quickly forgotten. However, a little later, just as they were finishing off the second bottle of champagne, Donnie asked a question that rather alarmed Peter.

"So, did you leave a girlfriend behind when you moved here?"

"Erm, n-no," Peter stuttered. Then, anxious to turn questions away from his own sex life and the lack thereof, he added, "What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I've had a couple, and even got a blow job from the last one, but don't have one at the moment."

"Oh," Peter said. He wasn't sure if it the wave of nausea he felt was caused by the alcohol or by being on the receiving end of too much information.

"Have you ever had sex?" Donnie asked, his inhibitions inhibited by champagne.

"N-no!"

"Hey, no need to be so touchy. I was just curious. But you know you can tell me anything, right? Whatever it is will be secret, just between you and me. I'll tell you a secret about me if you tell me one about you."

Peter remained silent, but inwardly he was in turmoil. He wanted to run away but he was also curious about this rich jock's secret. Donnie, for whom this little game was part of a larger plan, assumed that Peter's silence was acquiescence, so he made the next move.

"Well, my first secret is that I always thought I was heterosexual, and girls were always in my fantasies. But..." he paused and took a deep breath, "I sometimes thought about boys as well, but I never had detailed sexual fantasies just about boys. That is, until I met you."

He stopped and looked into Peter's eyes, trying to read his reaction. For his part, Peter was initially stunned, and as that faded it was replaced by mild panic. There were so many things on his mind and so many things that he wanted to say, but despite his debating experience, he couldn't find the words, so he remained dumb.

"Anyway," Donnie continued, "now it's almost always you that I think about. On rare occasions I still fantasise about girls, but they are always just images, like photos in a magazine. But when I think about you it's three dimensional, the real thing, a complete person who's clever, kind, and, well, the person I love."

He stopped speaking and looked down at his hands, which were clenched together on the breakfast bar. He was afraid but also hopeful, tense but also resigned to his fate. Now all he could do was wait for Peter's reaction and pray that his guess about him had been correct.

"I think I need some more champagne," Peter said, breaking a long and agonising silence.

Interpreting this as a positive response, Donnie breathed a sigh of relief and got up to retrieve another bottle of champagne from the fridge. Neither of them spoke as Peter quickly downed two more glasses. Then Peter belched quietly and apologised with an embarrassed smile before saying what was on his mind.

"First and foremost, I want you to know that whatever happens, I want us to be friends. I didn't know you felt that way, but I'm glad you told me. To be honest, until very recently I didn't find you very attractive, but I do now. But, no matter how we feel about one another, we can never do anything about it."

Seeing the hurt in Donnie's eyes, Peter went on to explain everything, and because he wanted Donnie to really understand, he included every detail. He told him about the first wank, the beating when he was caught, the wooden woody, the circumstances surrounding the deaths of his family, and finally about his vow that he'd never use his penis to pleasure himself until he was married.

Donnie listened in silence, though there was a lot that he wanted to say: that Peter's parents had been religious fanatics; that if God really existed he wouldn't kill anyone, much less a whole family, just because their son masturbated with another boy; that the vow was stupid and pointless. However, he realised that saying those things bluntly would certainly not have the desired effect and would probably be counterproductive. So he just made understanding noises while he formulated a better plan.

By the time Peter had finished his exposition they were both more than mildly merry. Peter yawned and looked at his watch, and Donnie took that as his cue.

"Looks like you're tired and tipsy, and it's probably not a good idea for you to travel home tonight. Why don't you stay here, in one of our guest rooms?'

Peter's initial thought was to make some excuse to decline, and he considered saying that his grandmother would be worried. However, he knew that in fact she was probably already asleep, and even if she was awake, she probably wouldn't even notice his absence, much less worry about it. So, after taking a few seconds to consider the suggestion, Peter agreed, and a few minutes later Donnie was showing him to one of the guest rooms, which Peter found impressive, not just because of its size and luxurious furnishings but also because it had its own en-suite wet room.

After showing Peter the facilities, Donnie didn't leave immediately, and instead he stood silently in the doorway, frowning as if he were trying to make a decision. Then, with a look of determination, he shut the door and leaned back against it. Peter, surprised by this rather bold action, just stared at him, and for several seconds they stood in breathless silence, separated by just a few inches and staring intently into each other's eyes.

"You believe I love you, don't you?" Donnie said, holding his gaze and making obvious the challenge behind the question.

"Yes, but..."

"No buts! All that matters is whether or not you feel the same about me. I believe that you do, but you have to say it."

"What if I do? We couldn't do anything about it. Even if we forget what people will say if they find out, I just told you that after my family died I vowed not to touch my dick for pleasure until I got married."

"Maybe one day we could get married," Donnie said, smiling hopefully, "but until then there are other ways to get and give pleasure. Did you vow not to touch anyone else's dick or not to let them touch yours?"

It took only a moment for Peter to realise that he'd never made such specific vows and that perhaps Donnie's fleshy rod could perform all the functions of his wooden woody.

"No, I didn't," he said, grinning broadly. "And yes, I do love you."

Without further thought, Peter moved to close the small distance between them. Grasping hold of Donnie's bubble-butt, he pulled their bodies together as their lips met in what was to be the first of very many deep and loving kisses.

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