WARNING: This ADULT fiction contains sexual accounts between boys
and men with boys AND IS UNSUITABLE FOR MINORS.
SNOWY WHYTE AND
THE SEVEN ANORAKS!
A FAIRY TALE FOR BOYS.
by Graham Day
"Sleepy" 1 to 6
"Sleepy" 7 to 12
"Sleepy" 13 to 18
"Doc" 1 to 4
"Doc" 5 to 8
"Doc" 9 to 12
"Sneezy" 1 to 5
"Sneezy" 6 to 10
"Sneezy" 11 to 15
"Happy" 1 to 4
"Happy" 5 to 8
"Happy" 9 to 12
DICTIONARY ENTRY FOR NON-BRITISH READERS: ANORAK (PERSON)
Function: noun - BRITISH DISAPPROVING
A term that has been used since the 80's meaning a Geek or a Nerd. A person who is very interested in the trivia and unimportant details of their hobby and does not like to be sociable. An 'anorak' is always male, usually unfashionable and possibly a train-spotter.
-PART ONE -
"Once-upon-a-time"! It was enough to make a grown boy cry--except that a ten-and-three-quarter-year-old should not be seen crying. What, after all, was wrong with, "Columbine Cottage", for heaven's sake? It had been called "Columbine Cottage" since it was built more than two centuries ago. It was a landmark on maps of the Windsor Great Park for the past 200 years.
If she had to change the name, why choose something as naff as "Once-upon-a-time"?
It was bad enough being blond and having a surname like Whyte--inevitably the lads in the neighbourhood had nicknamed him, "Snowy"--but if they got to hear about this, his life would be ruined forever!
He glowered at HER as she sat at the head of the Sunday Lunch table in the place recently vacated by his father. He often wished he could call her "wicked" but to be entirely truthful, she was too wrapped up in herself and Pricilla, her beloved daughter from her first marriage, to give him the time of day, let alone the detailed attention of the truly wicked stepmother. No, he would just have to settle for calling her "that woman", and turned down the corners of his pretty mouth into a noticeable pout.
"My, don't we look grumpy...," observed the Reverend Prim, beaming benevolently at young Robert Whyte from over his plate of barely touched beef-and-two-vegetables.
How Sunday lunch at Columbine Cottage had changed. The twelve seats at the Chippendale table were always filled when the boy's mother was alive and his father had never missed a Sunday Lunch. But these days, Reverend Prim was the only regular guest. Snowy suspected that he came only out of a sense of duty - clearly not for the quality of the cuisine - judging by the ample evidence on the Reverend's dinner plate.
"Oh ignore him Vicar, he is in one of his moods...," the stepmother said, dismissing Snowy with a cheery wave of the dessertspoon she was using to deposit Sunday dessert in the appropriate bowls for the four of them.
"How are we getting on with our schooling, young man?" Reverend Prim asked. He was concerned about the boy's well-being. Snowy had led a very sheltered life. His late mother had been overprotective and had tried to keep him from the "bad influences" of the lads at the local school. She had organised to educate him at home until he was old enough to attend one of the well-known public high schools in neighbouring Eton. Now that she was no longer alive, a series of four tutors called at Columbine Cottage once a week to check his progress and assign Snowy's schoolwork for the following week.
"Fine thank you, sir," Snowy said, staring disconsolately at the glutinous blob of bread-and-butter pudding his stepmother had deposited with a heavy plop in the pudding bowl before him. Pricilla, who always seemed to be on diet these days, managed to avoid the death-by-bread-and-butter that Mrs Whyte was offering, but there was no escape for Snowy or the good Reverend.
"And do you have any hobbies, young man?" Prim persevered with the pretty boy. Snowy was beautiful, the kind of unnatural beauty that causes one to stop, turn and watch. His hair was a bright, almost steely white, and he wore it longish and curved into a natural pageboy style. He was slender, and from what smooth flesh was exposed, seemed to have no suntan whatsoever--flawless snow-white skin. He was short but beautifully proportioned. Probably a few inches under five feet, was Reverend Prim's guess.
"None what so ever," Pricilla answered for him, "and a boy should have a hobby--if he had he'd be less of a pain in poor Mama's side."
"Oh, yes indeed, a boy should have a hobby!" The Reverend said. He disliked Pricilla almost as much as he liked young master Robert Whyte, but he had to agree that a boy should have a hobby. "You haven't reconsidered joining the choir, have you?" He asked hopefully.
"Oh dear lord, he cannot hold a tune! You should hear him in the shower!" Pricilla sniggered, imagining Snowy naked under the shower.
Snowy blushed very prettily. There was a natural and youthful grace about him, but it was his finely sculpted features that struck the man most. Prim glanced over at him time and again, as he did every Sunday since the boy was old enough to be of interest to him. At times, Snowy seemed to exude a youthful vitality, at others, like now, there was a delicious melancholy about him.
Prim sighed, thinking that even if Snowy never sang a note he would still be a considerable asset in the choir of the local St. Giles Parish Church. If he were to be called to confession he would have to admit that, even though Dr. Whyte was one of his oldest friends, the pleasure of watching Snowy Whyte grow up was the only reason he persisted in calling on the Whyte's every Sunday.
The good Reverend also knew, without looking that his own cock was painfully erect. The insistent throbbing and tightness in his underwear demanding that he rearranged the bulge under the safety of the Sunday dinner table.
"I'm sure you exaggerate Mrs. Whyte," he said, springing to Snowy's defence, "in my experience a boy of his age, on the cusp of puberty, has the voice of an angel."
The mention of the "P-word" caused Pricilla to have an apoplectic fit of the giggles. What a silly thirteen-year-old she was thought the Reverend.
"Now, now my dearest, do calm yourself," Pricilla's mother said, glaring at Snowy as if he were entirely to blame for his stepsister's indecorous behaviour. "I'm sure you wouldn't want such an unpleasant child in you choir, Reverend Prim."
"Oh, on the contrary Mrs. Whyte, I could think of nothing better," the Reverend replied. In his mind's eye he imagined Snowy in the high collared red and white cassock. Instantly, the image lifted his spirits even further and he had to quell yet another throb in his underwear by grabbing the offending organ firmly in his right hand, hoping it would subside before he had to leave the luncheon table.
Then an idea struck him.
"My, I have just had a thought. Snowy, if you are looking for a hobby, my young nephew, Osbert, has recently moved into the parish and has taken up a hobby that is doing him no end of good."
"Oh, how thoughtful of you Reverend Prim," Snowy's stepmother said in her most irritatingly, ingratiating way. "What sort of hobby is it?"
"Well it is called orienteering and it seems to have young Osbert completely engrossed. He is a shy young fellow, but this hobby seems to be getting him out a great deal. Healthy walks in the country should put some colour in those cheeks of yours, young man."
"And you would introduce young Robert here to your nephew?" She said, gesturing questioningly towards Snowy. She seemed incapable of accepting that anyone would want to spend any energy on the silly boy.
"Of course, madam, I think the two of them should make a fine couple of chums." Secretly, during the wee-small hours of the night, Reverend Prim had often matched up his shy thirteen-year-old nephew and Snowy--but the activities they engaged in, during his masturbation fantasies seldom included healthy walks in the countryside.
Oh yes, Reverend Prim was an inveterate wanker. He considered self-abuse exempted from the vow of chastity that he had made as a much younger man.
"Well, there you are, Robert. Say thank you to the Reverend for thinking of you."
Snowy looked up from his untouched bread-and-butter pudding in disbelief. That woman had just frog-marched him into yet another commitment without even bothering to ask his opinion! How he hated her at that moment. He opened his mouth, prepared to voice his objection as strongly as a polite boy could, when he caught the eye of the Reverend Prim.
The old gentleman was one of his father's best friends and had been very close to Snowy's late mother. The man was also always kind to him and always made such a fuss of him. It would seem very rude to say no. Snowy hesitated.
Then something extraordinary happened--the Reverend Prim winked at him!
It was no ordinary wink. An outsider, who could guess the full meaning behind the wink, would have thought it unsuitable for a man who had taken a vow of chastity. It was not the sort of wink you would expect from a man of the church and chairman of the Parish Council. It was a wink that spoke of secret and forbidden things. It was a wink of conspiracy between the only two men present, and it earned the Reverend Prim a quick grin from Snowy Whyte.
Snowy' smile soon evaporated into a deep blush as he felt something respond in the crotch of his grey flannel trousers. Recovering, he said firmly in his soprano voice: "Thank you, Reverend Prim, I'd be delighted to meet your nephew and to try this oriental stuff." At once he was feeling very grown up.
"No, no Snowy, it is called `orienteering' not `oriental'," the old man said beaming softly, certain of another success on the horizon.
Then, when Snowy was certain neither his stepmother nor Pricilla was looking, the boy returned the Reverend's wink as best a ten-and-three-quarter-year-old could.
The good Reverend Prim was not expecting this...nor could he have anticipated the effect it might have upon him. He let out a heavy sigh and went rather pale, then said, "Oh, my...You must excuse me..." and hurried from the luncheon table, still grasping his white linen serviette to his lap in a most odd fashion.
"Oh, I hope the luncheon has not given the Vicar the wind!" Stepmother said, and frowned after her hastily retreating guest.
"If you must go making new friends, why do you have to choose such dreadful ones," Pricilla commented with a sneer while the clergyman was out of the room.
"What do you mean?" Snowy responded.
"He's an anorak!"
"He is a boy not a coat, silly!"
Pricilla grinned. She had recently learned a whole new word and Snowy did not know it. "That's what you think," she added smugly, "that Osbert Prim is in my friend Betty's class. She was telling me all about him. He is an absolute anorak!" She finished, with all the overwrought exasperation teenaged girls are famous for. Pricilla managed to escape the house on weekdays to attend school, something young Snowy longed to do. And, as if she did not spend enough time with the silly girls in the town during the day, she then spent the rest of her life on the telephone jabbering with her friends. She seemed to know everything about every boy under twenty in the greater Windsor area.
Snowy was about to ask what an anorak was, when the slightly more composed Revered Prim rejoined them.
"May I use the big dictionary in my dad's study?" Snowy asked his stepmother politely after tea that evening. His father was out on a call--he always seemed to be out on a call at mealtimes.
"But you have your own dictionary..." said Pricilla, as gleefully unhelpful as ever.
"Yes, but I need to look up a big word and I can't find it in my School-Pocket Oxford," he explained.
"Oh very well then," stepmother sighed, "but don't disturb anything in there and get off to bed straight away." She dismissed him with an imperious wave of her hand as she and her beloved daughter settled down to watch yet another docu-soap on the television.
Snowy made his way into the quiet of his second favourite room in the house. He loved the old oak panelling and all the musty leather covered books that lined the walls. The room always brought back memories of much happier times to him. When his mother was alive, she and Snowy would often sit on the old sofa while his father worked at the desk. He would light up his favourite pipe and fill the room with a sweet liquorice-and-tobacco aroma. They never used this room any longer. It was as if his father kept it as a private retreat away from the new Mrs. Whyte and her daughter.
Snowy paused before the glassed-in cabinet that housed the Big Dictionary and some of his father's more sensitive medical books. While he knew where to find the key, it was a family rule that no one went into this cabinet without permission. Snowy reached up on his tiptoes, unlocked the cabinet of mysteries and retrieved the heavy volume from the shelf. Clutching its weight to his chest, he staggered to the desk and deposited it, then eased his bottom into his father's leather armchair.
He paged though the A's until he found the definition he was looking for, then traced under the words with his finger as he read it aloud:
"ANORAK (COAT). Function: noun. Etymology: Danish, from the Inuit (Greenland) -annoraaq.
"Especially British, American and Australian usually parka (COAT) a short, waterproof coat long enough to cover the hips that protects the wearer against cold, wet and windy weather, usually with a pullover hooded for covering the head.
"ANORAK (PERSON) Function: noun--British term of disapproval.
"A term that has been used since the 80's meaning a Geek or a nerd. A person who is very interested in the trivia or unimportant details of their hobby and does not like to be sociable. An 'anorak' is always male, mostly unfashionable and possibly a trainspotter."
He struggled with the long words. Then, as he reread the definition of an anorak, his heart sank into his little boots.
He knew from the teasing some of the boys at church endured, that a geek or a nerd was not a good thing to be.
To be the friend or companion of a nerd was nearly as bad.
To be the friend of a nerd AND educated at home AND have a name like Snowy Whyte was surely a one-way-ticket to the County Club for social-outcasts.
He wondered if his new thirteen-year-old friend could really be that awful.
Then he recalled another "big" word mentioned during lunch that he had not fully understood either, and he decided on the spur of the moment to look that up as well. He turned over the pages until he reached the P's, then read:
"PUBERTY Function: noun. Etymology: Latin - Pubertas
"Paediatrics: The period during which the secondary sex characteristics begin to develop and the capability of sexual reproduction is attained."
"Ooh...err!" He whispered breathlessly. This was less than helpful but did cause him to blush. In an uncharacteristic flash of sexual curiosity he turned to another naughty word he had recently heard and read:
"PENIS Function: Noun Etymology: Latin --Penis
"Anatomy: The male organ of copulation and of urinary excretion, comprising a root, body and extremity or glans penis. The root is attached to the descending portions of the pubic bone by the crura, the latter being the extremities of the corpora cavernosa and beneath them the corpus spongiosum, through which the urethra passes. The glans is covered with mucous membrane and ensheathed by the prepuce or foreskin. The penis is homologous with the clitoris in the female."
Gosh, those Romans certainly had a lot of rude sounding words in Latin that they could use to make things sound dangerously complicated. Snowy blushed again. He felt a disturbing, but by now familiar, sensation in the crotch of his trousers. "It" was hard again. It seemed to always be getting hard these days and furthermore seemed to choose very inconvenient times of the day to do so! Snowy wondered what in the world had caused his willy to suddenly take on a mind of all its own. It certainly could be an embarrassing little poker when it wanted to be!
He closed to Big Dictionary and returned it to the library shelf.
That was when something caught his eye. Did he dare? His little willy sprang to life and seemed to insist he did it! He could feel it throbbing in his trousers and his right hand instinctively reached down to give it a comforting squeeze. This felt very good, but at the same time just served to increase his moral dilemma.
He read the gold lettering on the red leather spine of his father's forbidden textbook: The Development of the Human Reproductive System. His willy was jerking up and down in his pants like a puppy jumping up on its master, begging for attention. Snowy Whyte broke the rule of a lifetime. He removed the book, locked the cabinet, and fled with a pounding heart to the sanctuary of his bedroom.
Snowy took the sensible precautions of locking his bedroom door--to prevent any late-night visit from an inquisitive parent--and changed into his favourite blue pyjamas before starting his exploration of the mysteries contained within the heavy book.
He skipped over the shocking first half of the book, which dealt extensively with the dark pink cavernous interiors of girls' things, and focused on the hundred and fifty illustrated pages dealing with the development of boys' reproductive organs.
The book was terribly informative, really. He found out that the skin at the end of his penis is called a foreskin. A foreskin could be surgically removed in a process called circumcision and he wondered if his father was ever called upon to person so sensitive an operation.
Circumcision was an ancient operation associated with religious beliefs, the book went on.
"New-born boys in Islamic countries are routinely circumcised, and boys born into the Jewish faith are circumcised when they're eight days old. In biblical times, the foreskin was removed for hygienic reasons--to make it easier to keep the penis clean. Uncircumcised men have a very slightly larger risk of infection and cancer of the penis, although as long as the penis is kept clean, both of these are rare."
He read this rather shocking news aloud. Snowy determined that he needed to be sure he kept his penis very, very clean and gave it a reassuring squeeze to be sure it was still there. This only seemed to help make it stiffer and more uncomfortable in his pyjama-pants.
Snowy settled down on his bed, loosened the drawstring and drew down the front of his blue pyjamas, then hiked them all the way down to his knees. He knew that what he was doing was very naughty, for his mother had caught him doing it once when he was seven and had admonished him. He had not done it since, contenting himself with just cradling his willy and balls in his hand at night as he slept. But now his fingers were caressing his little handful of hardness.
He straightened up, shedding his inhibitions and turning his attention to his penis before looking once more into the book that had so provoked him. The boy was fully erect, though his penis couldn't have been much more than three inches long. It was thin and narrow at the base; it swelled slightly before it tapered to a tiny reddish-pink cherry-shaped tip, which was now covered with the thick sheath of an overly long foreskin--Snowy was uncircumcised. The tiny blue veins seemed to bulge under the very delicate, translucent-white skin. Beneath his throbbing hard penis, his testicles seemed insignificant, small rounded swellings in the pink folded pouch of his scrotum. Obviously the full onset of puberty was still some time away. The boy's pubes was rounded and prominent, perfectly smooth and without the slightest trace of hair.
When he reopened the forbidden medical volume, he immediately found a fascinating section dealing with the length of the male penis and a rather detailed tabular representation of the average length of said male penis, by age. Snowy had never been allowed to join the scouts, he did not attend school with other boys, and his superficial friendships with the lads in the few other houses on the edge of the Great Park, were never that close that he was give the opportunity to compare his young willy with others. This section in the book informed him that an eleven-year-old should have a penis of 3.29 inches, while a twelve-year-old could have one that was 4.01 inches long, while an male of 18 could have one as big as an astonishing 6.29 inches.
He mouthed a silent: "Wow!" and squeezed his cock.
Snowy scrambled out of his pyjama bottoms altogether. He then looked around his bedroom and located the ruler on his desk that he used for his schoolwork. His willy was very stiff, the condition it had been in since he found the book in his father's study. He placed the end of the ruler at the base of his penis and measured the length to the tip where the furled lips of his longish foreskin met. Three and a quarter inch, he noted with satisfaction--more than could be expected for a ten-and-three-quarter-year-old!
Satisfied with this scientific information, Snowy stretched out on his bed once more and started paging further in the book.
That was when he found the colour and black and white plates in the medical textbook.
Snowy didn't know exactly what it was that made him decide to masturbate. Perhaps it was the turgid excitement of his boyhood since finding the book. It had been a long time since Snowy had touched it this way. Perhaps it was the strange worship that Snowy felt for the young naked boys in the photographs in the book. At any rate, his small hand reached down and took hold of the stiff little boner between his legs. Snowy stifled a gasp at how pleasant it felt--stroking against the delicate skin, his scrotum drawn up tightly. He was of course too young for his orgasm to release semen, but the onset of the early stages of puberty made him ripe for exploring pleasures he had not as yet tasted.
His adoring eyes caressed page after page of naked colour and black and white pictures of boys in various stages of development, and his fingers moved slowly up and down on his penis. His fingers and thumb made a sheath with his fingertips, enclosing his hard little organ at the base, and soon he attacking it with rapid jerks that seemed advanced far beyond juvenile experience. Youthful exuberance brings its own knowledge, he was masturbating like a well-practised teenager. At times, his eyes were closed to slits and his mouth wide open as he breathed in quick gasps--one tender hand eagerly working his little tool, the other fiddling with his tiny balls. Then he would reopen his eyes, turn the page and feast upon yet another boy cock.
Despite his recent entry into puberty, Snowy was a very self-disciplined boy and managed to stroke rhythmically up and down on his little cock without rushing madly into orgasm the way many ten-year-olds do. Besides, gazing at the beauty of page after page of naked boys' penises--some furry, others hairless as himself--was like an act of worship and Snowy felt no desire to rush it. That wasn't the most difficult thing to do--the most difficult thing about it all was having to gaze at some other boys' sweet, furry boyhood's laying so limp and rubbery on their young balls and not being able to actually touch them!
Snowy sat there rubbing on his penis while gazing adoringly at slightly older boys' cocks, imagining what it would be like to hold one of them to his lips, and to kiss it and to perhaps feel those downy little boy hairs on his upper lip.
His narrow pelvis twisted and followed a natural motion of its own. Stretched out on the bed, the rhythm from his buttocks seemed to threaten he'd slip off the bed. This awkwardness seemed to make the pleasure even greater, and self-control or not, Snowy started rubbing faster. His penis was still too small to fit in a fist and Snowy held it between his thumb and index finger, leaving room for him to rub the tight skin up and down. Eventually his little penis head slipped the protective covers of his tight foreskin and was now swollen to its full, youthful size: shining, hard and glowing purple. Snowy could feel the pleasure in it growing greater with every second, beckoning him onward.
Snowy turned yet another page. The text read: "Average male age thirteen in state of full erection". Snowy only distantly registered the thought that it was a pity none of the plates showed the face of the subjects, while his eyes were locked totally on this boy's beautiful erection. Almost four and a half inches long, the young cock was a ram-rod straight, slender, rock-hard shaft ending in a bulbous penis head, rounded like Snowy's own, rather than like the helmet shaped heads some of the older boys' cocks had on earlier pages. He felt his scrotum retract, pulling his young testicles closer into his body, outlining their small size more clearly. Snowy lay there staring at the picture of the fine boy's erection crowned with a sparse bush of delicate, light brown hairs. It was so magnificent that it sent a jolt of adoration and orgasmic pleasure walloping into his stiff little boyhood over and over again, with such exquisite joy that his skinny body virtually bounced up and down on the bed. Snowy tried to contain his moans, but eventually a high-pitched squeal escaped his lips that seemed to Snowy Whyte like worship of the penis in the picture before him. Gazing at its beautiful excitement and extreme hardness, he was filled with fantasies about what an older boy's penis would feel like to touch, to taste, to stroke.
He slowed the pace only momentarily to allow him to turn another page, this time a close up of the tip of the same boy's cock gazed up at him from a colour plate. A coating of glossy viscous liquid shimmered on the tip. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut, as if the visions of loveliness burned his eyes, and in this state the thought occurred to him that perhaps Osbert Prim had a penis that looked like this, after all he too was thirteen. Snowy's jerking became faster, yielding to erratic jabbing. His trembling arms and legs jerked, his face contorted, a gasping urgency ran through him and changed to shuddering spasms. Gazing at the photograph of the young teenaged penis once more, Snowy could feel a strange new sensation growing closer and closer. He still did not know what an orgasm was, realising only that he was on some sort of roller-coaster ride and had long since passed the point of no-return.
By this time, it felt so good that Snowy was rubbing faster on his hairless erection, so fast, in fact, that he could hear his fingers slapping softly against his thigh as he stroked on it. Just as he became aware of this rhythmic sound and its growing determination, he knew instinctively that the final seizure of some inexplicable form of climax wasn't far off. Snowy let his eyes drift away from the picture to gaze at his own smooth, baby soft chest, now with little trickles of condensed sweat running down it, then slowly down his soft exposed ribs and beautiful abdomen; finally reaching the glorious beauty between his legs.
He realised that he was scarcely breathing, and was now desperate for air. He looked back lovingly at photograph of the shimmering tip of the boy's penis. It was poking up toward Snowy's face, and the virgin boy was more confused by it than by his pitiable little cries and his desperate strokes on his own penis.
"Ooooossssssbbbbbeeerrrrrttttt!" He called out the name of his, as yet unseen, new friend with a breathless sigh of intense sexual longing. The ten-year-old let out a little cry. The thought of seeing a real boy's naked penis set his body on fire when the high-point of his passion finally crested.
Panting, the jerking tension of his body finally began to easy away--not that his little fingers slowed down stroking his boyhood or that the pained expression on his face went away immediately. Snowy's naked body jerked two or three times more before the final reward of his affection for it swept over him with the warm, calming waves of post-orgasm. The boy felt the muscles of his hairless body finally relaxing, felt his face easing, felt his forearm slowing as his fingers moved slower and more gently on his boner, thoroughly enjoying the aftermath of his orgasm
It was a rather tired looking Snowy Whyte that opened the door to the Reverend Prim and his nephew, Osbert, the following Saturday morning. Prim looked at the rings under the boys eyes and his paler than usual completion and said:
"My goodness, son you look as though you haven't slept in a week. Has the excitement been too much for you?" Revered Prim was astonishingly close to the truth. While the boy had been retiring early to bed every night for the past week, he would wake up in the morning looking wearier than when he went to bed. Even his stepmother thought he might be sickening from something and asked the boy's father to check into the matter. He was about to summons his son to the study, when he noticed a rather dusty gap among the tightly packed volumes of his medical textbooks. Being a man wise to the ways of boys, he worked out exactly what was keeping his son awake and decided to leave matters as they were. After all, he too had once been the son of a Medical Practitioner, and he new exactly how stimulating medical textbooks could be for a young growing boy.
"Hell-hell-loo," Osbert stammered his greeting hesitantly. Little did Snowy suspect it would be the last sound from the boy for many an hour.
Ushering the uncle and boy into the Morning Room, Snowy had the opportunity to examine the thirteen-year-old nephew of the old family friend. He was average height for his age, a head taller than Snowy, perhaps more, if he stopped slouching. He had blond, rather unkempt hair that came down to just above his shoulders. He wore steel-rimmed glasses, which Snowy would find out were always crooked. The boy was dressed in jeans and a heavy pair of hiking boots and was wearing a baseball cap, presumably to keep the sun out of his eyes during their walk. Covering his body from his chin to below his waist was a heavy black anorak. This seemed unnecessarily warm for a fine spring day, but it did seem to bear out his stepsister's worst predictions about Osbert Prim. From what he could gather from the well-covered body, Snowy guessed the boy to be just a bit thinner than him. Given his extra height, this made Osbert look stringy. To sum it up, he was what kids in the American television series called a geek.
But geek or not, the only thought in Snowy's mind was: "5.34!"
Snowy shook the older boy's hand and watched in astonishment as his face turned bright scarlet. The boy's face stayed that colour as he shook the hands of Mrs. Whyte and then Pricilla, who in spite of her rude comments about the boy, had put on her best things and was dancing attendance around him as if he were visiting royalty.
Osbert Prim said nothing. He stood awkwardly near the entrance of the Morning Room looking as if he wanted to make a dash for his very life out the front door.
Sensing Osbert's discomfort, Snowy suggested they leave his Uncle to have tea with his family, and that they make an immediate start with whatever this orienteering business entailed.
Osbert managed a brief nod of his head, before blushing scarlet once more.
Osbert Prim did not have anything to say for himself all morning. He pointed out a route they would be following--a trail set out on an Ordinance Survey Map that he carried in a plastic bag in the inner pocket of his vast anorak. Snowy would have liked to become friends very quickly with the boy, but the boy seemed distant and uncommunicative.
Later in the morning Snowy was grateful for the silence as it gave him time to brood on the single thought that boomed over and over in his head:"5.34!"
"5.34!" It gave him a headache.
"5.34!" He regretted ever having found that book and its delightfully sinful facts and figures. Five point three four inches was the estimated average length of the erect penis of a thirteen year-old boy according to the book. Knowing that he was tramping across the woodlands of Windsor Great Park with the proud owner of such a penis made him feverish with the desire to know if this was true in the case of Osbert Prim.
It was a tired, muddy, dishevelled, disillusioned and frustrated Snowy Whyte that made his way home at around five that evening. Orienteering was truly awful. He had blisters on his feet and pains in all his muscles. Even his buttocks hurt from the exertion of the strenuous cross-country hike.
Worse yet, the boy had hardly spoken a word to him the entire day. He was certain the boy hated him and thought Snowy just a silly child.
Snowy did not even have the energy to dip into the delights of the facts and figures of comparative growth of pubic hair on the pubescent male, a delight he had been promising to treat himself to that night.
It was unusual for Reverend Prim to call around during the week, but there he was, his jovial smile waiting for Snowy on the front step, just as the lad was ushering his maths tutor out the front door.
"Oh Reverend Prim, the witch... er... sorry.... Mrs. Whyte, has just left for a shopping trip to Windsor," Snowy said. He resolutely refused to call her mother.
"I'm here to see you my son," said the Vicar happily.
"I'm sorry if Osbert was disappointed in me." Snowy said turning down the corners of his pretty mouth.
"My, what ever gave you that idea?"
Snowy gave the old Vicar that sort of quick sad grin which made his old heart leap. The boy was dressed in long grey flannel shorts, almost to his knees, and a white shirt, with the arms untidily pushed upward, making him almost a vision of the ideal pubescent schoolboy. How the old Vicar's heart fluttered when he looked upon the lovely creature. It made him all the more determined to know that he had brought Snowy Whyte and his shy nephew together. The Reverend's vow of chastity made it a duty to him to know that his nephew had a taste of what was denied him.
"Well for one thing I'm useless at sports things. I walked too slowly and I kept holding him back..."
"Well you seem to have made a big hit with him as he has spoken of nothing else--its Snowy this and Snowy that! He has driven my poor sister to distraction singing you praises."
"Well, that's the other thing--he didn't say a word to me the whole day!"
"Oh my!" The Vicar laughed heartily, making his belly bounce up and down. "Is that all! I ought to have explained to you.
"Osbert is a painfully shy boy. He does not make friends easily, and when he does meet someone he likes it takes him a long time to feel comfortable to open up. His shyness comes, in part, from the fact that he stutters. He feels that if he speaks, people will laugh at him. When he was a very little boy and starting school they did tease him mercilessly, so now he prefers to keep quiet. I'm worried his self-image and the way he pushes people away might make him become a complete loner. And that is why I am here trying to play cupid. I think the two of your could be very good friends and I think he is worth the effort."
"Oh...I see," said Snowy, a little uncertain if he understood what this cupid stuff was all about. "I wish I'd spoken to you about it before that day," he said rather sadly.
"My Dear Snowy," said the Vicar, "the Rectory door is always open for you. Drop by for a chat any time you wish and perhaps Mrs Baker will have some cake for us." Then he paused to reflect on whether he could take Snowy into a family confidence. "You know we even have nickname for Osbert in the family: we call him Bashful."
"Oh that's rather sweet," said Snowy, smiling at how fitting the name was. "Does he mind being called that?"
"Not by his closest friends," said the Vicar, beaming at the boy.
"But I must tell you I am also a man with a mission. Young Bashful would like you to come visit him at his home this Saturday, so he can show you his maps and explain things about the hobby."
"Well I'm not sure that this energetic thing is for me, but.... I would like to see Osbert again..." Snowy said rather wistfully.
The boy stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at his own image--well, he tried to look at himself, but the myopia finally won and he was forced to replace the metal-rimmed glasses on his nose and try again.
He examined the rather plain, serious face that gazed back at him. It was not ugly but a bit lifeless, lacking the expression and animation you would expect from a young teenager. He was a late starter, the boys at school teased him about that almost as much as they teased him about his stutter and his nerdy appearance. The fuzz on his face hadn't made itself evident yet, his chin and upper lip were bare and smooth. And his voice had just started to act oddly--a curious variety of high-pitched squeaks and low-croaks. He hardly spoke much nowadays, the stutter was bad enough and he hoped it too would pass when he achieved a more manly tone.
He was alone at home, his mother having left early to visit his uncle, the Reverend Prim. He had the feeling the old Vicar had fixed it for him to be alone. It was Saturday, meaning he had no school that day and could have gone out orienteering--pursuing the hobby that now obsessed him for much of his waking hours. But he had other plans. Plans that involved his other obsession!
His hands caressed his smooth, skinny chest, stroking the hardened nipples; he shuddered at the sensation that flowed over his thirteen-year-old body. The hands moved lower, over the soft, flat stomach, and fingered at his few, freshly sprouted strands of silky blond pubic hair, so fine that they were practically invisible. Then he grasped the twitching phallus: five hard inches and felt his hips jerk involuntarily.
In the past few months his willy had suddenly started to grow in sudden bursts and do unpredictable things. It would twitch, then tingle, then throb it's way into a hard erection. This would happen at school, causing him to glance around, sure he would find the eyes of all the boys focused on his bulging crotch. It would happen while walking down the High Street in Windsor, leaving him even more embarrassed and red faced than usual. It would happen at St Giles Church, making him feel he was tempting the wrath of God himself. It was relentless!
The boy felt a drop of that sticky clear liquid leak out of the tiny slit at its tip. He massaged the drop into the head of his penis and his finger slipped under the short foreskin, making his legs twitch in sympathetic pleasure. Sometimes his cock would produce enough of this stuff to make his white briefs wet and keep them that way the whole day. It was a small price to pay, for he knew this meant that soon he too would be able to cum, to shoot sperm, the same as many of the other boys in his class already proudly bragged they could do! He longed for the day he too could brag about spunking. Better yet, showing the other boys his penis pumping out the precious liquid that proved his manhood.
The face of Snowy Whyte flashed before him. His cock twitched harder and his whole body trembled. The younger boy was perfect. Wonderfully good-looking and innocent enough to allow the bashful teenager to get him to play out the wicked ideas he had in his mind.
He had been researching and planning for this day since before he had even met the younger boy--the day he finally did stuff with another boy. Stilling his hand he looked into the grey eyes behind the lenses in the crooked glasses in the reflection in the mirror and decided it was time!
He smiled at himself--something he seldom did--as he turned and started dressing for this, the most important day of his young life. He drew on a pair of white y-front briefs, neatly tucking his small balls away and leaving the erect penis pressed flat against his stomach. He then searched in the drawer for the second pair of underpants and drew them on over the first. The third followed, then a pair of gym-shorts, all designed for maximum insulation of the leaking penis and for the hiding of his flaming hard-on from the object of his desire--the innocent boy that would soon be calling on him.
He drew a pair of his old scouting shorts over the cosy collection of crotch coverings, and topped this all off with his favourite T-shirt. Then he turned to admire the result. In the mind's eye of the boy, he still looked like a weedy, geeky idiot trying to look sporty enough to be a suitable playmate for a much younger, sexier boy.
He stepped disconsolately into his Nike trainers and waited for the doorbell to ring. He did not have long to wait.
"H-h-h-h-hello S-s-s-s-snowy." He managed to stammer a greeting to the pale young god of his dreams. Here in his own home, squeaky voice or not, stammer and stutter or not, he would be forced to speak to the guest he had lured into his spider's-web.
"Hello Bashful..." the younger boy said airily.
"Ooh...err..." the shy boy stammered in surprise that the boy knew his nickname.
"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" Asked the blond beauty very confidently, sensing that if anything worthwhile were to come of the day, he would have to take charge of his shy older friend.
The first part of the afternoon passed pretty unremarkably from Snowy's point of view. He was lead to the older boy's bedroom and was given a stuttered tour of the mass of wall-charts, ordinance survey maps, hand-held field compasses and other paraphernalia of those who chose to tramp along country lanes as a source of recreational fun.
He was soon tempted to yawn and excuse himself, convinced he would never discover if "5.34" was indeed the secret length of the young teenager's virility. Then Osbert moved on to suggesting that he show young Snowy how to do orienteering map readings.
He unfolded a very large map of the Windsor Great Park and struggled to find room for it on his desk. Then, with a well-rehearsed stoke of genius, Osbert suggested that he put it on the carpeted floor of his bedroom and that Snowy make himself comfortable on the floor, to look at the map while Bashful explained the secrets of map reading to the younger boy.
Snowy lay on his belly while Bashful Prim stared at the rounded buttocks of the boy that looked so inviting, more and more every moment.
"Ooh...err!" Osbert stammered. He felt his vocal cords dry but tried none the less to speak to his young visitor. "And h-h-h-here is the s-s-s-style o-o-o-over the he-he-he-hedge-row...ah...."
The little blond boy looked over his shoulder at the older boy and was stuck with how his rather plain face, encircled as it was by long scruffy hair, looked rather cute behind the metal-framed glasses and the red flush on his cheeks.
Osbert knelt down next to the boy and pointed out several topical features, stuttering out an explanation. Then, as he had rehearsed many, many times in his mind, he knelt astride the boy, his thighs hovering above the smooth-roundness of the boy's bottom.
Snowy was already bored by the obsessive detail about geography, fallen trees and points of the compass. But at the same time, he was excited by the physical closeness of the older boy, who casually brushed against him from time to time.
He snuggled his chin up to the arm of the older lad and nuzzled his cheek against the fair-skinned hand.
"Ooh...err!" Bashful Prim sighed, overwhelmed by the touch of the sweet young lad's cheek against his very own hand! Then his cock responded, suddenly lurching up within his well-covered crotch and causing such a violet discharge of pre-cum that the boy though for a moment it might be the real thing--a real cum.
Then the well-laid plan went into operation! As he stuttered his way through a long explanation of how one finds his way from "point A" to "point B" on a map, he very slowly lowered his body into place on top of the boy's uplifted bum.
Snowy's first thought was that it was nice that the very shy boy was prepared to get closer to him, to touch him, then it occurred to him that the boy's body was much heavier than he had anticipated. Suddenly, the truth hit home! Bashful Prim, nephew of his local Vicar, had a boner concealed in his pants and it was a boner he was almost imperceptibly rubbing against Snowy's upturned buttocks!
He felt the older boy's chest moving against his back, felt the firm belly pressed tightly against him, and above all, felt the stiff willy squashed into his bum.
For one so young, Snowy really got off on friction. Two or three minutes of slow rubbing were enough to get him to the point of shaking uncontrollably.
"Ooh...err! " Osbert moaned as he brushed his lips against Snowy's silky fine hair. He continued his stumbling, nonsensical explanations of things on the map. "O-o-o-oak t-t-t-t-tree... h-h-h-hillock...ah!" He kissed the top of Snowy's head.
Snowy's head flopped back and forth as the older boy's movements elicited muffled groans of delight from the younger boy. Soon, Snowy's hips started moving rhythmically as he aided Bashful's motion with his own instinctive humping. Snowy Whyte's stiffy felt very good indeed as it rubbed off on the long shaggy pile of Osbert's bedroom carpet.
Some inherent need within the two boys guided their motions--neither of them needed encouragement or direction. Bashful understood exactly what he needed to do, and the back and forth movement of his slender body was precisely what Snowy desperately needed to feel--the exciting rhythm of a thirteen-year-old rotating his pelvis and driving his throbbing five-inch prong firmly into the rubbery cheeks of his bottom.
"O-o-o-oh!" Bashful moaned. His lips hung open--he was barely breathing from the excitement. He closed his eyes--he needed the relief that only orgasm would bring. His left-hand ventured to caress the full cheeks of the little bottom he was humping. He longed to push his stiffie up and down the back of the boy's trousers - to run his hand into the deep valley of his butt and finger the tiny hole there. Perhaps to even push a digit gently past the feverish entrance--then perhaps raise the lucky finger to his nose and smell the aroma of the boy's anus!
This was not to be. From somewhere far off, he heard his name being called: "Bashful? Bashful?" He became aware through the mists of lust that the younger boy was calling his name.
For Snowy too, this was a dream come true. If only he could get this older boy naked, he could check out his willy and see how big it was. If only he could see if he had those hairs on it like the boys in the medical book. If only he could see if his erection could make that wonderful white stuff he had been reading about while he masturbated nightly. He wanted to ask Bashful to show him his thing. But the older boy seemed so distant, so far-gone in a stupor, that he did not seem to hear him.
"Bashful? Bashful?" he repeated his call.
It suddenly dawned upon Bashful Prim that he was not dealing with a passive participant! The younger child wanted what he wanted!
"Ooh...err!" he responded. The wriggling bottom pressing back into the heat of Bashful's crotch came as a shock. God only knows where such a little boy had learned how to fuck! Although the young teen was frightened, he made no immediate effort to pull away.
The shock of what he was doing--that shock that his victim was not as innocent as he expected and was actively co-operating in his shameful act, stung him like a slap across the face.
Then he heard what the boy was asking him: "Bashful, wouldn't it feel better if we took our trousers off?"
Osbert Prim froze in mid-stroke!
He'd been caught out!
"Ooh...err!" he muttered, as humiliation flushed his face vermilion-red. The boy would surely tell his uncle, his mother, and the whole world--that he, Osbert Prim, had been humping his bum like a dirty queer.
Then he thought again--his mind fuming with a confusion of lust, humiliation and self-loathing--it was the Snowy's fault! The little devil had been trying to seduce him, not the other way around. He jumped to his feet, his cheeks aflame with shame and rage:
"Y-y-y-you d-d-d-dirty f-f-f-f-filthy p-p-p-p-pervert!" He shouted awkwardly. "H-h-h-how d-d-d-dare you s-s-suggest that?"
Tears of shame ran down Snowy Whyte's ruddy cheeks, and he ran out of the bedroom.
"I...I d-d-don't, d-d-d-do r-r-r-rude s-s-s-stuff!" The angry, trembling denial of the teenager accompanied him as he retreated down the hall, "I-I-I d-d-d-don't! I-I-I d-d-d-don't! I-I-I d-d-d-don't!" Bashful yelled after him, as poor Snowy fled out the door. He cycled blindly all the way home, tears of disappointment stinging his eyes.
End of file: SNOWY-WHYTE-1. The story in continues: SNOWY-WHYTE-2
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