Date: Fri, 12 Jul 2013 10:56:03 +0400
From: Ivan Ivanocich <ivan.ivanocich.97@mail.ru>
Subject:  Russian Choirboy Pubes - 16  - The English are Coming

			Russian Choirboy - Pubes 16

     The English are Coming This story contains scenes of a mild sexual
nature and if you are not allowed to read it please don't. If you are not
old enough please don't. If by reading this you are breaking any laws in
your state, town, city or country then please do not read any further. If
however you do, you can legally and want to, then read on and enjoy the
story.  Please DO NOT make copies, or post this story in any other sites
without my specific permission.

		      Russian Choirboy Pubes -    16
		   An Interlude: The English are Coming!

Thank you to one English reader and several Americans who have provided
suggestions for the next few chapters, especially about how English boys might
feel about music and being in a choir, and how they would react to certain
situations. If I have made any mistakes, it is entirely my fault.
  I was asked about the meaning of
"corpus" in English, and I think it means the same as in Russian: a living
house with rooms for sleeping, relaxing, and playing indoor games; in other
words a building in which we live in the camp.
Two people asked about the terms "Fucking puberty" and "Fucking spunkers".
Of course, we don't use these terms in normal conversation, but some readers
encouraged me, as they said the expressions made them very excited and
encouraged them to wank strongly while they were reading. I think some of these
expressions are used amongst Western boys. Some Russian expressions could not
be easily translated – such as the much-used "pancake", which Americans might translate
as "drat" but would sound stupid and not exciting in our story.
Peter Morgan and his friend Josh were at school and discussing
the impending trip to Russia.    At 15,
they were the oldest boys in the choir.   Until they were 13 they had sung treble voice but the tradition was that
boys over thirteen should not sing in this voice, so they now sang in their
hardened voices, bass and tenor. In fact, both boys were quite young looking
for they age, and given correct training they would be in the best stage of the
soprano voices.    But, unfortunately, some
pressure from uncultured `friends' had made them give up trying to develop
their voices. Both boys were were rather weak in character and followed the
crowd. In fact, both had determined to give up the choir as soon as they
returned from this tour.    Unfortunately,
the same was true of most of the boys in the choir.    It seems from reports that many boys do not
love art and culture in Britain and America today (I hope I do not offend
anyone by saying this: maybe it is a stereotype!), and unlike Russian boys, do
not support their friends when they display choral or artistic talent.     In Soviet times musical talent was highly
regarded and praised, and it was a great thing for a child to be selected to
sing in a choir. I think we do not follow the herd here even now in these hard
times, and like all children our boys are not ashamed to sing and perform.    But the great problem here, like everywhere, is
the lack of good teachers now, as many are old and the good Soviet teachers
declining in number because of extreme age.   We are fortunate that Dimitry Petrov received his training from a very
strict and knowledgeable master steeped in the old traditions, who had been
taught by another trained in the 19 th century.
All our English friends had been sent a list of clothes to
take, including trunks for swimming.
"What the fuck is this item `Slippers for
the bath'?" Peter had asked, not knowing that in the banya and swimming bath,
it is necessary to wear slippers when walking to the steam room or water.    Unfortunately, this word had been translated literally
as `bath' not `swimming pool', so there was some confusion.
"Fuck knows; it all sounds crazy, Josh replied, as both boys
were changing together after games.    They
were both shy of their bodies, as they were not well developed for their
age.    Most of their classmates had full
bushes, so both were ashamed of their sparse growth of pubes.    Peter, especially, had just a few hairs at
the base of his penis and thin wispy hair on his balls, which were otherwise
smooth.     So, they struggled into their
clothes whilst, at the same time, each holding a large towel around his waist.
Meanwhile, Andrew was spending the last few moments with his
girlfriend Kate.    He was 14 and a handsome
and mature boy in full puberty, but not so tall. He was walking Kate to her bus
after school.
"I don't want to leave you," he said.    "I don't know why I have to go with the
fucking choir, but my father says I must; it will be a good experience, so he
says!"    The two were walking arm in arm
and Kate moved her hand down to fondle his smooth buttocks, so silky in his
grey school uniform.    His penis began to
swell, and soon the two were kissing passionately at the bus stop, his erection
pressing hard against her, and his hand fondling her breast.
"Fuck, this is so hot," he thought, as he felt the spunk
rising from his balls.    The skin had
slipped back from his penis and the sensitive head was causing him the greatest
excitement as it strained for release from his school trousers as Kate pressed
him harder, her hands rubbing his buttocks   Then he felt her hand softly fingering first his balls and then touching
the hot head of his penis. "If you don't stop now, I'll be shooting in my
fucking pants," he thought, so he pulled away a little and let the tension die
down.    It was in this state that Kate had
to leave him as the bus came round the corner.
Andrew rushed home, and was still half erect as he found the
privacy of his room.    It was here that he
was to relieve his tension, quickly stripping off his trousers and boxers,
sitting at his computer flicking through some suitable photos and gently
pulling back the foreskin of his long penis and beginning to wank.    First he massaged the soft tissue of his
exposed head which was still wet with pre-cum brought up by his earlier
stimulation. Although he was mature, his body hair was confined to his thick
pubic bush and balls.    His legs and arms
were smooth and his face was still displaying the beauty of late childhood and
had not yet been changed by puberty, although he was regularly shaving the
hairs from his upper lip and chin.    So
after he shaved he looked really young in his face and it was only when he
spoke that he betrayed his age and development, speaking in deep baritone
tones.
Michael was also 14 and three months older than Andrew.    He went in for sport and really liked
singing, but, he'd been pressured into lowering his voice by his friends in the
choir, especially Andrew, who was his classmate, so he sang a sort of alto
line, which quite honestly did not suit his temperament.    He could indeed be compared physically to our
little Dima, quite devoid of any pubes, but unlike Dima, he was very innocent
and really worried about his wet dreams, which were getting more frequent.    He was so embarrassed that he could not talk
to anyone about his developing puberty. At school he and Andrew were teased for
being in a choir, and he was practically the only boy in his class not to have
pubes.
Jack, on the other hand, was really the opposite. He was a
strong character and not afraid of the opinion of the majority.    He really   liked singing but his voice had been trained badly and he was finding it
difficult to retain the treble register.   But as the best soloist of the choir, he was determined to
continue.    He had developed pubes at ten
years old during the third year at his primary school where he had enjoyed
showing off his pubertal development to his friends after swimming classes; now,
at 13, he had a fast-developing bush and was regularly wanking; like Pasha he
was easily aroused, often at the most awkward moment.    He often got erections during his solos, and
on one occasion spunked in his trousers as he hit the top notes.    As a precaution, he normally wore two pairs
of briefs to conceal his erections. Although he didn't know it, he had the
largest balls in the choir, full and round, with a penis of ample length and
girth.    He was proud of his light
moustache which was becoming darker by the week, but he worried about his
sexuality, as he had very little liking for girls.
Adrian was in the treble section of the choir and had just
finished the primary school.    He was
almost 12 years old now and was developing rapidly with a fine tuft of pubes
which had been admired by his classmates during the last summer term of the
year.    He friend Matthew was a year below
him at the same primary school, but both had got into the company of a very
mature boy in Adrian's class who had a full bush and had introduced both to the
art of masturbation. Matthew was still smooth but his balls were maturing and
he had recently started spunking. He was hopeful of getting pubes by the time
he started his final year at the primary school, and a full bush before he left
at the end of next year.
Jon and Ian were cousins, aged 11 and 10 years.    They were very good friends and had been
through primary school together and would now be separated Jon would go to the
gymnasium in September, leaving his friend to finish primary school. Like all
of the boys in the choir, they did not participate in the school choir, as it
was populated entirely of girls, and they hid their activity from even their
closest friends. They were not overly interested in sex at the moment as both
were of normal development for their ages. However Jon had recently discovered
the art of masturbation.
Christian was the son of the choir master James Mason.    Because his father has seen his ample but
still bald balls while changing for swimming some months ago, and noticed his
naturally low speaking voice, he had decided that his son should sing baritone,
which was a mistake, because the range did not suit him and he often suffered
some vocal problems.    Christian was a
kind and sensitive boy, but did not enjoy his singing because he found the
production rather difficult and the sound ugly. As for his balls and penis,
they had enlarged somewhat since his father had last seen them and he was now,
aged 12, sporting an attractive tuft of curly hairs at the base of his penis.
James Mason the choir master was struggling to retain his
best boys.    He had attended many training
courses in the art of singing but had concluded that it was almost impossible
to run a successful choir of boys.    He
had been about to give up his post when he had, by chance, seen a short clip of
news which featured Artem and the    choir
singing in Moscow.    He had been so
stunned by the sound of the boy's voice and the beauty of the boys' choral line
that he had taken immediate steps to trace the origin of the choir in question,
and his search led him to Dima and the school choir.    He was hoping for some help and guidance as
to how to train his boys.
Although he was happily married, James, who was forty-five,
had a secret attraction to choir boys.   His son's pubertal development was of great interest to him, and he
loved to watch boys changing and so often took his son and his friend Adrian to
the swimming baths where he might catch a glimpse of smooth spunkers or young
boys with bushes – the type of boys he most liked to see.
Ms Patricia Barnes was the second adult to accompany the
group.    The UK authorities had decreed
that a woman should join the group to ensure their safety.    She was an extreme feminist and suspected all
men of having an unhealthy interest in boys. She had already caused some
problems for James Morgan on a previous choir trip, about more of which later!    But we do not wish to dwell here at the
moment on such an unpleasant woman.
The Day of Departure
"I must remind you to be on your best behaviour at all times
and to be vigilant," Ms Barnes warned the boys as they were assembled in
Heathrow Airport awaiting the departure.   "Russia is not England and things are different there.    But if you have any concerns at all, you must
report them to me straight away," she added.    Meanwhile James was busy checking all the documents and presenting them
to the official at the ticket desk.   There seemed to be so much baggage, and the security controls seemed to
take ages.
    The boys were
dressed informally, mainly in jeans and t-shirts and rather excited at the
prospect of exploring a new country.   Even Peter was getting into the spirit; after all it would only be for
two weeks and Kate would be waiting for him.
Some hours later, Dimitry Petrov and the school Director
were waiting beyond Passport Control in Domodedova Airport for the arrival of
the group.    The director had brought
flowers for James Morgan and some small gifts for the boys to present at the
airport.
Soon, it was apparent that the group were approaching the
meeting point, and the two stepped forward with their greeting.
"Good morning and welcome to Russia and to Moscow," she said
in Russian, which I think did not need interpretation.    Thereafter Dima acted as interpreter as the
director gave a long and typically Russian speech of welcome, accompanied by
many gestures and some kissing of James Morgan, Patricia Barnes and some of the
boys, who were rather taken aback at the effusiveness of the    greeting but pacified by the gifts of
chocolate and sweets.
The director ten busied herself in finding the driver of the
auto bus which was to take them to the camp.   He had driven away to avoid paying for parking and soon everyone was
making his way to the agreed meeting point.
"You are most welcome, boys; and you too, James," Dimitry
Petrov said, taking his hand warmly, and shaking it like a British gentleman.
"This is Mr. Petrov, boys," James said, making his first
mistake of the day.     Dima did not want
to correct him, so he let it pass, just saying.   "Oh, please call me Dima, we are not at school now, you know!"
"I don't think that would be appropriate," Ms Barnes
interrupted. Mr. Petrov    would be more
polite.
Dima was rather taken aback by her surprising attitude, and
replied accordingly.
"Actually, it would not be correct to use the term
`Mr.'     We do not use it here.     If you want to be correct you must use my
patriminic."
This seemed to confuse the good woman and she subsided into
temporary silence, considering her next move.
Immediately, even the most cynical boys in the group rather
warmed to Dima, as he was such an open and beautiful character and quite unlike
anyone they had ever met before. They especially liked how he had just spoken
to Ms Barnes, whom no-one liked.
"Oh, your English is very good, Sir," Andrew said, thinking
this trip might not be so bad after all.
"Let's go to the bus, boys:   you have your baggage now and your documents.    We must take your passports and visas today
as we must make the registration with the authorities. But don't be alarmed,
you will get them back," he joked to Mr Barnes, who did not seem to appreciate
the spirit of the joke and looked rather blankly around her as if she had
discovered some bad aroma in the air.
"I have all the passports," she replied, and will give them
to your Principal in due course."
Just then the Director came back and decided to take Ms
Barnes under her direct control, inviting her to sit with her on the bus. As
neither spoke a word of the other's language, the journey would be a rather
one-sided conversation in Russian!    However, the Director was, as we know, an extremely strict woman and had
taken the trouble to find out as much as she could about the lady as she could.
"I must make sure the boys are correctly seated in the bus,"
she demanded, trying to get up from her seat.   But as the director thought she wanted to go to the toilet before
leaving, she hustled her off the bus to the ladies' facility, despite her
protests!      This gave James and Dima
time to talk privately. "I
warned you about the Barnes woman; she is a great pain," he said apologetically.

"OMF "  thought Dima; "What have we let ourselves in for!"

Very soon we shall find ou!!!!

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