The Boys of S. Bees

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 3

With just three days to go before the long Whitsun holiday weekend, I'm finding concentration difficult which, with my penultimate year exams coming up immediately after, is a slight problem. Pierre also has exams in June, albeit not very important ones, although Sir bangs on about all exams being important. Bollocks.

The person who cleans up after us at North Lodge, known as a Scout, is an Italian lady called Francesca. She's young, and I think perfectly lovely in every way. All the boys adore her here, especially the Sevens and Eights, who she dotes on. On Wednesday afternoon I ran into her carrying bed linen for the guest room. I asked her who was coming to visit, rather concerned that it shouldn't be this coming weekend which would interfere with my social arrangement with Pierre, and possibly a sleeping one too.

'It's for Master Pierre. He needs a bed here for the weekend. Didn't you know he's staying here?'

It's a very pleasant room with all mod cons and a double bed for married guests presumably, or as I suspect, used by our Tutor when he has someone special to stay. Good for him. As Francesca spoke, my heart leapt. If Pierre wants me, and only if, all I have to do is climb into bed with him.

I saw the lovely Francesca walk back to Main School carrying a basket of something, boys' socks and underpants probably, destined for a dose of unnecessary industrial boil washing. I took the opportunity of having a quick look around the guest bedroom. Michael our Tutor, or his last guest, has left a couple of items behind in the drawer of one of the bedside tables. How careless of what was more likely to be a him rather than a her. I checked to see how much was left in the tube of the clear slippery stuff. Everyone knows what that stuff is used for, and judging by the weight, there's plenty left. Francesca must have looked in there, but she wouldn't have moved anything if I know her. She would assume that Pierre would never know what it was, and certainly not what you do with such material. I know perfectly well what it's for. My brother had discussed with me, very frankly as usual, what is needed in certain situations , and how important it is, should I ever find myself needing it. Anything he ever needed to know about gay sex he could glean from his friend. Straight boys can have gay friends he always said. Of course they can.

I'm managing to stick reasonably well to my revision timetable, going over stuff in bed until I can't keep my eyes open. There are three other Twelves in our room. There are no younger boys in the older boys' rooms for obvious reasons. Even very hetero lads would be tempted by one or two boy damsels knocking around the place itching to get friendly with them and have them get into their cute knickers. The other benefit of my self-imposed workload is my sterling attempt to abstain from pleasuring myself, night and morning, but I'm not entirely sure why I'm saving it all up. But I do have a beneficiary in mind.

The freedom to express.

It is a problem around this place…….privacy. The only chance I get to talk to Pierre, let alone doing anything else, is on that coach to Exeter, and then for a total of one hour every three weeks. I can't telephone him from home during holidays either. But……he's coming to North Lodge tomorrow afternoon around four. We all have Games on Friday afternoons. I'm on the tennis court this week, and Pierre has an afternoon of athletics he tells me, but I'm not sure exactly what that consists of. Rounders possibly, and certainly nothing too competitive. I told him to gather up some essentials from his House, as in bits of uniform and a tooth brush, and then go straight to the Play Room, as the social area is known as at North Lodge, when he finishes his Games session. They'll no doubt be other boys hanging around waiting to be picked up by parents, but that shouldn't be a problem. They won't ask why he's there. Two and a half days with Pierre will be the first time in three years when we will be free to express whatever we want to express with and to each other. As you may have guessed, I fallen for him completely. I'm not certain how he feels about me. I'm hoping it's mutual, but I can't be sure. The whole thing might fizzle out in a giant anti-climax and be thoroughly awkward. Of course I've thought about the sex angle, and if that issue should arise, and how far Pierre might want to go. I have no idea if he has any experience or inclination, although there have been definite signs of interest. He's been very keen on the mouth to mouth stuff, and there was a strong physical reaction to that. Nature will take its course, but I know I shall have to be patient, but if there's nothing, then there's nothing. So be it. Everything is for him. I love him that much.

The meeting.

Two boys are just leaving North Lodge as I arrive after my game of tennis. There's ivy climbing around the gothic shaped door, wide open and giving onto the black and red quarry tiled floor within. The place smells of polish which masks the odour of a place occupied by boys. There's no mistaking the smell of tennis shoes, and shower gel, not to mention warm bodies. To the left of the door is the small white sign with North Lodge painted on it in black letters. The sounds of occupation have gone and the place is completely silent. I'm going directly to the Play Room, which is at the back of the house. The large bay window looks out onto a lawned garden bordered with a collection of random flowering plants. I'm hoping Pierre will be here by now. He should be here and I'm feeling……I don't know…..anxious…….excited…….all kinds of things.

He is here. He's standing with his back to the window with his hands behind him leaning against the white-painted window frame, one foot slightly in front of the other. It's an awkward pose and I can tell he's just as anxious as I am. As I approach him, he stands with his hands to his sides, expressionless, mouth slightly open. He is so beautiful I could weep.

I'm standing perhaps ten feet away from Pierre and just looking at him. There's perhaps just a hint of a smile on that lovely wide mouth of his.

'What are you looking at?' he asks quietly, in that sweet velvety voice of his.

'You. You look perfect.'

'I'm all sweaty. I think I probably smell a bit too. Sorry.'

'I don't mind that Pierre. Whatever it is, it will be you.'

He's taken his white trainers off. I saw them just inside the door, so he's standing here in his white ankle socks, white cotton shorts which leave almost all his nicely tanned thighs visible, and a white tee under the sleeveless cable knit jumper, the kind that boy cricketers wear.

'You must be hot in that jumper Pierre?'


As I approach him, he raises both arms as an invitation for me to help him out of it. My heart is racing because now I know for certain.

I can feel his breathing on my neck as, with both hands, I lift the jumper up his body and over his head. As his body is exposed, he's right, there is a slight odour, but it's his own musky perfume, a strange mixture of warm skin, moisture absorbing cotton and wool, and him . It's a heady mixture.


The smile is a little broader now as just a few inches separate us now.

'Do I then?

'Yes, but it's sweet and you .'

I place my hands on Pierre's shoulders and my nose against his head….and then his neck and the side of his face. His mouth is open and he's breathing faster now, as I am. With my hands I gently push him away so we are face to face.

'Glad you're here?'

He nods quickly and smiles. The perspiration on his forehead is enough to reflect light, and his expression is doing the same.

'Arms round?' I say quietly, as my arms encircle his body.

His mouth presses hard against my neck. Gradually, with my hands behind his head, I lower my face to meet his. It's just a little messy, and urgent, and blissful. Breathless and parted now……

'Shall we play Simon says? But Pierre, you have to be Simon.'

'All the time?'

'Yes, all the time.'

He's smiling, watery eyes sparkling, as his hands work their way around my back, and then drop a little lower to cover the waistband of my tennis shorts. Of course I follow suit as the game demands. His hands drop lower still, as do mine.

'Is that good Pierre?'

'Umm, the nicest. More.'

His chin is resting on my left shoulder as I move my palms and press into the firm flesh. His hands are still as he enjoys the sensation I'm providing. He's trying to force his hands inside my shorts, but they are not elasticated like his are. His offer no such resistance to exploring palms. Between garments I'm not feeling bare flesh, but something almost better than that. Outside pants is erotic beyond my imagination as my hands, lower still, move almost together.

'More.' Pierre demands.

There are loud sighs as I pleasure this very particular part of Pierre's body. He pulls me almost violently towards him, and I know it's time to stop. It's too soon and too fast. I have to calm things down, and quickly. A diversion is required…….

'Do you want to see where you're sleeping tonight?'

I don't think he knew what to expect, and seems amazed when I show him the guest room. I don't think his sleeping arrangements had even crossed his mind. One thing I do know is that if he wants me with him, we will be together.

Nidge was the only boy I've shared a bed with, all night, and pleasured with delicate fingers, as he did me. I was twelve when he last stayed with us in London. I'm nearly seventeen now, and without any real experience of making love to another boy. The loss of my virginity seems a long way off, but I know exactly what's involved, in theory. There wasn't any possibility that Nidge would do any of those naughty things, so we, or rather I, made do with just essentials with fingers and thumb. I would always go second, and one square of tissue would do for the both of us in those days. My brother Edward has always been my go-to consultant for my emotional and sexual well-being. At twenty-one, he seemed to know most things, and although clearly hetero himself, had a really lovely and very sexy queer friend called Ivan. Whenever I met Ivan on one of his visits to our house, I would go bright red. I knew he was gay, and I'm sure my brother had told him about my preference. Realising, as everyone else had by the time I was eleven, that I will also grow up to be as gay as a horse, Edward wanted the best for me. Thus we had several very specific conversations that answered my questions, and his, and generally enlightened me.

'I just want to keep you safe kiddo.' he would say, once with a tear in his eye, bless him. How I love my big bro. I think he gleaned information from his gay friend because he was a fount of very specific technical stuff to do with mouths and bottoms and all the positions one might assume for maximum effect. I was rivetted, and not surprisingly as hard as a nail throughout. That always made my brother laugh.

Pierre and I stood together in the guest room, and kissed again……..and then again. Our hands dropped lower behind our bodies as they had done in the Play Room. There is no doubt in my mind that Pierre's sexual epicentre is in what brother Edward called 'the back bum', whereas mine is firmly placed in my 'front bum', or more specifically buried deep towards the back of the head of my penis. Every encouragement from Pierre is directing me towards his particular epicentre, which is suiting me perfectly, as I have to admit a more than passing fixation on that part of his precious body. To see him passing by, unable to talk to him, sporting his 'downundies', with brief but quite rugged undies clearly impressing themselves through the cotton material of his short trousers is a sight to behold. I once heard my sisters talking about how they might exploit their visible panty lines for the boys to enjoy. I'm sure that Pierre makes very sure his are nicely on show…..for some boys to enjoy.

On that one occasion in the sunken garden, I glimpsed a personal detail about Pierre. As we prepare to shower, we enjoy another sexual ritual……taking our clothes off in front of each other. Or course we are excited, and a little nervous too. What if the other person doesn't like what they see? Will he dislike my very limited amount of pubic hair, or will I be disappointed that he has none? I know I'm not the biggest boy in the scout troop, but as it happens, nor is Pierre the biggest boy in the cub pack either. As I look back up at Pierre's face, he's smiling, as I am. He's a pretty boy down there , and interesting to me as he is intact, unlike myself, and his prepuce has naturally retracted a little, leaving a very enticing prospect. Brother Edward had told me that there were more ways and places to kiss a girl, or a boy, than just on the lips. We must have looked at each other for a full minute before I could think of anything to say to Pierre. In the end, it was something very mundane…..

'We should put all this stuff through the machine. It'll be dry by the morning. Would you gather it all please Pierre. Have you brought some spare things?'

No he hasn't, but that's not a problem. We can find whatever he needs here. I daresay our resident damsel boy will be thrilled when I tell him that a couple of his elegant smalls were urgently required by an older boy like Pierre. I will tell him.

I watch Pierre as he gathers up all the clothes we had stood in. He doesn't see me observing him, but he knows I am. He shows me his back as he bends double to pick up the last item of clothing from the carpeted floor. He doesn't fool me, and I know exactly what he's doing, for my benefit I hope.

By the time we reach the shower together, things have calmed down. We might well have learnt a couple of things about each other there and then on the bed in the guest room, but I'm relieved that we didn't spoil the crispy freshness of Francesca's ironed white linen sheets with our sweaty naked bodies. Some things are worth waiting for, surely? I'm now seeing Pierre in a calmer light, and he's still very much a boy, still retaining that delightful tummy curve that will soon disappear as his body stiffens and his muscles develop more. The head of his penis has now disappeared into almost transparent skin, temporarily, but only just. With the temperature in the shower adjusted at last, Pierre picks up the body wash from the floor and hands it to me. I squeeze the plastic container and there's enough of the gel in the palm of my hand. I take Pierre's hand and do likewise.

It's fronts first, and then my back, and then it's his back, and all the way down to ankles and feet, and back up again, stopping half way. I've been here just a minute before, but Pierre has a special request.

I've not done the job thoroughly enough according to him. His hands are in front of him between his chest and the white tiled shower wall, his palms keeping his body a few inches away from the shiny glazed squares. I lean sideways, enough to see his penis trapped upwards against the tiling, the glans fully exposed now, and his legs apart. I look down at the forms that are inviting my attention, and the neat shadowy valley between them. With one hand I hold Pierre steady, as I smooth and press, and probe with the other. I'm teasing him, as he pushes back against the intrusion which gradually becomes rhythmic. In my mind, and no doubt in Pierre's mind too, everything is becoming clearer. My head is spinning with the realisation that anything is possible with Pierre.

With everything that Pierre stood up in now in the washer, we had the amusing task of borrowing the odd bit of kit from a similar sized boy in one of the other rooms at North Lodge. I thought immediately of Elijah, our damsel boy who shares with three other Sevens. He's a bit smaller that Pierre, but what's a couple of inches of waistline between friends? I'm not drawn to effeminate boys myself, but if I was, Elijah would fit the bill nicely. Known affectionately in the trade as Eliza, with Jane sometimes added, he has more knickers in his knicker draw than the other three boys put together. I heard recently that Elijah was told off by Francesca, our lovely Italian Scout, for referring to a pair of his undies as 'panties'. Get the idea?

'Francesca, have you seen my pale blue panties anywhere? They were here this morning.' bleats Elijah Jane with his curly blond hair, in that soft and sexy little voice of his, pointing to the end of his bed where they should still be.

' No Elijah, and you are not to call them that. They are your underpants . Try to remember that you're a boy!' remonstrates Francesca in her delightful Italian accent.

I simply don't know how the other boys put up with him.

All Elijah's togs are stacked up neatly [by Francesca] on a shelf in the linen cupboard in the corner of the boys' room, folded 'just so', that is to say laid flat, and the bottom bit folded up to the waistband, and then both sides folded over one another to make a neat square package. Everything we have is folded perfectly by Francesca, and there's very little about us that she doesn't know. With Francesca, there is no need to keep anything secret. You can tell her anything in complete confidence.

'Just take anything you want Pierre, or shall I choose?'

I chose, checking with Pierre that he approved of my choice. Wearing another boy's personal items of clothing rather excited him I think. Anyway, it solves the immediate problem because we can't wander around North Lodge without so much as a pair of socks to cover us.

I counted ten boys in addition to Pierre and I when we ate supper, as bidden by Sir, in the Piggery. With that done, and counted in as present and correct on the register, we had the evening to ourselves. I checked with the Scout who was supervising the meal if the school swimming pool was open this evening and all this weekend, and it is. I told Pierre that his designated bedtime was nine o'clock sharp. Some time at the pool with a wander afterwards around the playing fields would fill the gap between now and then nicely, before the big decision Pierre will have to make make…….does he want to sleep alone?

'Do I need to find my swimmers?' asks Pierre, having just pulled up the little number selected from a wide choice from Elijah's personal kit bag.

'No. I doubt if there will be anyone at the pool. You can swim in those if necessary. Anyway, Nines don't need them. I'm just going to watch you swim Pierre. I don't fancy getting wet myself tonight.'

We met Freddie on our way to the pool. He's in my 'A' Level History group, and an easy guy to get on with. He's one of the boys my age I would have liked to consort with on a very personal level, but after a few hints from me, he made it clear that that was not on his agenda. Pity. I think he's rather beautiful. Still, we remain friends.

'Are you swimming Freddie?'

'Yep, my usual lengths routine.'

How many?'

'Fifty tonight.'

There are old fashioned canvas deck chairs scattered around the perimeter of the pool. Sir thinks they add a bit of character, which with the striped material I suppose they give the scene an Edwardian look…..something out of Evelyn Waugh's Decline and Fall I imagine. Freddie looked very impressive as he moved effortlessly up and down the pool with the naked Pierre trying to keep up with him, both executing tumble turns, and then pushing off and gliding a few yards underwater before surfacing again. Freddie lapped Pierre several times before he had completed his fifty. Pierre had had enough too and the pair of them chatted at the deep end of the pool, hands on the edge, faces shining in the lowering late afternoon sun, Pierre all smiles.

I'm in my deck chair, in as upright position as it will go, watching as the boys haul themselves out of the water, macho style not bothering with the stainless steel steps in the corner. Freddie has his arm around Pierre's shoulder, and Pierre is enjoying the unexpected attention from the kind of older boy that younger boys admire. I'm alarmed by what I'm seeing. As the two figures approach, they are smiling broadly and no doubt inwardly glowing at their athletic achievement…..

'Don't worry, I'm not going to take your boy away from you.' declares a grinning Freddie, obviously recognizing my annoyance. There's instant relief in what I say next….

'Oh bloody hell Freddie, do shut up. Don't take any notice of him Pierre.'

'Can I go back in for a bit please.' asks Pierre, standing there, dripping gently, one hand absently tweaking the tip of his penis.

Freddie steps out of his swimming briefs and folds a towel and places it in the middle of an adjacent deck chair to mine, and plonks himself down in it, hands behind his head. I look sideways at Freddie's body, and that sense of regret returns. He really is something special.

'Is it just you two then……in North Lodge…… all weekend?' Freddie asks.

'Yes it is.'

'Bloody hell. Are you going to sleep with him? He's very lovely isn't he.'

'He's nice, yes.'

'So is that a 'yes', you are going to sleep with him…….or…..?'

'Don't be stupid Freddie, there's a good boy.'

'It's pretty obvious Ansel. Just thought you should know. He loves you. If it was me, I'd let him.'

'Let him……. what Freddie?'

'Just let him, that's all. Look at him. Why don't you just let him love you? Do you love him?'

I thought for a few seconds.

'Do you really want to know Freddie?'

'I might as well know. We're friends aren't we? I'm not going to tell the local newspaper. Well, are you?'

I rather skirted around the question, as per the politicians, but did admit to 'having a lot of time for him'.

'I can see what you mean, but that's not my cup of tea, as you know.'

'Never ever thought about it?'


'So you are up for a challenge then?'

I'm taking a chance here, but I can't resist it, and I think Pierre will go for it.

Eventually Pierre has tired of the water, so he uses the ladder nearby, and walks towards us, his body positively gleaming in the golden light. There are just the two chairs we are sitting on, so I have a suggestion. I'm dressed in shorts and nothing else, but Freddie sits to my left, and Pierre's wet body isn't going to bother him.

'You can sit on Freddie's lap Pierre. He won't mind.' I say, rather dropping Freddie in it.

Freddie gives me a surprised look, realising no doubt what the challenge is. Meanwhile the grinning Pierre, taking the invitation in his stride, prepares to plonk himself down on Freddie's lap. Freddie responds by holding Pierre's hips as he lowers himself onto the naked body, his legs either side of Freddie's. He leans back against Freddie's chest, his head turned away from me, arms to his sides. I'm watching intently. All's quiet for a couple of minutes until Pierre, not quite in the most comfortable position, starts wriggling about. Freddie's hands have returned to Pierre's thighs clearly trying to control Pierre's movements. Two more minutes pass with absolutely no words spoken by any of us. Pierre is now looking down at what I have witnessed to my huge delight, gradually enlarge and lengthen…….and as a result of all that wriggling about, what has no doubt happened to Freddie too. I've seen Pierre's bits hidden by clothing, but now I can see him in all his glory, and a glimpse of the end of Freddie's manhood protruding between Pierre's thighs.

'Can you get up a moment please Pierre. I'm not very comfortable.' asks Freddie.

Pierre stands and looks down as he adjusts his sitting position, before guiding Pierre back down, finally enclosing Pierre's tummy with his hands. Oh my goodness me! I can't imagine what that feels like.

I've sent Pierre back to North Lodge on his own, using the excuse that Freddie and I need a few words together. Pierre accepts my decision with a rather grumpy face, and bends double to pick up the pair of Elijah's pants I chose for him. They are not a tight fit and his unsatisfied penis pushes forwards into the thin white cotton material. I think it will be a while before that calms down. Then on with the shorts and polo shirt, and finally the sandals before he walks slowly towards the gate. I can see that Freddie is also a long way from calming down. Smiling in what probably one might call a smirky way, I ask him…….

'Well? How was that?'

'Ok, you win. Would you do me a favour please? I'm suddenly in need.' he says, gritting his teeth.

'Of course! I thought you'd never ask. I'm left-handed remember. We'll have to swap round.'

We put the two chairs more or less together so that reaching Freddie's problem was a simple matter. Finally, and very willingly, I had got my hands, well one hand at least, on him. As I gave him the squeeze treatment, he felt very hot and extraordinarily hard. His balls had hardened too into one large round form as the clear stuff appeared. It was definitely going to be a case of my whole hand around this thing. Nidge would always need to hold mine when it was his turn. He always said it came much stronger if I let him feel me. I told Freddie that if he didn't hold mine, I wouldn't do it for him.

'Ok.' he says. Great. He'll agree to anything right now.

The more 'grown up' form of the kids' 'downundies the we older boys wear, have zips at the front and have that metal clip that fastens the waistband together and makes them simple to undo, whereas the younger boys' mini-style shorts have an elasticated waistband and no opening at the front so they just give them a tug when they need to pee. The pockets are minimal to discourage slovenly habits and therefore nicely fitted around the bottom and at the front which makes what they possess within all the more visible to the interested eye. So with my shorts down towards my knees, Freddie can delve inside what's left and grab me, balls and all, and it feels good. What with my week of abstinence, it would take just a few seconds to give me what I'm giving him. Thankfully he exploded into his hands well before I had reached the danger zone, and all within one minute of fairly rapid attention. He's a big lad is our Freddie, and packs a hefty punch. To date, I have not seen the like, and beats me hands down….or up come to that.

When I get back to North Lodge, I head for the guest room to see how Pierre is faring. The stairs up to the first floor are linoleum covered, consequently very quiet, and when I reach the door it's slightly ajar. Pierre is lying fully clothed on his side and facing away from me and towards the window. With his knees tucked up a little, my eyes are drawn to what I have enjoyed most in my young friend. When I sit on the bed, I'm close to him, but he doesn't stir. I begin to stroke his forearm, tanned and covered in light brown downy hair. He still doesn't move. I look at his chest and the movement suggests that his breathing is faster than normal. His neck is exposed, and I begin to stroke it with the back of my fingers, but still no sound or movement. With the position he's in has forced his navy-blue polo up his back leaving some exposed skin, so I gently move my hand across and down, just inside the gap between the waistband of his shorts and Elijah's briefs. Still no movement.

Pierre's sandals lie by my feet, and there's pale skin where the short grey socks the boys wear would have been, just above, exposed to sunlight, Pierre's tanned calves begin. I notice the pale downy hair that matches that on his forearms. I stroke Pierre's knee, feeling the hard bone to the fore, and then the softer tissue to the back. Now there is movement. He has placed his left hand on his left buttock, and a few moments later, it has disappeared, now tucked in between his upper thighs. I go back to his forearm, and a few seconds later his hand emerges from the darkness and is placed back on his buttock. I get the message.

It's a gloriously smooth form, or should I say forms, as my hand moves over both of them, the smoothness only interrupted by the deliciously raised ridge caused by the seams of Eliza Jane's knickers. I follow the raised lines with the tips of my fingers in both directions as far as I can get, and leaning over his head I whisper…..

'Have I upset you Pierre?'

I don't think Pierre was best pleased when I sent him packing from the pool so that Freddie and I could talk privately. I'm sure he would have enjoyed being in on the act.

There's a slight nod of his head, but I can't see Pierre's face. Getting closer, I gently direct some breaths into his ear. There's a stifled giggle.

'I'm sorry Pierre, if I have upset you. Do you believe me?'

Another nod of the head. Encouraged now, I plant two kisses on his ear causing another stifled giggle, but I haven't stopped stroking his bottom.

Pierre has finally moved, and now he's on his tummy with his head turned towards me. He pats the bed covers and I am lying beside him but there's no touching. What now?

'More' he demands, expressionless yet intense, so the palm of my hands returns to the duty it was performing, that is to say, caressing Pierre's buttocks which is about the most erotic experience I can imagine, and to make it just a little more direct, I have a suggestion…..

'Down with the downundies?'

He smiles as he nods his head, but there's still Eliza's briefs to negotiate, which for me is an added pleasure. If only the poor damsel creature could witness the scene. I rather think he would love to be Pierre at this moment.

There's a gap now between Pierre's legs. It's obvious why he has moved his legs to create it, and I'm not about to disappoint him, or myself. I know where the centre of his sexual gravity lies.

I'm feeling the skin on his back…….all of it from side to side and from top to bottom, and then over the fabric covered forms and in the warmth between. With the tips of my fingers I shall tease him…….the promise of things to come perhaps, or perhaps not. Pierre will decide.

The prospect of sex with this boy has become an imminent possibility. I've never had sex with anyone, apart from mutual masturbation sessions with two boys my age. But my relationship with Pierre is quite different, and far deeper than anything I have felt for a boy before. I'm convinced that Pierre feels the same way as I do, so if he wants to take matters further, so do I.

Pierre turns onto his back, knees raised. He watches me as the last barriers have disappeared and he lies before me naked.

'Now you.' Pierre demands.

He watches, smiling as I undress before him. With knees still raised and apart, his palms rest on his inner thighs.

'It feels all wriggly……and tickly.'

'What does sweetheart?'

'In here……inside.'

He gestures with the tips of his fingers, turning his head away. My heart misses a beat.

When I lie next to him again, he turns towards me, and we kiss once more. Pierre moves the hand that has caressed his shoulder and places it between his legs. We are breathless now, and we need to stop. Pierre directs my hand more positively now, but not to where you might expect.

I reach for what was left in the drawer of the bedside table. There's a light placed on it, but in late May, we won't need any extra light. I find what I'm looking for and show Pierre.

'What in that? What does it do?' he asks quietly.

'It makes it easier. It might help the wriggling and tickling? Do you want me to try?'

It's a delicate operation begun with gentle touching and smoothing of that super-sensitive area, before I enter uncharted waters. I think Pierre is surprised as I am at the sheer pleasure of the sensation, for him and for me. I'm sure he didn't quite know what to expect, so his unfocussed mind has caused his previously erect penis to relax. Not so mine. I've never felt the inside of anyone's bottom before, but any feelings of apprehension are disappearing fast. It's smooth and easy and exciting for Pierre and I, as I probe deeper as whatever it is inside him grips me tighter.

Pierre is astride me now, as a new game begins. He leans down to plant a kiss on my mouth, then leans back……..

'I love you.' he says, like it's an idea that just occurred to him. I laugh and tell him that I love him too. I'm not sure what he has in mind for me at this moment, but I know we are in some way, making love to one another.

Pierre is using me to stimulate the epicentre of his sexuality, as if he's mounted a horse, moving his body along my stiffened ridge, to and fro, whilst gripping my chest, my hands on his shoulders. To some extent I can control him with my hands either side of his hips, and with my eyes closed now, I have a perfect image of what is causing my pleasure. I've seen it in all its pinkness and beauty. Pierre is entirely perfect there and soon I will let go everything. Pierre is masturbating me with his body, and it is working so perfectly. We are breathless with the newness of it all.

I can see Pierre's penis perfectly, erect and sublime with his foreskin fully retracted and pointing upwards as I wait for the inevitable to happen for me, as it surely will, and soon. I am loving what I'm seeing.

When Pierre began this little caper, I didn't imagine for a second that I could ever reach orgasm this way, but I'm beginning to think I can……and will! The position he's in now with his bottom perfectly placed over my penis, and rubbing it the way he is, will do the trick. I need to tell him.

'Darling….something is going to happen soon. If you keep on like this, it is going to happen!'

His mouth is open and he's looking down and completely focussed on what he's doing. A string of saliva hangs from his mouth as the grip he has on my shoulders tightens painfully. I'm just seconds away and my lover is working his socks off for me.

We are both watching as I ejaculate fulsomely, and Pierre doesn't stop until it all over…….about thirty seconds of bliss.

Pierre is lying on my body now, arms around my shoulders still, and breathing hard with his head next to mine. With his legs wide apart, I have my hands deep between them, pulling his body hard towards me. Between my body and his lies what I have been saving for days now. We had both watched my little explosion, as Pierre gasps and collapses on top of me, and not too soon thankfully. I am overwhelmed and completely satisfied.

When I gently ease Pierre onto his side, he grabs my hand, and there's no doubt about his needs. There's a mess we can't deal with now, and it's all over his tummy and around his genitals too. With one knee raised I have been granted access, and it's where I was before. I know if can move my body lower, I can kiss my loving boy where he needs me to be. He's never been touched there by me, and to experience him this way, and for the very first time, has my heart racing. I'm not going to deny sweet Pierre.

He's responded with what sounded like a sigh of relief that his sexual 'epicentre' has my attention once again, and with my own wetness all around I can explore him again surprisingly easily, and with my head now perfectly placed to pleasure my sweet friend, prior to performing the sexual act described by my brother as 'something boys like me should know about'. I had asked Edward jokingly if he wouldn't mind demonstrating this particular art, which he did, but not on me but on a small courgette would you believe. I then offered to practice on him, which he declined. Poo!

'You'll have to ask Ivan matey.' Edward suggests, referring to his gay friend. Now that is an idea, is it not?

Pierre's nipples feel hard to the touch of the very tip of my tongue, in contrast to the soft undulations of his chest and tummy where the taste of my residual semen strikes me as oddly pleasant. It's around Pierre's balls too, when I get there, putting both in my mouth and feeling their firmness with my tongue. There's 'my' taste again, and I'm already wondering if he will provide some of his own for me? He's perfectly smooth, but so was I when I first began.

I can hear brother Edward's words now…….

'He'll probably be uncircumcised [unlike me], so he might want you to ease his foreskin back. You know where the most sensitive part is don't you? [Yes] Be careful as it might be too sensitive there. Ask him what he likes best…..and don't bite the poor chap! If you're worried about it, ask him to tell you when he's about to come, and decide beforehand if you're prepared to have that stuff in your mouth, and what you're going to do about it.'

'You mean swallow it?'

'Precisely. I don't suppose it's much different with girls though.'

I'm never going to know about that, thank goodness.

I did pretty much everything I could think of to Pierre's penis, and I found his sighing massively erotic, quite apart from the sensation of having this boy's penis between my lips. After five minutes of gentle coaxing, I thought that it's never going to be 'game on' so to speak, and then quite suddenly it happens for Pierre. A series of sharp intake and exhalation of breaths and more loud sighs, and he's coming with wonderful little wriggles and jerks of his body. I'm thrilled that I've managed to get him there. Oh my beautiful boy!

But I'm worried about how Pierre is feeling. He's quiet now. My face is next to his and my right arm is under his body and my left hand is held tightly between his legs, and my finger is still inside him. It will be all the way to his climax. At the last moment he pushes my head away as I continue to stimulate him inside. Now I can feel the pulsing. Drama indeed, as a little pool fills. I touch it with my tongue and taste its sweetness. So much has happened in such a short time, and I'm overwhelmed. Tears are forming, as I move my head towards his.

'Are you ok?'

His face is just a blur but I know he's smiling.

Pierre hands me the shower gel, and I'm more than happy to oblige. It's half an hour since our mutual revelation in the guest room, and with my hands on his body again, and given his age and very recent experience, I'm not surprised to see what I'm seeing. He's so pretty down there, but I'm avoiding any direct contact until last. With all the other parts seen to on both of us, it's the icing on the cake, and I'm methodical and thorough. When we are out of the shower and dry, Pierre is anxious.

'You are coming in with me tonight…..aren't you?'

'No Pierre, I can't, but I'm almost next door to your room.'

He looks very disappointed, but I'm adamant. He's a tired boy and he needs to sleep, initially on his own, but I plan to join him later.

It's nine thirty when I peek into the guest room, Pierre is on his side with the upper part of his back visible and he is asleep, thank goodness. I climb in beside him hoping that he won't wake up. I just want to be with him this way……no touching…….just being. The musky smell of him arouses me beyond measure, as I gently lower the white sheet that covers him. It's a warm night and his body is radiating heat. He stirs and turns towards me, his eyes half open. I'm sure he can see me. There's just a faint hint of a smile. I don't know what he's been dreaming about but he was in a very nice place, and I'm about to join him.

When Nidge was visiting us in London and sharing my bed, fully sanctioned by my parents, there was one thing on our minds when we awoke first thing in the morning. We would kiss a little and cuddle and generally warm ourselves up for playing our usual games. It's an essential first thing in the morning, and we never missed. This morning Pierre is thoroughly 'in the mood', and so am I.

It's a nice way to be woken up, having one's bits and pieces felt by a beautiful boy, and Pierre is enjoying my attention, whilst pouring kisses onto his mouth and other parts of his head. Both of us want, or rather need, to get straight on with things. Now he guides my hand to his 'epicentre' and I'm ready with the necessary means to ease his 'wriggling inside' that he tells me he's feeling again. I'm pleasuring him in this way for a full five minutes when suddenly he rolls over and the next thing I know is that I have his knees either side of my chest, and his hands are on my shoulders. I'm expecting the treatment he gave me before bedtime last night, but I quickly realise that this morning is going to be different. I simply can't believe what Pierre is trying to do.

'Pierre…..are you sure you want to do this?'

He nods, breathlessly. There's a look of total determination on his face which, and despite a moderate tan most of the boys have by this time of the year, he's going a delicate shade of pink. If he fails in his bid to impale himself, it isn't going to be my fault. His penis is pointing upwards, and it's something I first noticed with Pierre. It may have to do with his moderate size, or who knows what. It's just the delightful way he is.

I help all I can by holding myself against him as he eased himself down onto me. I'm thinking that this could take too long and we will inevitably cool. Not a bit of it. There's no way the temperature is going down a single degree from where it is at the moment.

The initial intrusion is the hardest part they say. When you've got past that, it's should be plain sailing. Gradually, and with Pierre in control, we're there. Clever boy!

I can't believe this is happening, as Pierre lies forward on my chest. There's nothing either of us can do for the other except lie and enjoy the feeling. We are completely one, in love and in passion, but neither of us can reach orgasm like this.

'Pierre, my beautiful boy, this is lovely but it isn't going to work. I think there's another way we could try. Do you want to?'

He said he wanted to see my face, so with Pierre underneath me now, and re-lubricated, I enter my boy lover with ease. It must have been what I had done with, or to, Pierre earlier that made the difference. I'm trying to vary the depth I can reach into him, experimenting with the subtly different sensations I'm getting, and I'm finding short and gentle strokes just a little way in will make it happen too soon. I'm desperate for Pierre to have me in him for as long as I can hold off the inevitable. He's been rubbing himself, and I can't bear to look. The I feel his hands on my head, and our two faces are so close. Our breathing is urgent and sporadic with sharp intakes of air. I'm going harder and faster than before because my lover needs and wants me that badly. There's al oud gasp and I see him look down, and I know.

The sight of it is tipping me over the edge, and it's my doing. I have brought my wonderful boy lover to unknown heights…… a vision of paradise.

I feel the rapid contractions as he grips me, and ejects his milky substance onto his tummy. Mine is in him now. Love and peace shall endure.

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