ARCADIA ACADEMY FOR BOYS Chapter Seventeen "Strawberries" The little boy's face was surrounded by a crimson pillow and his ruffled, auburn hair. Gone was the stress from the night before, replaced by the peace of well-deserved slumber. Morning sunshine fell so softly upon his long lashes, pert nose, and lips. I kissed his cheek. The sublime warmth of his naked thigh pressed my thigh beneath the quilt. I kissed the boy's cheek again. His lips parted slightly; a long tendon at the base of his right ear became pronounced. I placed my left hand across his chest and eased the quilt down his purple, velvet, doll dress. Ethan's flat tummy rose and fell. Lord. My sperm was inside that flat tummy. My hand wandered under the child's dress, and I took hold of his morning erection. Ethan had orgasmed with religious intensity. I fingered his 2" hardon, mesmerized by its size and inability to produce semen. I rucked up his dress to view his black panties. Ethan murmured in his sleep; I wondered at his dreams. Covering him with the quilt and sliding out of bed, I took a long, hot shower. I lathered the soap, imagined my hands were Ethan's hands, and masturbated to slow, delicious discharge. Afterwards, I changed into an aqua-colored sweatshirt, fleece shorts and knee socks. I moved quietly about the room, careful not to wake the exhausted 12 year old. I laid out a matching outfit at the foot of the bed for him then walked downstairs. Spencer and Patty were playing with their Christmas toys in the living room, a magnifying glass and an ant farm for the blonde, a stuffed white dog for the redhead. They wore school uniforms. Spencer knelt over his ant farm, the magnifying glass held to his right eye, the creamy expanse of his peachy legs shiny-smooth in a sunshine wash. "Mr. Wilson!" he chirped excitedly, glancing up and waving me over, hand fluttering. Boys and their hobbies -- never more beautiful than when engaged in their simple past times. "Come look! They're so...busy!" "O.K." I agreed indulgently, squatting behind the shy, undersized boy who felt like a goldfish in his radio announcer's booth. I took the magnifying glass and leaned over his right shoulder. "My, they are busy," I said, closing my strong thighs around his torso and squeezing. Spencer looked down at my thighs locked around him then began to stroke them affectionately, pleased by my attentions. While I lived at the unique school for orphans, little boys would always delight me with such innocent touches. "Mr. Wilson! Look at my puppy!" Patty ran up and childishly thrust his stuffed toy into my face. I used the magnifying glass to inspect the toy, which made the baby laugh. Then I suggested that we straighten up and the good children pitched in without protest, stuffing wrapping paper and boxes into trash bags. I cooked breakfast, making pancakes and sausage links, whistling and happy to feed two beautiful orphaned boys entirely dependent on my care. At the table, Spencer fussed with the eight year old's fine, crayon-red hair while Patty jabbered at his toy dog, trying to teach it tricks. I daydreamed. (My parents wrote regularly, my father intrigued by the school's rustic atmosphere and its absence of phones, my mother charmed by the students' quaint, short pants uniforms; I'd mailed them brochures and photographs of the orphans in class or at play. "The poor dears!" mom wrote. "Such pretty things...and all alone!" My parents often asked when I would meet the "right" person and settle down, and I'd been tempted to draw a circle around one boy who appeared in all the photos and write that his name was Ethan Sevatis, that he was 12 years old and the "right" person for me. I could only imagine bringing Ethan home and the impression the lovely child would make, so dashing in his school uniform, performing a princely bow as he was introduced. My mother would coo loudly and pinch his cheeks, falling instantly in love with the child; my father would clap me on the back and squeeze my neck, chest swelling with approval. Little Ethan would sit doe-eyed and smiling between my parents on the living room couch as they opened a family photo album across his lap to point out scenes of my growing up years. Patting his pretty knees and stroking his hair, proud of their son who had brought home such a fine little boy. And Ethan would return their affections with an implusive kiss to mom's and dad's cheeks, radiant with delight at finally having a family. At night, mom would remind me to be sure that Ethan brushed his teeth and said his prayers, again cooing and pinching his cheeks to see the pretty beanpole boy changed into his blue silk pajamas. Then, as Ethan knelt beside my boyhood bed to say his prayers, mom and dad would watch approvingly from the doorway and listen. "God bless Mr. WIlson and his parents for being so nice to me. God bless Headmaster Arcadia, all my teachers and friends and the other children at the Academy. God bless, well, everyone who isn't as lucky as I am. And God please don't let any more boys become orphans. Amen." "Oh, Daniel! He's so sweet!" mom would cluck, tears misting her eyes, dad leading her away and leaving Ethan and I to our privacy. Then I'd close the door, strip to my underwear and climb into bed with Ethan, the child overflowing with happiness and gratitude, laying on top of me to pin my wrists beside my head and peck at my face with kisses. Grinning a dimpled grin. We'd slowly become intimate, hugging and writhing against each other's bodies until achieving mutual climax, my lips mashed againt the child's to silence his soprano peeps of ecstasy.) Quiet as a mouse, Ethan appeared at the edge of the kitchen, dressed in his aqua outfit. Squeaky-clean from a shower. "Morning, sleepy," said Spencer playfully. "Morning," Ethan yawned. He raised his arms above his head, thin body stretching. The aqua sweatshirt pulled up over his flat tummy, his knees locked above his stockings. The supple little boy arched his back, rose on tippy-toes, twisted side to side. Then he jerked suddenly and winced, eyes going wide. His arms dropped and his hands smacked against the sides of his thighs. The little boy stood rigid and bewildered in the sunny-bright kitchen. "Your clothes match," observed Patty, pointing from Ethan to me. I set the plates before the children and regarded my young lover. "Hungry, honey?" Ethan shook his head no, face drained of color. An empathetic pang filled my anus. "You guys made a lot of noise last night," Spencer said, a blonde cowlick falling over his forehead as he lifted a forkful of pancake. Ethan and I gasped, staring open-mouthed at Spencer. "What?" he asked. "You were wrestling and tickling, right?" Ethan turned and shuffled woodenly toward the rec room, long legs barely moving. Ass clenched tight. * * * Spencer and Patty were in their capes and boots, holding mittened hands and exploring the garden until a security guard arrived to usher them back to the dorms. Ethan stood by the sliding glass doors, watching as his friends climbed onto the snow mobile behind the guard. They waved and zoomed away. I rinsed a wooden bowl of strawberries in the sink and carried it to the boy. "Sure you aren't hungry?" I whispered, reaching around him and touching a ripe strawberry to his lips. The little boy bit the strawberry at the stem, perfect teeth gliding over my fingertips. I ran my right hand down his bony chest to his flat tummy and rubbed, knowing he was sore. "I thought you'd be very hungry after last night," I whispered. The little boy said nothing. I fed him another strawberry and this time he chewed more appreciatively, the juicy fruit cooling his stretched insides. I squatted and sized him up. The aqua clothing flattered his skin tone and made his thighs look vibrantly healthy. I gently ran my right hand over his tiny ass, stirring the fleece shorts around his clenched buttocks. There was sunlight everywhere. The 12 year old turned and rubbed his tender, lower abdomen. "It feels like you're still inside me." "I'm sorry." I fingered his knees, moved my right hand up the flat backs of his thighs to again fondle his clenched ass. The little boy stared at me. My magnifiencent 12 year old lover. Wanting to understand. "You're just trying to teach my stuff, right?" "I want to make you happy. I love you, Ethan," I groaned soulfully, planting sweet kisses on his narrow thighs, breathing hard. "May I have another strawberry?" I took one from the bowl and offered it to the child. He opened his mouth and ate, then winced again with a ghost-pain of penetration. "Oh, angel!" I stood and cradled him in my arms. "Don't do it again, Mr. Wilson!" he cried out, legs kicking. "No, baby, no! I won't! Shhh!" I carried the little boy to the couch and sat, cradling him in my arms. Ethan lay sideways across my lap, wincing, his bottom sore. I set the bowl of strawberries on his tummy and began to feed him the red fruit. The little boy was like a baby, staring at me as he bit into the strawberries. I traced the strawberries over his legs, starting at his bony knee-caps, then up his narrow thighs, over the aqua shorts wedged in his crotch to his hidden genitals. The strawberries were larger than his testicles and flaccid penis. Ethan watched with wide eyes, goosebumps rising along his skin. I moved the strawberries over his chest, traced them over his nipples, over the fine tendons in his neck. Doing my best to arouse him. Ethan ate each strawberry slowly, chewing and swallowing hard as I teased his young legs with the cool fruit. His legs flexed and quivered, penis and nipples hardening under my seductive placements. I ate the strawberries, too, licking and biting them, saying that they were sweeter for having touched his body. We ate several strawberries by biting into them together, our lips touching. Ethan was more excited than I'd guessed: as I lovingly rubbed a large strawberry over his miniature erection, the boy suddenly arched and threw his head back, eyes squeezed and face pinched in esctasy. "Ugh! Ugh!" the child whinnied. I slammed the strawberry into my mouth and held the orgasmic child, fresh, crystal tear drops spilling down his flushed cheeks. The wooden bowl was emptied. I set it on the floor. Orgasm drained Ethan: he sniffled, his eyes began to droop, and just like that -- the way only a child can let go of consciousness -- he fell asleep. I sat with him for an hour, watching his penis rise and fall in his little unstained shorts as he dreamed, my own penis rising and pressing against his baby ass. I ejaulated, biting my lips to keep silent, head thrown back and staring at the ceiling, enjoying the delicious sensations. Once more, I imagined telling my parents that I had finally settled down and that the joy of my life was a 12 year old boy. I finished cumming, swam back to my senses and gently touched sleeping Ethan's naked legs and arms. Upon waking, Ethan noticed the tangy smell of my sperm and the wetness at his ass, but he said nothing. He unfolded his lanky body and slid from my lap, moving so slowly, rubbing his lower abdomen. The strawberries were all he ate that day. We played a game of chess in silence. Then he went back to bed, wincing as he climbed the stairs; he held the rail tightly, aqua short-panted ass thrust back, enduring his discomfort without complaint. I sat in the living room. I read a book, then I turned in for bed. Ethan slept soundly, hugging his Teddy Bear in his arms. He'd kept his shorts set on and so I kept mine on as well, wanting to accomodate his level of development, not wanting him to fear that I might try to penetrate him once more. I lay down beside him and let my fingers play in his hair. In the distance, a lone owl hooted in the night.