Johnny Come Home
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 26
Lost property is very telling. You look at a name tag and recognize the owner of a pair of brief underpants, and put them to your nose. A strong scent of puberty which will bring older boys running for a new mating partner if they pick up that scent. The scent comes with the smile as the boy recognizes the interest shown in him. A boy on heat is recognizable as such, easily. His underpants go missing, not necessarily by accident and get 'used', and then returned to the lost prop box, the name tape checked for ownership and probably to get 'used' again. 'Good' boys things get used, especially the youngest pretty boys. You're looking for an item you've 'lost', and find a pair of Jonathan Leavy's knickers in there. There's the name tag sewn into the inside of Jonathan's pants. So, looking behind you to check no one is looking, you pick them up and inspect said garment. They've been worn for a day or two. There's nothing unpleasant in there, just the lingering perfume of an attractive new boy. Fair game. Just put them back a day later in more or less the condition you found them in. They were a tight fit and consequently rather stimulating, last night, in bed, with the memory of Jonathan's creamy little penis jiggling about in the shower as the water cascades down his front. And then he turns and I watch as the water makes its way between those pale globes. Lucky that water! Thank you, those people that created such a delectable creature and brought it before us in this way. Be sure to wash properly Jonathan, especially in those awkward places.
He still hasn't noticed me as I wait for my turn, his head lowered to examine himself, two hands needed to expose his sensitivity. Now let the warm caressing water do the rest Jonathan.
Let the tide rise Johnny. Let the tide fill the void and turn the little twig into a branch for me. You had a long look at me Johnny, as I stood there waiting for my turn. None of those boys in your dormitory have got what I can offer you. It's yours if you want it. He walks to the wall to lift his towel from the hook, turns again, and gives me another lingering glance. Was there a hint of a smile? I think there was. There are always opportunities to meet a boy during the school day.
'Hi. You're Leavy aren't you?'
The boy nods and smiles coyly. A good start to a possible friendship here. But don't let's beat about the bush. Get to the point Alex. If he's interested, he'll want to get on with things quickly. If he's not, then there's no time wasted flogging a dead horse.
'I saw you in the showers yesterday didn't I?'
The boy nods again.
'I saw you too.' The boys says, smiling.
'And?'
'I saw you. You know……all of you.'
'Oh that must have been a shock for you. Sorry. I think I was a bit careless with the towel.'
Little boys get to see bigger boys in the showers.
'An nice one I thought.'
'What's a nice one?'
'Yours.'
'Yours too. Does it get any bigger?' He says, smiling in that cheeky way.
There must be a tradition at S. Endellions for getting to the point with a minimum of beating about the bush.
'Yes, with the right person.'
'Like me?'
'Exactly like you.'
'Do you want to do it then?'
'Do what?'
'It. Do you want to do it with me?' The boy continues.
'When?'
'Anytime. Now if you want?'
'Yes I would…..please. If you didn't mind that is?'
'Ok. I know a place we can go.'
It's at the back of one of the Geography classrooms. A tiny room where they keep all the text books, piles of new exercise books that smell nice, an old rotating globe. That sort of thing. A perfect new 'venue'.
I followed Jonathan Leavey into the modern brick-built block and up the stairs and into the classroom. There's the door at the back on the left. I'm excited! Something entirely new, fresh, and extremely attractive awaits me in there, albeit a couple of years my junior. Well, that's ok isn't it?
It takes Jon a few seconds to undo the top of his grey short trousers and show me his underpants…….white of course, and cut briefly and simply delicious. Then he pulls down the waistband and with the tips of two fingers and flips up his uncut winkle.
'Now you.' He demands.
I do exactly the same as we compare notes. A slight discrepancy here, but he's liking what I've got just as I'm liking his very prepubescent attributes.
'Do it with me.' He says in the demanding tone.
'One problem Jonathan. What happens when…….you know…….when it comes?'
'Do it onto me. It'll go into pants.'
'Really?'
'Yes. I want you to. We can do it together; like this.'
The tip of his penis is touching the tip of mine. I've done this before and it can have rather interesting results.
I once saw two boys joined by a foreskin of the uncircumcised boy stretched over the head of the circumcised boy's cock. I wondered, briefly, if this would be possible with Jonathan. No way would that work, sadly. The thought of flooding the enclosed void between us seemed an attractive idea, but given the size of the delectable Jonathan, that was never going to be viable. But to come all over the creamy morsel; well, that's not a bad alternative, and anything left over and unaccounted for can obey the laws of gravity and flow gently down his bare tummy around his grape sized testicles and into the security of his undies. What a perfect scenario.
'That's an interesting idea Jon. But your pants might feel a bit damp?'
'I'll leave them in lost prop. Someone will return them to me. Easy peasy.'
With these ideas rocketing through my head and loins, it wasn't going to be long before this indeed was the case. Going head to head with Jonathan was easy enough, with him standing on a step normally used for boys to reach for a higher shelf I suppose. We both used the fingers and thumb method and went at it full tilt from the off, but I won the race hands down with my right hand under his compact pair of orbs and providing the tickles. When he saw what a boy nearly three years his senior could do, he was thus inspired to produced what he was capable of, a fraction of my contribution, which instantly disappeared into the general mess that had formed all over Jonathan's hand, his entire penis and all around the boy's retreated testicles.
This outpouring seemed to fascinate Jonathan, as he examines his fingers and thumb minutely, pressing fingertip against the pad of his thumb and then releasing contact to observe the viscous nature of my seedlings.
'Are there sperms in it?' He asks. Looking up quizzically.
'I suppose so. All stuck in your pants now Jon. Would you like me to take them and rinse them out? You're in Alleyns House aren't you? I can easily get them back to you.'
'No thanks.'
'But doesn't it feel uncomfortable?'
'No. I like it.'
That's my boy. I could exchange body fluids with him any day.
We met up again the next day, in the same place. Once was not enough for the curious Jonathan, so we reprised with the same result, this time with a subtle difference. I had told him, in response to some detailed questioning, that a boy's penis could be stimulated by means other than one's hands and fingers. Namely by one's mouth or one's anus. This revelation, which of course he should never have been privy to, only served to pique his interest even further. I had, as you might imagine, an ulterior motive. To give his hard little worm the attention such a lovely morsel deserved.
This second occasion was a much more considered affair, lasting four times longer. We had to move a pile of textbooks; The British Isles, so that Jonathan could lie on his back on the worktop. I was to treat his thighs and tummy and chest with due consideration it deserves, doing everything I could think of to get him to a point whereby he would be very anxious for me to get the job done. Ten minutes into this wholly rewarding process, he was more than ready, desperate in fact, to be 'finished off', complete with the hardest pecker I've ever had the pleasure to enclose with my lips, and tickle with my teasing tongue. If this doesn't convince this lovely chestnut-haired boy that fellatio isn't the best thing since sliced bread, I don't know what will.
I told him not to hold back on the sounds front, for me an essential part of giving and receiving. It's very much part of sex of any sort, the sounds of rising levels of satisfaction and then, at the last, the exultant ejaculation of the boy's sexual fluids that will excite my taste buds and bind me to him, probably for ever. I've had interesting and entirely satisfying sexual adventures with five boys thus far at S. Endellions, and I will remember each one, all quite different, perfectly I do hope.
I think I got it right with Jonathan, delaying and creating doubt, then another flourish to keep the juices rising within him, another couple of very brief delays, and then the final slow, deep caresses to begin the final inevitable surge of sensation that begins in his bowels [I think] and travels from the root of the penis towards the ultra-sensitive head, forced by a series of contractions into the world, or wherever it is destined to go. In his case, directly onto my grateful tongue, warm and flavourful, and all about Jonathan, the sweet boy. His was different, albeit not much, than the others, all one of them.
The icing on this particular cake was being invited to tea at the local tea shop in the village. Jonathan asked me. His parents were visiting and if they ask nicely, a son is allowed out to see them for an hour or so after school; and take a friend if he wants. Barely a day had passed since their son had ejaculated two tiny spurts of his baby semen into my mouth which had caressed the pale skinned erection and brought it so amazingly to its sexual life. I'm sure they suspected romance in Jonathan's face and demeanour. Oh I can hide all that easily enough, but Jonathan has yet to acquire those skills.
'Have you been friends for long Alex?' Asks Mummy in a soft voice full of suspicion.
'No Mrs Leavy, we met………properly I suppose, just a few days ago. Didn't we Johnny.'
I looked, smiling, at Jonathan whose cheeks had turned a brighter shade of pink.
A weak 'Oh that's nice' was followed by a long and rather awkward silence around the circular oak table covered with the gingham tablecloth and tea things. They knew alright. That Alex boy, too old to be a suitable friend for Jonathan, had surely had his hand inside the boy's pants. He may even have persuaded the boy to kiss him? But there were things that Mrs Leavy would not want to even imagine. Other unimaginable horrors their little boy might have been subjected to.
She had heard of such things. What some people did. Boys even, with each other. Men with men. Wives for their husbands. She had never thought that kind of thing possible between ordinary married folk. But in odd moments, sometimes as she lay down on the bed on a warm afternoon, Jeffery at work in his office, she masturbated to a guilty conclusion, and admitted to herself how good it felt. How strong the feeling was when 'that girl' was with her, in her mind. Jonathan had come along, eventually. Even that had surprised her. She had never seen Jeffery's semen, let alone felt it's slimy texture between her fingers, or in her mouth. She wasn't even sure he had any in him. He'd never made her come. That was the thing she really resented, deep down. She'd read about the female orgasm and the better ways to achieve it, especially with a woman. Jeffery's cock was really a dildo strapped to a pretty girl's hips. She came once, based on a girl she had had a brief conversation with in the library. Walking home she had day dreamed about masturbating the girl. When she got home she partially undressed as she had suspected something had gone on deep inside her knickers. It had; something exciting.
She knew through a mother's intuition that the nice boy Alex had made her sweet son come to his orgasm, and in a strange way, she was glad. Happy for them you might say.
She had seen the girl on holiday in Devon a year ago now. She'd been watching her playing in the park where she took Jonathan. The cute little dress and how the wind blew it. How the girl sat on the grass, like that . She had stood there as Jonathan swung ever higher, the girl next to him. She was looking more at the girl than her son, as the dress flew up again.
The next day, the girl was there again. She had read about how women make love. How a girl can fall for a woman. How a woman could love a girl.
She had sometimes wonder if her husband Jeffery was 'one of those.' A homo , as one of her friends rudely called us.
She looked at Alex again, and smiled as Duncan shot another glance in Alex's direction. No mistaking that look.
I followed Duncan upstairs to his room. I had the impression all the way back from the Hut that he wanted to talk. We sat on the edge of his bed together with my arm around him. He was distinctly weepy.
'Ok Dunks. Tell me what's wrong. Please!'
'Is it normal?'
'Is what normal.'
'Itchy. Itchiness. All the time.'
'Where?'
'Here. In here.'
Right. I think I know what's been going on. Bloody Richard. He should have known better.
'I can sort that easily Duncan.'
And so I can, easily.
'Ten minutes Dunks. Would you mind? You'll feel a lot better.'
He had his eyes closed most of the time, but I didn't. I was watching him carefully. I told Quintus the same thing, but he didn't do what I was doing for Duncan. How many baby's bottoms have had the pleasure of feeling this stuff smeared around their nether regions, but only externally one hopes. Not Duncan. His might have been an entirely more intrusive treatment, and needed. As pants the hart for cooling streams? That line in the hymn always evoked a smirk amongst the boys in Chapel. The mere mention of the word. But why?
I know why.
It takes ten minutes for the truth to dawn on this boy who deserves an explanation.
'That's how it works Duncan. Interesting isn't it?'
'Umm.'
'Do you want to know more?'
'Yes. Why did you stop?'
'Because it was right to stop when I did.'
It was right to stop when I did. I'm unsure of the science of it…..when a boy's body is capable of a response to that kind of stimulation. I think I was fourteen before I came that way. I remember it very well. My whole body shook. My entire personality was overtaken by it. Momentous. Cumming that way. The pulsing is rapid and quite unlike a normal hand job. Quite different and as much to do with the very gradual onset as the level of pleasure slowly rises towards a quite different climax. A prostate orgasm.
I explained to Duncan as he looked back at me, wide eyed.
'Can you do that again please. I liked it.'
'Is that what Richard did?'
'Yes. Like that. It felt like that.'
Not with a length of his finger. That was me.
'Can I feel you please?'
The boy has such good manners, and who am I to deny him. Besides it's more likely to work if he gets his way.
So I lie down beside him supported on one elbow, my left hand free to amuse Duncan and take minute notice of the underside of the length of his penis as it lays on his tummy. Mine is an educational task here, not me seeking my own gratification, if you can believe that.
'Did you come? Did Richard make you come?'
Duncan nods.
'Like this?'
'Sort of.'
'But with his penis?'
No reaction to that suggestion.
'Did you enjoy? No regrets?'
Duncan's eyes are shut now and he's breathing deeply. I'm sure it's working, and if it is, he'll be a wonderful best friend for someone. But not me.
His grip on me tightens. The gradual onset. It might actually happen.
I'm watching for any signs from the tip of his cocklet. They'll be something soon. In fact very soon if it's going to work. He's what I would call a 'good responder' to this kind of stimulus, just as Johnny was, or is, right from the start when he was Duncan's age.
He has me in his grip now, and it's hurting.
I'm thinking of the perfectly ironed sheets on Duncan's bed, no doubt a welcome home gesture from his grandmother. All crisp and smelling of fresh air and flowers in the small cottage garden behind us.
I adjust my position accordingly, so there's the best chance I'll enhance Duncan's lovely body and not the white linen. Duncan is truly absorbed.
Duncan takes his hand away and transfers to himself. Fair enough as all this is for him, not me. He comes almost immediately, in four mini arcs of typically thin immature semen, a pure delight as far as I'm concerned.
'Well done.' I reassure him as he uses his finger tips to move the separating fluid around the soft skin of his tummy exactly level with his navel, a receptacle now. Then he grips his penis at the root to squeeze out anything that might be still lurking in the urethra. Another drop or two. He touches the tip with the pad of his thumb and then pulls it slowly away. Another simple game follows. In the relatively few I've known , in the Biblical sense, they all enjoy playing with the tiny mess they've made in those early months after they become capable . Duncan's finger tips go straight to the tip of his tongue. Curiouser and curiouser.
'Well?'
He looks at me and smiles, and points to the tiny pool that is fast disappearing from that creamy soft skin. Who? Me? No sunshine. Not this time.
Without any heavy responsibilities to weigh me down, a new academic year at Truro is rather exciting. There's the usual 'new crop' to look at and admire, at least a reasonably number. The blond boys, the dark-haired boys, and the ones in between who can be occasionally the best of the lot. But I'm still a sucker for the blondies who very occasionally have a pretty face to go with it. But there are no nudies to look at. Those days are long gone since those halcyon days at S. Endellions. All boys together, living and sleeping.
However all is not lost, if second hand images are acceptable as a substitute for the real thing. Duncan of course is the real deal, but he's off limits.
Our Headmaster, aka the Head Man, has a new machine coming that needs setting up by yours truly. That will mean transferring all the data from the old machine to the new one. This is going to take me some time, as I explain to him.
'Well you know you have the run of the place Alex. In your own time, but soon please.'
That's fine Sir. No problem. I have already copied various files of interest that I will delete in due course. Probably. But there are a lot more to inspect. That should be interesting. I know for a fact that our Head Man doesn't know how to delete his search history, for starters, at least I assume he wouldn't want me to know what he's been perusing of an evening. He has quite good taste, and a few favourites out there on the games field. Someone is handy with the camera and sending the images to him on a CD ROM by the looks of things. How very curious.
There were some folders with no security codes, thus simple to access. Swimming Sports. Very nice, and given that the competitors have to change on the grass that surrounds the 25 metre pool, even better. I'm wondering who it is with the camera?
Oh gosh. These are interesting. A good job that mummy and daddy don't know that their sons are models showing the world, or rather a very small and very private world no doubt, all the things that they don't know they are showing, and if they knew, they might not want to. If I was into blackmail? No, perish that thought. That's horrible, and these images are factual, non-sexual, and rather fine. He or she [?] has caught some lovely poses around the 440 track, all legs and arms as they stand waiting in their white mini shorts. So they are under starters orders, crouched down like that. Bottoms up eh?
I opened another likely looking drawer. It was locked so that's a good sign. There's something interesting in there, and lo and behold there's bunch of very small keys in one of the cubby holes with a tiny hinged door to the left of the large knee hole desk.
Inside is a stack of CD Roms, all marked in black letters; QB1, QB2 and so on up to QB 15. I've no idea what QB stands for. I slip QB1 into the drive in the laptop I always keep with me on such occasions. It's twenty minutes of movie. The boy who looks barely a teenager approaches the small terraced house, opens the front door looking at the camera, and goes in. The camera follows him upstairs into a bedroom, where the boy proceeds to undress for the camera. I can't believe what I'm seeing. It's not the content that turned my entire body cold in shock, but who it is standing there, masturbating to a finish, with sound. Apart from the person operating the camera, no one else is involved.
QB.
In goes QB 15, the last in the series. The boy looks a little older in this one, but still no more sexually mature than the first one. Again I can't believe what I'm seeing. It's good in terms of quality; it's very good. In terms of content; what the boy is doing isn't bad either. What he can do now is a distinct advance compared to QB1. It's a kind of visual diary of a boy's development. It's quite brilliant.
It took me an hour to copy QB1 all the way through to QB15.
There are some questions in my mind. Firstly, who, if a person, is QB? Secondly, why and how are these things in the possession of our Head Man? The third question…….why is the boy doing what he's doing, clearly very willingly, and extremely well? Not for money is my well-educated guess, but for love. Johnny's come home alright.
I ran the movie again, and stopped it near the beginning when the boy turns the corner into the street just before he stops at the front door of the terraced house. On the low brick wall just around the corner is a street name, and on the front door is a house number. But which city or town is it? It certainly isn't Truro. Anyway it wouldn't be. The brick looks a greyish colour which suggests eastern England. And then, like a bolt from the blue, the obvious dawns on me. I know where this is, the naughty boy. Oh John, you've come home! And QB? Think man, think!
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
