Lael
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 28
Of Man's desiring.
That night I told Otta about my tangle with Eli, and its consequences, and he admitted an indiscretion in the shower with the boy he had woken for the last three mornings. We both agreed that minor incidents like that would never have any bearing on our friendship. Poor old Otta is exhausted by his week in the music department, but the Bach piece he had practiced until blue in the face had gone well, as part of the plenary chapel service for everyone involved in the Activities. I was required to be there too, not that I would have missed Otta's haunting performance. I sat in my usual place, reserved by myself by a scrap of paper with my name on it placed earlier on the chair. I had the perfect view of Otta moving side to side on the wide wooden bench before the organ keyboard, his short trousers ridden up his thighs almost to the tops of his legs, feet bobbing from pedal to pedal. Bare arms too, in his short sleeved pale blue aertex shirt, and those sensitive long fingers moving effortlessly from key to key; mouth a little open, eyes focused, singers singing. Magical. Prickly eyes time made worse by pondering my idea .
With all the thank you's said, prizes and certificates presented, final farewells waved, addresses and telephone numbers swapped, promises made, and recognition given to all the helpers given; the whole thing is suddenly over. Anti-climax pervades.
'So how did it go with donkey dick then Otta?'
I'm referring to Freddie Smith, the boy who occupied my bed in my room whom we both woke up to shower, until I gave that task to Otta to carry out each morning this week.
'Ok thanks. He took your advice by the way, not to wear anything other than a tee shirt in bed.'
'Oh good. Far healthier. Anything transpire?'
'Trans what?'
'Anything happen? Did the donkey kick…….or anything interesting?'
'A bit. You were right. It doesn't get much bigger.'
'Told you. Was it a case of don't touch, I'm British?'
'No.' He says laughing. 'At least not much.'
'So just a case of a good mutual handful then?'
I didn't think that Freddie was the type, despite his impressive credentials, and it seems I was right. Never mind Otta. And I don't count a bit of mutual fiddling as an indiscretion. Unlike mine with the diminutive Elias, which I'm about to admit to.
'So did anything good happen at the pool Jon? Five whole days amongst all those bare bodies. Something must have happened?'
Ah, a chance to spin a good story, and relive the events concerning Eli Thomas and his girlfriend. Always a good thing in my book.
'They weren't bare bodies for a start, and they were all pretty busy too, what with those aqua sadists working them close to death. And the smell of sun cream was making me feel quite ill Otta. I can tell you it was no fun.'
'You don't half talk some rubbish Jon. Go on, tell me.'
'In bed. Then I'll tell you. You'll like it.'
'Like what?'
'My little story.'
'Now?' Otta says, with his arms up above his head. Ah, those eyes!
Mutual undressing is a fine art, and again taught to me by Lael. An exquisite mixture of meaningful sharing embraces and baring flesh, and if you haven't got a roaring hard-on at the end of it, there's definitely something amiss. Take your pick as to the order you do things in. I like to start at the bottom and work up. By the time you've completed the job at the top, the bottom is nicely poised.
Nothing amiss there I'm pleased to report.
With all the tension of his performance this afternoon, Otta's in a playful mood it seems. Good. The week has been exhausting and we've missed out rather, the last couple of nights.
All the illustrations in the Beginners Guide are numbered. In the last of the Just For Boys part, as opposed for Just for Girls, which deals with the various ways of coming together to best effect, the numbers go from thirty two up to forty. The illustrations are exquisite in my opinion, leaving the reader in no doubt as to what to do to make each activity come nicely to fruition.
Otta has ended up on top of me once more, his arms under my shoulders, my hands around and threatening to go deeper between a pair of tight buttocks which the boy knowingly flexes just to amuse me. Lael knew all about pelvic muscle control and its effect on his partner, ie. me. Otta is nowhere near that level of sophistication, but he has other wriggly, squirmy, eel like boy qualities that make up for any deficiency in technique that will tip you over the edge before you know it's happened. Well, maybe, if things work out, or in.
'Number thirty-nine Jon.' He says, pointing. I'm surprised but excited.
We've looked at that one before, but only looked. It will give me complete control and my partner no control. The book tells us it can work well if you're both in the appropriate mood for a one-sided experience; one partner completely submissive and the other very dominant. The other advantage is that it's one of the best ways to achieve simultaneous orgasms if the dominant partner can control himself long enough. I'm up for this one tonight, and when I explain the plan to Otta, so is he. But I'm not sure this is right. He'll need to convince me it's right for him at this moment.
'You wouldn't mind…… this part Otta?' I ask, pointing to the precise area in the illustration of the boy's anatomy with my finger.
'If ye love me?'
'Yes I do. You must know that by now?'
'Than yes, of course I do. We can stop can't we, if we want to?'
'Yes, any time.'
'What will happen in the end?'
'I don't know. Something, or nothing.'
Please don't make the mistake of thinking that Otta and I are primarily concerned with sex. We're not at all. Far from it, but it's looms large on our agenda, but at the right time. Bedtime cuddles turn us on to greater heights if we can stay awake, and in the morning. Oh, the mornings! There are ways to wake a boy up in the mornings which will bring him slowly and surely into a state of consciousness followed inevitably by some gentle act of loving in the broadest sense of the word.
Lael taught me when one way was the right way for that moment, and when another way was best for both of us in another moment. Ultimate pleasure can be gradually brought about by gentle coaxing, or by animal lust at the other extreme. The best night I ever had with Lael was after a nasty argument about nothing really. Just a silly thing. It was my fault. Remorseful, I asked him to take me up to the bedroom and punish me, which is what I deserved. He did. At the end of it all we were a mess; and big smiles all round. Our argument that day sprung out of a very deep affection for each other, and resulted in much joy.
It's a warm night tonight, sweaty almost. This isn't going to be about words; what's about to happen here in the Hut. It's quite difficult to know how much to write about it in this diary of events. A graphic description might be crass, but facts are facts. Otta doesn't need words said now, so let's be quiet now and lie together. He's on his tummy as I stroke his back. I look down at the boy's buttocks and lay my palm on them. This is our beginning. I slip my hand between and he's getting the message. Each step a new one for my precious boy, and a chance to stop at any moment. The gap widens so I can begin at the beginning of the journey that will end who knows where.
The boy's turns over and onto his back, smiling, the road ahead clear and open. Still no words. I look down and he watches. It's time.
Gently, gently we slide together, tender surfaces joining, finger ends searching, mouths joining, tongues touching, our passion mounting. Another attempt, and then another, and then a third as the barriers fall, the door opens and I enter the darkness that leads to that light. Sounds and light. So many sounds to delight and inspire our love together.
He stops me with his hands on my hips.
'Are you ok?' I ask, breathless.
He nods in rapid movements, pushing at my hips. He pushes me onto my back, and now he's perfectly placed. I have lost control and handed it to him. I can feel nothing yet, but now I can as the weight lowers onto me. Finally our faces meet and we kiss. We are joined again. I see the tiny winking red light. The weight rises and as it falls again, I move against I, buried to the hilt. The slow rhythm of sex has begun. I look up at my boy as he looks down at me. No words. There are no words for this.
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
