ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS
                                      Chapter Fourteen
                              "Spencer and The Very Big Snow Ball"

        Ethan masturbated me regularly.  Sometimes through my shorts,
sometimes with my genitals sticking out.  In either case, it was always a
beautiful and remarkably innocent experience.  Virgins both, we gave
ourselves to one another in the manner I'd always dreamed: as equals.
        Ethan began having erections.
        "My penis is hard, Mr. Wilson," he'd announce.
        "May I see?"
        Smiling, the little boy would rise up on his knees -- there between
my muscular legs or sitting astride them -- and bashfully lift his pajama
shirt.  His flat tummy and thighs framed his white shorts and cute, 2"
hard-on tenting the crotch.
        "It's so beautiful," I'd sigh.
        Then the little boy would lower his shirt and resume masturbating
me.  Although modest about displaying himself, he was comfortable easing my
erection out and into his clean, tiny hands.  He enjoyed smearing the hot
gobs of my sperm over my gold thighs -- leaving them wet and glistening --
as if he was finger painting in art class.
        Ethan loved me but he wasn't quite making love to me.  For that
matter, I wasn't making love to him, either.  Not yet.
        We learned to kiss.  After my orgasms, the child would lay his
twiggy figure across my body and daintily slide his lips over mine.  At
these times I was able to fondle his firm, baby buttocks and press his
miniature erection against my stomach.  Coaxing his pre-puscent sexuality.
        The story of the state visitors and of how Ethan and Jeremy had
come to the rescue prompted Headmaster Arcadia to call an assembly.  On the
auditorium stage, in front of the entire school, the old gentleman pinned
gold "Model Citizen" medals to Ethan's and Jeremy's proud, puffed-out
chests.
        The event was photographed for postcards mailed out as fund-raising
efforts.  Years later, Ethan would say that male college friends and male
college professors often approached him  to ask if he was one of the boys
in the photo.

                        *                       *                       *

        Late December.
        Night.
        Ethan and I walked across the silent quad, our blue boots crunching
in the sparkling drifts and layers of freshly fallen snow.  Winter had
transformed the campus into a white and powdery fairy-tale land.  Snow
capped the rooftops and the branches of dormant trees, the evergreens jolly
and frosted with white.  Strings of Christmas lights were hung about the
buildings, the bulbs pulsing with deep colors.  Minoras filled the windows
of several dorm rooms.  The children's religious beliefs were respected and
encouraged: God, after all, finds no displeasure in love.  The children
gave thanks to their maker for their teachers -- food, clothing, shelter --
and we teachers gave thanks for the children.
        It was during this holy period of the year that Ethan and I would
consummate our love with his first orgasm and my entering the sacred church
of his body, releasing its fleshy hymnals of joy.
        "Spencer's gonna be surprised," Ethan chirped, plumes of breath
rising from his sweet, baby mouth.
        "Yes.  I'm sure of it."
        "I like Spencer."
        "I do, too."
        I watched Ethan trudge through the snow -- knees lifting high,
boots crunching.  We were walking to the radio station.  Spencer worked
late nights and early mornings, and Ethan and I had decided to treat him to
a visit and escort him back to the dorms.
        "He's so shy," Ethan said, high-stepping through a snow drift,
twiggy arms held wide for balance.
        In winter, the children wore thicker stockings and blue wool capes
with pointy hoods.  They looked like little elves.  The hems of the capes
just reached past their short pants -- mine, also -- and it looked like we
were all wearing dresses.
        A gust of wind sent a stinging swirl of snow crystals against Ethan
and I: we yelped.  I grabbed the boy and hugged him, our naked legs
quivering and bumping.
        "Brrrr!" the child squealed, exhilarated.  "Hold me!"
        I did.  Then the gust passed and we walked on across the snowy quad
glowing with fairy-tale light.
        "Does Spencer have a special teacher?"
        "Spencer is unusual," I said, now holding Ethan's hand.  The child
wore bue mittens attached with strings to his sleeves; I wore blue gloves.
"He doesn't like men."
        "He doesn't?!" Ethan squawked, looking up at me.  The pointy blue
hood shrouded his disbelieving face.  "Why not?"
        "Well, I don't know for sure, honey.  But I think he just like boys."
        "Oh.  You mean he likes Patty."
        I nodded.  Since the Halloween party, Spencer and red-headed
Patrick were inseperable and had not gone unnoticed.
        "Can boys have special boys?"
        "It would seem so."
        "I'd rather have you," Ethan declared.  Then he stumbled in a deep
snow drift, but I yanked his hand and kept him from falling.  "See?  You
can take care of me because you're bigger and stronger," he smiled, staring
at my musclar legs striding surely in the wintry night.
        "Well, Patty is much younger than Spencer.  I'm sure Spencer tries
to take care of him they way I try to take care of you."
        "It's not the same," the boy declared, eyes bright.  He held my
hand tight, trusting me completely as the wind blew and stung us once more
with ice crystals.
          We ascended the steps to the library as Spencer was locking the
doors, his back to us.  The howling wind masked the sound of our approach.
        "Hi, buddy!" Ethan chirped.
        "AHHHH!"
        Young Spencer jumped and spun around in fright, pale-pink legs
pedalling as his blue boots slipped out from under him.  He fell hard onto
his butt, legs still kicking  for purchase on the snow-covered stone.
        I raced forward to take his right arm.  Ethan followed, taking
Spencer's left.
        "Don't do that!" the 14 year old scolded, soft face shocked beneath
his pointy blue hood as we pulled him up.
        "Sorry, Spence," Ethan apologized good-naturedly, swiping at the
snow dusting Spencer's rump, stockinged calves, and the backs of his
thighs.
        "You scared me!" the DJ gasped, plumes of breath rising from his
mouth.  But he stood still and let Ethan brush him off, and again I was
charmed at how easily the orphans cared for one another.
        "We wanted to surprise you, not scare you," Ethan smiled, now
adjusting the long blue-and-white knit scarf Spencer wore about his neck.
        "Surprise me?  What surprise?" the undeveloped 14 year old asked.
        "We thought you might enjoy a walk," I answered.
        "Really?" the shy blonde asked.  "With me?"
        "Yes, with you," Ethan said matter-of-factly, draping his right arm
around the older boy's shoulders.
        Standing side by side in the wool capes that made it seem they
weren't wearing pants, the long-legged children stared into each other's
rosy cheeked faces.  A lump caught in my throat: how the children would
always remember this surprise visit on a wintry night, there on the steps
of the academy library.
        "Gee," said Spencer.
        Ethan patted the older boy's arm.  Then, affectionate and gracious,
he escorted Spencer down the steps and across the quad, heading toward the
soccer field.  I shambled after.  The black air filled with a fresh snow
fall of ten-thousand flakes.
        "Are you coming up, Mr. Wilson?" Ethan sang.
        "You won't lose me," I answered, staring at their goosebumped legs.
The summer's tan had faded, Spencer's skin gone pale and pinked from the
cold, while Ethan's tan had grown several hues lighter.  My tan had faded
as well.  Wearing short pants in winter was not as uncomfortable as I'd
feared; rather, it was invigorating and made the students and I much more
alert and spry than the long-trousered staff.
        Ethan whispered something to Spencer, then together the boys broke
into a spirited run, arms pinwheeling and thin legs pumping as they
struggled through the drifts.  They whooped and hollered, reaching the
crest of the hill where I had picked up and hugged Benji upon first
arriving -- a lifetime ago.  Their shadows rippled over the snowy ground,
the pointy tops of their hoods disappearing as they scampered down the
hill.
        The play of young boys is infectious; I drew in a deep lungful of
polar air and let go a whooping blast, pinwheeling my arms and giving
chase.  Each step left the years behind me until I was a young boy, too,
joining them in the center of the soccer field.  We gathered around an
enormous, four-foot-high snowball the students had created during afternoon
recess.  Dark forest rimmed the field to the west, while in the east the
tall hill hid the campus from sight, only the yellow dial of the clock
tower above the library marking where we had come.
        "It's neat playing outside so late!" Ethan squealed, mittens
pounding on the snowball.
        "Yeah!" Spencer agreed, frisky and bouncing up and down, doing a
little jig.
        We were breathing hard, columns of breath flooding from our mouths.
The night sky twinkled with stars while the ground at our feet twinkled
with snow crystals.
        "Playing out so late has its price," I said with mock threat,
staring at the boys.
        The children trembled with excitement, small mouths dropping open.
They huddled together, boots crunching, knee knocking.
        "Oh oh!  Watch out!"  They giggled uncontrollably.
        I rushed forward.
        Swooping down, I wrapped up Spencer's legs; he squealed and tried
to leap away.  Effortlessly, I lifted and dropped him to the snow. kneeling
across his chest to tickle his ribs.  The blonde teen thrashed, chiming
with laughter, frantically slapping at my hands.  Ethan leapt onto my back,
grunting as his twiggy arms encircled my neck.  Gently, I pulled him around
and face down on top of Spencer, shifting so that I knelt across them both.
I tickled until they squealed and begged me to stop, limbs flailing
wildly, bucking against each other.
        "Say uncle!  Say uncle!"
        "UNCLE!  UNCLE!" they shrieked.  "TEE HEE HEE!"
        I stood, gripped Ethan's bony waist and hoisted the laughing child,
flipping him over and draped him over the huge snowball.  The boy bent
back, arms and legs spread wide and dangling.  I pressed down on his
concave tummy with my right hand while I removed my leather gloves from my
left hand with my teeth.  Then I switched hands to remove the other glove.
        Spencer took a few seconds to brush the snow from his legs then
walked to the other side of the snowball.  Smiling, he gripped Ethan at the
elbows, forcing his arms down.  I gripped Ethan's knees.
        "Let's tickle him!" the blonde yelled, blue eyes blazing with play.
        "No!  Don't!" Ethan yelped, skinny body jerking.  But he had no
leverage.
        "I have a better idea," I winked.
        "What?"
        I was erect  Gasping clouds of breath impacted on the 12 year old's
velvety thighs as my large, adult hands began to caress them, reaching up
under his cape.  The boy's delicate skin was very cold, goosefleshed with
an arcade of texture, and sparkled with faint bits of light.
        "Yah!  No!  He wants to masturbate me!" Ethan squealed, thin legs
kicking, boots thumping on the sides of the snowball.
        "What's a 'masturbate'?"  Spencer struggled to hold Ethan's arms.

        Masturbating the child in a non-threatening context of play was
perfect, and Spencer's presence was appropriate; the DJ had helped Ethan
and I first acknowledge then mend our relationship, and he would learn the
joy of ograsm along with Ethan.  A lesson he could teach to himself and to
Patty.
        "Just watch," I sighed.  I groped under Ethan's cape and finally,
miraculously, made contact with his tiny organs, diddling the
strawberry-sized testes and the knob of his flaccid penis.  I clenched my
teeth as I felt the little boy through his shorts, pressing my fingers all
around his virgin crotch.
        Ethan wriggled and giggled as if still being tickled.  He kicked
once, skinny legs extended straight and scissor-wide, then grunted, lifting
his head to stare at my hands under his cape.
        The little boy's face was pinched with a curious expression.
        "Mr. Wilson?" he peeped.
        "Shhh!  Just relax!"  I stepped closer, boots crunching.  I pressed
my naked thighs against the snowball and shivered, jolted with an electric,
icy wave of polar cold.  My erection surged and throbbed as I diddled
Ethan's immature penis.
        "What're you doing?" Spencer inquired, still smiling but noticing
the sudden change in mine and Ethan's manner.
        "Don't let him up," I instructed, now rubbing the palm of my right
hand quickly over the child's genitals.  Ethan's cape fluttered from the
movements and his skinny legs -- stretched straight -- jerked in the night,
knees locked above his cuffed stockings.
        "Mr. Wilson!  Mr. Wilson!" Ethan gasped.  The tension slowly left
his legs until his knees bent and the heels of hs boots again thumped
against the snowball.
        The child's penis grew under my palm.
        I ground my thighs and crotch against the snowball as I scratched
the 2" length of his shaft, feeling the circumsized, grape-sized glans.  I
shoved his shorts up around his hips to the leg openings of his underwear.
        "Oh!  Oh Oh!" Ethan warbled, brown eyes fogging as sensations never
imagined coursed through his body.  Dormant nerve-endings and processes
were set into motion; the child gasped and whimpered.  He stared at his
crotch then up at me, wanting to understand.  He looked frightened.
        "Shhh!  You're all right, honey!  See?  Didn't I tell you it would
feel wonderful?"
        "What's wonderful?  What's happening?" Spencer asked, utterly confused.
        Moments passed, Ethan quaking now, gasping and shuddering as his
body began to release what he did not know it could give.
        "AH!"
        Ethan threw himself over the snowball and bridged up, reaching back
to clamp his dainty hands around Spencer's thighs with a loud smack.
Spencer jumped and stepped closer, clutching Ethan's elbows.
        "URRR??!!" the child gurgled, going wire-tight.  I scratched his
dick.  Ethan shivered and tried to jack-knife, skinny legs snapping up and
bent knees weaving side to side.
        "Whoa!" Spencer yelled, shifting as Ethan's head pressed up firmly
between his thighs, hidden beneath the teen's cape.
        "UGH!" Ethan groaned, legs kicking, knees rising again.  "He's
masturbating me!  He's masturbating me!"
        The child's amazed voiced was muffled between Spencer's cape.
        "Hey!  He's like...kissing my thighs!" the blonde yelped.
        I saw Spencer's cape move with Ethan's twisting head.
        "Hold him!" I barked, scratching the 12 year old's penis.  To my
delight and surprise, the shy teen bore down and squeezed the child's head
between his thighs.
        Ethan's sweet face was hidden under Spencer's cape even as his
miniature erection was hidden beneath his own.
        I wished I could have seen the little boy's expression as he built
to his first, dry orgasm; I wished I could have watched the little boy's
erection pulse and pump in his gray school shorts for the first time in his
life.  But it wasn't to be.  I masturbated him with one hand, the other
gliding over his icy thighs clamped around the snowball.  The cold,
Spencer's help, and the front of my bare thighs now frigid from pressing
against the snowball sent me over the edge.
        I came moaning, fucking the snowball.  I bent over the child,
slopping my tongue along his chilled, naked thighs, finally tasting the
pure, immaculate flesh.  Licking the braille-alphabet of his prebuscent
sexual energies.
        "Mr. Wilson?" Spencer peeped meekly.
        Moments later, Ethan orgasmed, too.  I squeezed his tiny penis as
it pumped and pumped with the dry, heaving efforts of ejaculation.  I felt
his berry-balls move in their sack, sucked his baby thighs wriggling and
tensing across the snowball.
        "RRR!  UMPH!  NNGGHH!" Ethan whined, thrashing.
        The 12 year old's high groans of baby-ecstasy rang in the wintry night.
        I straightened and found Spencer staring, blue eyes laser-bright.
Together, we watched the blonde DJ's cape move as the orgasmic boy's head
thrashed beneath it, then watched his face pop up in a tuft of steaming
breath.
        The three of us exchanged looks, then Ethan -- bent back over the
snowball, skinny and limber -- screwed up his face to cry.
        "Mr. Wilson!" he whined, staring at his crotch and sucked thighs
glistening with saliva.  The child was overwhelmed, unable to process his
emotions.  "Waahhh!" he blubbered, breaking down.
        "Shhh!  Oh, baby!  Don't!" I wailed, snatching the skinny boy up
and hugging him.  Ethan clung to me like a monkey, arms around my neck,
long legs clamping around my waist.  "You're all right!  You had an orgasm!
That's all!"
        "Bweh heh heh!" the child sobbed, his slender frame convulsing in
my embrace.
        "What's wrong?  Mr. Wilson, what's wrong?" Spencer fretted, racing
forward to stroke Ethan's thighs in a gesture of reassurance.
        "Nothing!  He's fine!  He's just surprised!" I called, smiling as
the fingers of my left hand groped and fondled the child's bottom, my right
hand patting his back.  I looked up at the night, at the stars spiralling
above us, then began to trudge up the hill.
        "But he's crying!"  Spencer scampered beside us.
        "Happy tears, Spence.  They're just happy tears.  Ethan learned
something about himself tonight.  Something he didn't know he could do."
        We ascended the hill and walked quickly across the quad.  Ethan
sniffled in my arms, panting and coughing with post-orgasm.
        "I'm sorry, Ethan!  I'm sorry  made you cry!" the blonde teen
apolgized, touching his friend's thighs in supplicationg.
        I saw Spencer's confused, sorrowful face and tousled his hair.
        "Shhhh!" I chuckled, soothing both boys.  "Ethan's just releasing
tension.  Orgasmic tension."
        "What's that?" Spencer asked, blue eyes misting over as he was also
moved to tears.
        "Something that comes from being loved.  Something...oh, Spencer.
You'll learn.  Ask Ethan tomorrow.  He'll tell you."
        We walked to the dorm, Spencer holding open the door as I carried
Ethan inside.  At the base of the stairs I tried to push Ethan away and
ease him to his feet, but the little boy whined and clutched me tight,
surprisingly strong.
        "Go to bed, Spencer.  Thanks for walking with us."
        The bonde teen hesitated on the stairs, staring at me and the 12
year old.
        "Are you sure he's all right, Mr. Wilson?"
        "Yes.  I'll take care of him.  You go upstairs and change, son.
Wrap those pretty legs of yours in warm blankets.  They look so cold."
        Spencer glanced at his shell-pink legs, then at the whimpering
child in my embrace.
        "Good night, Ethan."
        Ethan turned to look at the blonde, cheeks streaked with tears.
Then nestled his face in my neck, seeking the shelter of my body.
        The under-developed 14 year old paused, then raced up the wooden
stairs, boots clomping.  I carried Ethan into my room and closed the door.
Shushing him, I pulled down the covers of my bed and lay him atop the
mattress.  He sniffled as I took off his clothes, stripping him to his
tight, white underpants.  He watched as I stripped down to my underpants,
watched as I turned off the lights and climbed into bed.
        "C-c-cold!" the boy said through chattering teeth.
        "Me, too!  Brrr!  Let's get wam!"
        I rolled on top of the little boy, thrilling as I felt his
quivering, skinny body soft and hairless under mine.  So much contact; skin
on skin; crotch to crotch.  I wrapped my icy, muscular legs around his and
pulled the covers over our heads.  I began to kiss his sputtering lips,
gripped his bony wrists and pinned his arms by his ears.
        "Hmm!  Ah!" Ethan whimpered, wriggling and arching, his flat chest
rubbing mine, his tiny nipples erect.
        We kissed and kissed.  Easily.  Lovingly.  The radiator in the
corner began to knock then hiss with heat.