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Introduction:

My fantasy romp with a choirboy continues
I awoke Saturday, wondering if it had all been a vivid erotic dream, or whether I had really enjoyed the most exquisite sexual encounter of my life, far better than the guilty jack off sessions in my cousins barn, or my few feeble attempts at coitus with my various college girl friends. Rodrick Collier-Jones. Not just a world class boy soprano, but a world class love maker.

Still, I was from conservative and cautious enough a background to wonder what kind of trouble I was getting into. I had heard the English “public” school system had given rise to a very sexually active class of boys familiar with all sorts of practices. That evening, in the great hall at college, I though I would broach it with Symington, who was the product of Eton.

“Is it true, then, what they write about boys and sex at public schools? Older boys breaking in the younger boys?” I asked, as casually as I thought possible.

“Yes, perhaps not as pervasive as they would have you think, but it has always been there. I believe C.S. Lewis even wrote about it one his books, one I just read . . . Surprised by Joy, I believe. Luckily I wasn’t pretty enough to be chosen by one of the prefects or senior boys when I arrived at school, but my friend Fitzhugh was. Descendent of the secret wife of George the V, he was, and very pretty. I had the good fortune of benefiting from some of his tutelage, if you know what I mean. The dons are always claiming to be on to it, though we always suspected a few were just jealous, and at least one took up a relationship with a boy after he left the school. They would meet at a bed sit in Oxford, I believe. It’s comical, really, how Americans assume the term “bugger” is a term of endearment. It’s really just a good healthy butt fuck. I don’t suppose you had any of that in America?”

I let him know if there was, it was seldom talked about, and faggot was the most derisive term a young teen could us.

“How comical. Fag is what you do when you serve an older boy. So a faggot must be one who serves him sexually, as well.

I was comforted that the practice was not viewed as so terrifically abhorrent. Because the experience certainly was not. Still, I was leery about how Roddy would greet me the next day before eucharist.
I arrived at the robing room a bit early. I nodded to the tenors already there, Simmons and Mason. After I was robed, I sat for a bit in one of the school chairs tucked in the music room, reviewing the evenings music. I heard them arrive, a clattering and chattering of boys, shoving and laughing as they robed. I got up to see who was else was there, and I glimpsed him, already robed, every hair in place, talking to one of the other boys. He caught my eye and turned a radiant smile to me, made an excuse with his friend and made his way to me.

“Take you on again, sometime, on your Playstation. Oh, and a message—Nicky really would like a chance to meet Harry again.” with a wink Roddy was gone. Perfect timing. Just then the choirmaster clapped his hands, and we fell into line. Worship flew by, though there where times when the back of Roddy’s head reminded me of a different position, one in which I ran my fingers through his thick, straight hair just above my waist, and I could feel Harry stirring from his slumber. Roddy scattered with the other boys right after worship: they had lunch and a Sunday study hall.
Monday, before evensong, I made my way to the choir room in the undercroft early, as I had some editing to do for one of my professors. I was surprised to look up and see Roddy standing over me.
“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Some editing, is all. What’s up? How’d you get here so early?”
“I got a ride with Robertson, the organist. I wanted to see you. I was just wondering if you were any good at maths.”

“Too good for my pleasure. My Dad wanted me to follow him into the sciences, but I had my heart set on a career in the church.”

“If I come a little early to rehearsal tomorrow, could you give me some help? I’m a complete waste at Maths, and I’m afraid they might send me home if I don’t pass this semester. Mum would die if I had to go to the village school.”

We sat and talked a bit about his school work, especially about his math. He was getting some pre-algebra, and it was a complete cipher to him. He needed some help, it seems. I promised to meet him at 2:30 and we would take a shot at it before the 3:00 rehearsal.

We did meet, and we worked together the three lessons before the one he was currently preparing. Except for a playful squeeze of “old Harry” through my pants, Roddy was all business, and we really made some headway in the short half hour. He was able to follow my examples, and successfully completed a couple exemplars from the workbook. He was all sunshine as we went to rehearsal, and he beamed at me as he was assigned a solo for one of the selections for lessons and carols. After rehearsal he came up again, with Simon Wilcox in tow.

“Hey, Mickey,” he said, so familiarly. “Can you help me again Thursday, before rehearsal? That really helped.”

“Let me see,” I said, pulling my calendar out of my pocket. “It looks okay. Same time, or a little earlier?”
“Could you make it earlier—maybe a half hour?”

“Yes, I think I can.”

Roddy gave me another radiant smile, and ran off with Simon in tow, though Simon gave me a curious look, or was it a look of longing? As he went. I wondered what Roddy had told him. No knowing. Hopefully not that I was a great fuck.

Our next session was equally successful, though this time it was me who had the most difficulty focusing. I could smell the sweet boy smell, the smell of musk and sweat and innocence and perhaps eagerness. He sat, as seemed most natural to him, perched on knee leaning into me as we worked. Standing, he was a good 18 inches shorter than me, but on his knee, his head was near my chin. I could feel his breath on my cheek, and I felt the warmth of his body, rising from his lithe body, untidy in his blue wool blazer and wrinkled white shirt. A deep sense of longing seized me with a tightness in my stomach, a twinge in my rectum and a dull pang in Harry.

“So,” I said as casually as I could. “Do you think we might arrange a rematch?”

“Oh, I think so.” He said, with a wry smile. “Maybe sooner than you think. And I’ll have a surprise in my bag. Trust me.”

Our session went well, but soon it was time for rehearsal. After a thorough workout, Roddy had already slipped out when Masterson, the choir master, called me over.

“Detwiler, I have a note here requesting a meeting with Mr. Clifford, the head of the 4th form boys, after choir. You know where his office is? Over on the second floor of Taunton, the senior boys dorm.
I felt as if my stomach was gong to drop through the floor. Had he heard? Had Roddy boasted of his conquest and given me up? Would I be returning home to Indiana in shame? It seemed only moments before the smell of his hair and the warmth of his body made my longing to hold and fondle him almost powerful, but now I was ready to swear off being in the same county with the boy.

Clifford’s office was easily found. He offered his hand, and pointed me to a chair.

“Capital thing, capital, that you should take so much interest in the boys in the choir, Detwiler,” he began in a cheerful and almost effusive manner. “Heard you’ve taken a special interest in Collier-Jones. First class chorister, perhaps the best voice in the choir. You know, these boys’ talents are such a fleeting and impermanent thing, it’s important to nurture them carefully while they still thrive. Capital Kyrie Monday at vespers. Vivaldi, I believe?”

I nodded and wondered where this was leading. “Well, your interest seems to have been quite significant for young Collier-Jones. His Maths teacher says he has really turned his performance around in the last few days, a miracle for which Collier-Jones gives you the most credit. I have a fax here I just received from his mother: a formality, actually. Seems he has praised you to high heaven, and his mother has agreed to take you on as a tutor. She will pay 12 pounds an hour, at your convenience. The fax is to provide permission for Collier-Jones to sign himself out on Wednesdays and weekends to go to your digs for tutoring. Much more convenient, she believes. She and her husband are major donors to the program, and we certainly have no problem conforming to her wishes. I also checked you out with your tutor, Dr. Robinson. She and I knew each other at Queens in Cambridge. She speaks highly of you.”

“Little rat,” I thought to myself with pleasure. “He’s arranged it all.”

The next morning, the usher at the gate stopped me on my way to class. “A young master Collier Jones left you a message,” he said, handing over one of the elegant little college notes, folded in half. The message said simply. “Be over for lessons at 1 p.m. Saturday. Will bring a surprise.”

It was 1:10 when Roddy finally arrived. It was a crisp November day, sunny and crisp. I had been up early to work on a paper and walk into town for a newspaper and some chips. And vanity of vanities, a new cologne I picked up at the shops, something to please my young paramour. This time, Roddy made no effort to impress me with his take on contemporary American costume. He wore a workout, velour top and matching pants, trainers, as they say in England and a t-shirt underneath (a jersey, so to say.) He slung his backpack on my bed and pulled out a tattered Math book and a folder to follow.

“Here” he said casually,” Is my assignment for this weekend. Also, I tucked in my first test. Abysmal, I’m afraid. But the material will be on the midterm at the end of December. I really want to do better. But let me pop into the bathroom for a second,” he said.

“Sure,” I replied, sitting myself at my desk with the second chair pulled up. I began to review the material, remember the challenges that I had met when I first saw the same material. It was only a few minutes, when Roddy emerged from the bathroom, and wrapped his arms around me from behind, kissing me on my left temple. I could feel the silken warmth of his nakedness behind me. God, this kid was a killer.
“Roddy!” I responded sharply. “Get your pants on. Work first. Your parents are paying me to tutor to your, not to suck you off. Granted, it’s a great bonus, but work first and then fun.” I turned to him with my sternest face, which lasted about 10 seconds, before my grin over took me. Still, I gave him a sharp slap on this rosy, luscious butt and said, “Move it.”

Soon he was in the other chair, in pants and t shirt (I was not going to be distracted by the wanton siren song of his little puckered nipples.) We went to work on differential equations, and put a solid hour of hard work in. He seemed to have a pretty consistent working knowledge of the material and seemed deal with it with a fair amount of ease.

“Well, Laddy,” I said with my broadest fake Scottish accent, “I think ye got a fair good grasp of the subject. So, hows aboot a break?”

“Anything in particular in mind? He said, slipping his hand into the waistband of my pants, and giving a swift little tug on Harry.

“Oh, I think so,” I said, sliding my hands under his shirt and popping it over his head. He climbed into my lap, and took the sides of my head into his hands, as he brought his mouth to mine. I was ready, opening to gobble up his pink little tongue.”

“Medical school for sure,” I said, between probing thrusts of my eager tongue. My hands slid eagerly up and down the silken muscular plane of his back, sliding my fingers under the waistband of his velour pants, grazing the glorious twin globes of his sweet little ass.

“Fucking fat chance,” he said, withdrawing from my mouth long enough to give me a stern look. “English Rapper, that’s what I think. Or maybe music director for someone else’s star.”

“I say boy toy,” I said, as I pulled his pants down, sweeping them to his knees. He kicked them the rest of the way off, as he pulled my shirt over my head. He had followed my directions, for he had put his pants back on—but the ease with which the warm ups slipped off his lovely bare ass, I could only imagine his boxers lying in a bunch on the floor of my little ensuite.

“Mmm. You smell nummy,” Roddy offered, kissing and licking my neck. “Something new?”

“Just for you, my little kumquat.” I replied.

“Kumquat?” He asked in feigned shock.

“Kumquat. It’s little orange like fruit that you eat, peel and all. Trust me, my little kumquat.”

:”And you will be my luscious plantain.”

“Plantain? I don’t even get to be a luscious banana?”

“It will be our little secret, okay?”

Just then, he decided to change course. He thrust his hand into my pants. He took my penis firmly in hand, scrotum first, and his eagerness made Harry spring to attention. With his other hand, he unzipped my jeans, and sliding his hand around the back, began to pull my pants off. I raised my hips in cooperation—no, in anticipation, and he soon had them around my knees.. It took little to co-opt my cooperation, and I raised myself up on my heels, and swept my pants and undies down to my ankles. I quickly had them kicked off, without breaking tempo, as I kept my eager tongue in his mouth. At the same time, my right hand found its way to his luscious ass, sliding my eager middle finger between the lovely half globes, bursting with fecundity.

“Oh, shit, Mickey. I think I’m going to burst.”

“Not yet. Let me give you a hand. Or rather a mouth,” I said, sliding eagerly to his waist. I took his eager little prick in my mouth, forcing his foreskin back with my tongue, licking his delicious glans, moving my tongue lasciviously up the sensitive underside, anticipating the delicious spurt of his penis. Roddy began shoving his prepubis in my face, in anticipation of the “Petit Mort,” the little death of orgasm. When it came, it was with the proxism of death, with Roddy shoving his hips joyously in my face, anticipating the shudder and gasps of the little death.

When it hit him, I kept it in my mouth, as if felt the sperm spill from his lovely little tool, and I tasted the hot sweet fruit of his loins, sucking it down eagerly.

Roddy lay back, with his left leg over my shoulder, a sweet, silly smile on his face, as he pulled me back down and shoved his tongue in my mouth, eager to taste what was left of his boyjuice.
“Was it nummy? He asked, looking deep into my eyes.

“Exquisite. Roddy 2003, the very best vintage.”

“Your turn,” he said, pushing me on his back. He straddled my midsection and I felt the sweet remnant of his ecstacy drippled on my tummy. He gathered it up and began to massage it into my chest, a circle around each nipple. Then he leaned over and began to suck and tug on my erect nipples with his beautiful white teeth. I swept my right arm on his silken back, and the other reached around to the two perfect globes of his innocent ass. Or so I thought. He moved back between my raised knees, as he worked his way down to my navel, where his tongue played with the wisps of red blond hair encircling it. As he reached my thatch, his right hand found my scrotum, and he began to slowly play with my luscious eggs. My rod began to swell and rise, and the purple red mushroom cap grew as the blood engorged it. He began to flick his tongue under the frenulum, and then round and round the glans, as the glans began to throb. He inserted his middle finger into my ass, as he took my swollen tool into his little mouth. His eager tongue played around the underside, leaving it throbbing. Up an down he went, licking and sucking and soon my hips were bucking as he pulled his mouth up to the tip of my cock.

“God, oh god, Roddy, you’re good.”

Soon I was cumming, and I’m sure that my balls had been working overtime to create such an extravagant flood of sweet sperm. Roddy took the first couple of squirts in his mouth, and then, as he sat up, began to smear my love juice all over his stomach and mine.

“Oh, that is really lovely, Mickey.” As my spurting penis subsided, He crawled alongside me, and I raised my head so he could put his arm under it. He nuzzled my neck and nibbled on my ear.

“So, you up for more than one? I don’t have to be back to school for another hour and a half. And I’m signed out to you.”

“You have quite the stamina.” I said.

Roddy raised himself on one elbow and looked me in the eye. “Mickey, I think I fucking love you. So it’s only natural I should love fucking you. Let’s pop into the shower—I want to get you that surprise out of my bag, and a shower would really help.”

So, I peeled off my socks and followed him into my little ensuite bathroom. The shower was miniscule, and I missed the shower at my parents in Indiana, but did not mind the opportunity to stand in the shower of hot water, feeling Roddy’s silky back and backside against my front, soaping up his front, from his delicate shoulders to his lovely flaccid boy tool, now about two and a half inches long. I pulled back his foreskin and washed the now deep pink glans with my soapy hand. He moaned softly and leaned into my chest. I got down on my knees as I soaped the front of his legs, and he leaned forward, showing me his puckered little asshole. I took the opportunity to run a soapy finger up the crack and swirl my index finger around the pink ring of muscle. I slid my soapy index to dilate his little asshole. He pushed back and engulfed the whole thing and sighed, “Oh, shit, that’s wonderful. Oh shit, that’s just so good.”

I stood up. “Turn around.” He ordered, as much as he could with his sweet, sweet voice. I obeyed, and he began soaping under my arms, down my chest, under my balls and out to the glans with a couple of tugs. Then he began to work his boys hand up my ass crack, lathering it generously first. Then he slid first one, and then two fingers into my asshole. I let a little gasp out as each finger went in. Then I turned to face him, and we began to rub off the soap, stroking each other’s soapy bodies as suds circled the drain. I leaned over and kissed his face, sliding my tongue once again into his eager mouth. After a minute of passionate tongue play, we stepped out of the showers and I took a couple of towels off the shelf over the toilet, or “water closet” in English parlance. After rubbing down briskly, I climbed onto the bed, as Roddy went after his bag.

“This is my surprise,” he said grinning at me, as he picked up his back pack and slid his hand in. He rummaged around, and then withdrew a plastic tube, which he brandished. It was KY jelly, Mint scented. Edible.

“I want you to fuck me, Mickey. I want to take you up my ass.”

“I don’t know, Roddy. That seems a little extreme.”

Soon he was on me,
“I’ll do you first, then.” He took my face in his hands, and began to devour my mouth with his eager mouth, shoving his pink tongue into my mouth, then he proceded down my chest, both nipples, my navel and finally, after pausing to kiss my penis, he ordered me to roll over. I was compliant. Then he spread my legs with his knees, and leaning over, he put one hand on each cheek and shoved them away so he had better access to my anus. He began to lick my now clean asshole, all the while humming “Whistle while we work.” I found myself clenching an unclenching my rectum, with the swirling of his hot pink tongue,at once going around and in the next second probing past the puckered muscle. I found my rod was getting stiff in response to the lascivious licking my asshole was getting, and I moaned as it went on. Finally, it stopped.
“You’re good and ready, but not me.” He scooted up toward my head, flung his right leg on the pillow above my head, and scooted the other so his knee just about touched my ear. “Little Nicky needs a little encouragement, if he’s going to do the deed.” He said, pulling back his foreskin to expose his quickly engorging glans.

I got the hint, and was soon slurping up his lovely little three and half inch rod, giving special attention to the sensitive frenulum and his little piss hole. In no time it was rock hard. He pulled it from my mouth, and sitting with his feet on either side of my head, pulled his foreskin up and down over his now fully engorged corona. He grabbed the tube of KY Jelly and put some in his hands. He warmed it up between his palms before he spread it all over his eager rigid boytool.

“All set, captain?” I asked. “And how would you like me?”

“On your stomach, I think—the pillow under your stomach.” He replied, as I rolled over and he scooted to a place by my knees. I slid a pillow under my waist to raise my asshole as Roddy scooted over between my knees. He dripped some of the KY lubricant in the crack of my ass, and began to work it up and down, circling his right index finger around my sphincter. Then he placed his hands on either side of my hips, and I could feel his eager little glans pushing at my asshole.

“Mickey, you have to relax. Pretend you’re about to take a shit.” He advised. I did as he said, and with a quick little shove, I felt his perfectly formed penis in my colon. Then he began to move it back slowly. I could feel the rim of his glans at my sphincter. But then he began to shove in and pull out in a short rhythmic motion. It was ecstacy. I had never even considered inserting a finger, but his lively little cock thrilled me. He lay on my back as he moved his pelvis back and forth, using his knees as a fulcrum. His hands swept up my sides and over my shoulders as he kissed my scalpula. I felt my cock swelling to full size, but I wasn’t going to expel another full shot of Jizm. I wanted to save it for Roddy’s rosy little ass.
It was ecstacy. His boyrod pushed in and out, and I felt his fine pelvis jiggle against my ass. It felt like I was going to take a luscious big shit, but at the same time I could feel the head of his little prick pulsing. Finally, his tempo increased, and he started licking and mouthing my back and then he seemed to hit the apex, as his whole body seemed to shudder on my back, and I felt a hot squirt in my bowels. His boy Jizm, no doubt. He gave a sigh and went limp, his little boy tool now a worm which slipped out of my asshole, juicy with KY jelly and his own juice.

I rolled him off my back, and rolled his knees up to his chest, as I covered his body with kisses. He lay back on the pillow, as I licked the jism and KY off his luscious little dick, soft and warm from plumbing the depths of my ass. Still limp, it jerked as if to experience the last bit of joy my mouth could offer. Roddy lay back with his eyes closed and a grin of sheer delight on his face.

“Bloody Fabulous, Mickey. Bloody Fabulous.” He said, after a a minute of so of accepting my kisses and caresses. “I haven’t forgotten you.” He rose up on his elbows and frenched me, with deep, hot tongue strokes. Then he climbed up to the head of the bed, placing to pillows under his hips to raise his little puckered asshole, as he leaned back with his shoulders on the headboard. I licked his silken ball sack, taking first one and then other of his little robins eggs in my mouth, gently licking around each gonad. I worked my way down the line between his silken little ball sack and his sweet rose bud. Then my tongue began to work his little asshole, as he writhed in pleasure.

“Oh great, Mickey. I can’t wait to have your big hot cock in my arsehole.”

“I don’t know, Roddy.” So said my voice, but I felt weak at the thought of entering his tight ass. Soon I was to find what I imagined was eclipsed by what I experienced. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Here, you scoot up here on the pillow. I know a way I can get your huge tool up my ass without too much trouble. Sit up, sit up.”

So I scooted up and sat on with my back against the head board. He spread my knees and squirting a general dollop of KY Jelly on his hand, began to massage my penis back to a rock hard column of joy, all while kissing the inside of my knees. Finally, he stood up and planted a foot on either side of my hips, and began to sit down. When he was almost in my lap, he stopped to position my now rigid 6 inch cock at the enterance of his luscious little hole. I felt it against the slick cap of my penis, as Roddy took a little bounce, and suddenly the cap of my penis was inside the gates to paradise. Slowly, he rocked his hips, as I slipped further into his hot colon. By this point, he was throwing back his head, moaning as he felt me push against his prostrate.

“Shit, Mickey, your huge. Take my hips and give me a bit of a hand.” So I laid my hands on his hips and began to help him as he rose and fell on my dick, and the motion sent my rigid cock into shudders of ecstacy. I pulled him closer to me and as my hands glided over the smooth muscled surface of his boy back, and I kissed and licked his face. He took my tongue in his mouth just as I began to buck wildly. It was then that I began to pump hot sperm into his bowels, and he pulled away with a “OH, Shiiiiiit!!!” When I felt the last of it squirt out, I waited for my penis deflate. It’s joy was not quickly spent, for it continued to spasm in his ass for at least another minute, before it shrank into a limp but satiated implement of my desire. Roddy rolled off of my lap, and we lay side by side.

“So, did you like my surprise,” He asked, rolling on one elbow.

“Exquisite. Next time it should be my turn.”

“We’ll just have to see about that,” he said, as I pushed back his knees and began to lick the sperm that was dripping out of his ass hole. “God, Mickey. You know how to make a boy happy.”
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