Date: Tue, 25 Feb 2014 17:20:03 +0000 From: Nick Wyatt Subject: It Was All Shakespeare's Fault 8 For some reason, things seemed awfully loud as I emerged from the classroom after fainting. But weirdly so; sounds close to me had lost their volume, while sounds further way appeared amplified. Don't know why. Mum said `let's get you home' and away in the refectory someone remarked "At least there's not too much mess; should be finished by nine thirty" and that seemed much louder. Anyway, Mum insisted that we go straight home. Dad was very irritated and disappointed that he'd missed out on his planned slab of barely cooked dead cow at the local Angus Steak House, but Mum insisted. And so we celebrated at home with cheese on toast with Worcestershire Sauce. I went to bed as soon as I could; I felt disgusting. Wrestling with my sheets on that suffocatingly close night, I replayed the evening's events over and over again. But then I sat up straight. Little Marion had given me an envelope: where on earth was it? I searched my satchel, but found nothing. Next the clothes I wore into school; still nothing. I couldn't think what else I'd had with me or had worn that either had a fold or a pocket that could carry an envelope. After what seemed like several fretful hours, I gave up and tried to sleep in the disgustingly sweaty darkness. Oh for a change in the weather. Oh, for a breeze and some gentle rain! And when eventually I awoke, my prayers had been answered. The oppressive heat had been replaced by a positively golden, but fresh day with a light breeze and puffy white clouds. The kind of weather that makes you glad to be alive. Saturday. So I took the bus and went to XX, the next major town to the west. There, I went into C&A and bought a rather pretty knee length skirt in light tan. It seemed quite fitted under the hips and I longed to try it on, but obviously I couldn't do so there and then. Next, I went into Woolworths for a pair of tweezers, some foundation cream and an eyebrow pencil. I picked out a rather gorgeous lipstick as well and tried to disguise my purchases with a packet of biscuits and a pair of shoe laces. But when I presented my purchases to the assistant, I knew she wasn't fooled by the way she looked at me. Her disgust was evident: I was a weirdo and deserved whatever hatred and violence I would receive. It chilled me, really disturbed me that I could generate such apparent hatred by what I wanted – who I wanted - to be. And so, rather shocked, I hurried back to the bus stop and waited for what seemed like ages before the big, safe bus took me home. I arrived back about two thirty and messed about in my room trying on the skirt (which was disappointingly ordinary) and plucking my eyebrows into shape. Annie showed up a while later; I recognised her footsteps in the kitchen below and heard her tap and bang her way up the rickety stairs to our rooms. She rapped on the door. "Hiya! Come in." "Hi Nicky." She inched her way in carrying several bags and two mugs of tea. "Take these from me if you can. They're a bit too hot" I took the mugs before she dropped them. "God, XX! I hate that bloody town." She exclaimed. I said nothing, but of course, it was the same town I'd visited earlier that day. "Anyway. M&S. I bought you these" and she tossed me a tiny scrap of fabric, followed by another. I picked up the first; it was a pair of low cut bikini-style panties in pale pink and the other scrap of fabric was in lilac. Annie watched me carefully as I examined my gifts. "Annie! They're lovely. You're so kind to me. They're really lovely!" And I set the kickers aside to get up and hug my sister. She hugged me back. "Thank you. Thank you. You've made it easier, you really have." "'Sokay. I know." She hugged me back and more so. "You can pay me back, though." And she pulled back and brushed my forelock back from my face. "Of course, how much were they?" "No. Not in money. I'm going to need your help." "How, Annie?" "I need to tell Mum and Dad something." We sat down on the bed again. "What? Are you leaving university or something?" "No!" And she laughed, brushing something away from her eyes this time. "No, that's safe. But I think they might be a bit upset when I tell them." She looked down slightly and fiddled with the edge of the lilac panties. She glanced up quickly, then down again. Whatever she wanted to say was serious and she needed to pluck up the courage to tell me before enlisting my help with Mum and Dad. Oh god, was she pregnant? "I found out something. About myself! That I never really imagined could be true." She looked up into my face again. She was asking something of me; almost pleading. Vulnerable and rather afraid. I felt helpless because I didn't understand what she wanted. I didn't know what to say or how to react and I sort of dithered as I looked her expectant face. What was she leading towards? It was obviously something difficult and very personal. "I think I'm a homosexual too." And the world turned inside out for a moment or two. I'd never thought of Annie as a hetero or homosexual, or indeed sexual at all. She was just the big sister that had fun; not the girl that had sex or even felt sex. In all my teenage years, I don't think Annie had ever brought someone home, or offered a name as a 'significant other' and maybe that was why. And then I examined carefully exactly what she had said `I think I'm a homosexual too.' So that meant that she realised I was homosexual as well, didn't it? "But you said . . . You said it hurt. Y'know." I couldn't say it. Annie had told me it hurt the first time she'd had sex, that must have been with a male, mustn't it? "I know, I know I said that. I have tried it. Quite a few times, actually. But it's not, I dunno." She floundered about, trying to sort it out in her mind before trying to find the right words. She squinted up and wriggled her neck about and flicked the lifeless material in her hands. I noted her 'diversionary activity' and knew there was nothing I could do to help until she actually wanted to tell me what she needed to tell, me. So I waited patiently. "Just didn't feel right. I thought I must be doing it wrong" "Maybe it was them, I mean the chap that erm, y'know." "Don't think so. Tried lots of different blokes." The silence dangled between us almost forever. This was not Annie's normal mode, the chatter had stilled, she needed to find a new voice. "So, how. No, why do you think that you are . . ." My voice trailed away like water trickling into a desert. "Met someone." A sudden insight – "While wearing the lemon knickers?" Annie grinned sheepishly and dropped her gaze in embarrassment. That was the answer! Whoever she'd met on the archaeological dig had got fruity on the coach, and it all must have clicked for her. "What's she like?" I asked eagerly, and immensely happy for her. "Lovely. At least I think so." And Annie was off, gushing information all about her new love called Wendy. Lightweight, pretty, nearly blonde with little freckles and a sweet smile. Studying German, live in Surrey, gorgeous ears, perfect voice and soft fingers. Likes badminton and Tamla Motown, bacon and cider; hates dogs. And more and more, all about this wonderful creature named Wendy. "So, when do we meet her?" "Well, that's a bit of a problem. I've sort of invited her over the end of next week. So I've got to tell Mum and Dad before then." "No you don't have to tell them at all. She can just be a friend coming over for a few days. As long as you don't start snogging at the supper table!" Annie giggled at the thought, and I imagined doing that with Adrian at the same time. "Annie?" "Mmm?" "Do they know I'm queer?" "Pretty sure they do." "Hmmm. How long?" "Dunno. I sort of guessed that you were about five years ago – how old are you now?" "Seventeen." "Ooh, bit longer than that then. Maybe about seven or eight years ago." "What made you guess?" "Not sure exactly, but I remember you really liked that radio show Beyond our Ken – Rodney and Charles and all that. And then it was Round the Horne with Julian and whatsit" "Sandy. Julian and my friend Sandy!" "That's right! You know, 'Bona' everything and speaking pilari or whatever it is." "It's Polari and Kenneth Williams yes, actually I think they're fabulosa!" "Dad thought they were all disgusting and should have been shot, Mum thought it was funny!" I laughed; outrageously naughty. "You thought they were wonderful and used to sing all those pretend dirty folk songs by Rambling Sid something-or-other!" We howled with laughter. "It was sort of obvious to me then, and I think Mum picked up on it pretty quickly; Dad didn't. Oh, and Mum used to ask me about your friends when you came back from St XX. When you started in the new school ." "Oh god, what?" "She just wanted to know who your friends were, and what they were like." "But why didn't she ask me?" "Come on, Nicky! When did Mum ever ask something out straight? Do you remember Nanny Clare? Mum never even bothered to talk to us while she was here. Clare was all we knew; Clare was our parent! Mum doesn't do 'direct contact', does she?" I thought of seeing her being fucked in the studio and the deafening silence afterwards. "No, she doesn't" I agreed. "And this dressing up," Annie started, and I wondered where the sentence would finish. I cowed and shrank inwardly like a helpless oyster sprayed with careless lemon. I couldn't be sure where this was going: I could guess, and it wasn't going to be happy. "I know you've been doing it for years, but I don't think Mum `n' Dad know at all." She wasn't asking me if I cross dressed, she knew and she was presenting it as an established fact. We sat in silence for a second or two. "Sorry, Annie." "Okay." But I knew it wasn't really okay. It must have been pretty horrid realising that someone else was borrowing your clothes for their enjoyment. "When di-" "When you were about eight! You weren't very good at putting everything back properly." "Oh god." "You see how nice I am! I've never told on you or complained, have I?" I shook my head sadly. "You're really lucky to have sister like me!" I felt awfully guilty and suddenly quite revolted at my perversion. I wanted to be sick; to expunge all the revolting perversion inside me. I longed to be clean, fresh and wholesome; I longed to be "normal". "Never mind" and she draped her arm around my shoulders and lifted my chin with the other hand. "At least you haven't gone off and got some poor girl pregnant at fifteen, have you? And you're still my favourite brother." I managed a weak smile at that. I was Annie's only brother, so I was her favourite and least favourite all at the same time. "But you need to start buying your own clothes, please. So these knickers are to start you off." "Actually, I already have started. Bought a skirt at C&A today." "Oooh, let's have a look then!" "Bit disappointing, really. It doesn't look as nice as I thought it would." I pranced up off the bed and retrieved the carrier bag from on top of my wardrobe. I pulled the skirt out and showed her. "Mmm, not bad. Colour's not really you, though." "It was really difficult trying to choose something without, y'know, broadcasting what I was doing!" "I bet. The receipt's here. Do you want me to take it back for you?" She suddenly clapped her hands and turned straight to me in excitement. "I'll take it back while you're with me!" Darling Annie was enraptured by the thought of secret activity that no passer by would ever expect. "Then you can choose something else, and I'll buy it and no one will ever guess!" She positively wriggled in naughty excitement. "That's a fab idea, Annie!" "We'll go tomorrow, No, it's Sunday tomorrow. Monday then." "Can't Monday, I've got to be in school even though there's no performance. Tuesday?" "Tuesday then!" She looked at her wristwatch. "What time have you got to be at school today?" "Five thirty, same as last night." "Better get moving then, Nicky." Mrs French and Maggie were there at the top of the refectory stairs as I arrived for the Saturday evening performance. "Didn't see you after what happened last night, Wyatt. How are you feeling today?" "Absolutely fine thank you Ma'am." "Better weather helps, doesn't it? Much cooler today." "Absolutely, Ma'am. I feel great." I glanced across at Maggie and couldn't help but grin slightly at her. She winked back at me. Mrs French looked at me then followed my gaze towards Maggie and then back again. "I think I'm being left out here. Probably best I don't know." And she trailed away into silence. She turned back to me determinedly. "That was an excellent performance last night, Wyatt. You were all magnificent. Ready to do it again tonight?" "Most definitely, Ma'am." "Break a leg, then!" And she turned away to speak to someone else, but still glanced at Maggie as she did so. Maggie grabbed me by the elbow. "I've got some clean erm, items, if you see what I mean. The other one will need a wash." I looked about nervously. "It's okay, no one's listening. Let's walk down below and do a swop." And so we did. At the bottom of the stairs into the wardrobe store, I opened my satchel and gave Maggie the girdle I'd been wearing for the past week or so. She opened her fairly enormous leather hand bag and hauled out another girdle in white, handed it to me and stuffed the ivory underwear back in her bag. "The fresh one's more comfortable, at least I think so. But it's a tiny bit longer so you won't be able to wear it under your trousers." And she gave me her wrinkly grin again. She knew I'd been wearing the girdle for my own sexual pleasure. "You'll have to wear it with a skirt instead of trousers, just like that other boy!" And off she went, grinning naughtily, and leaving me open mouthed in surprise. Obviously Mrs French had told her all about Adrian. And she knew and understood the relationship. That sort of decided it for me; I felt certain that Mrs French and Maggie were either sisters – unlikely, but still theoretically possible – or very good friends who lived together. Down in the wardrobe store, I stripped to my panties and slipped on the fresh, white girdle. Maggie was right, being just an inch or two longer, it didn't seem to cut into my thighs so much and generally felt much lighter and more comfortable. I looked down and checked that I was all nicely tucked in and flat just as Mr Trelawney joined me again. He sat on the bench seat and watched me roll on Annie's white stockings and clip them onto the girdle's straps. He said nothing as I did so, which was not his style. Normally, he'd prattle on about something or other as though we were having a perfectly ordinary conversation while I just happened to be getting dressed up as a woman. Something had changed that evening, but I didn't register the rhyme or reason at the time. I pulled on my padded bra and dipped my head as Mrs Trellis draped the shift over my head, gathered it carefully and eventually laced me into my gown – not so tightly this time. Once again, I sat for a minute or two before going to make up. In silence again, I added large amounts of mascara, eye shadow and eye liner to my face. But now I tilted the mirror slightly and added a little definition with blusher and pancake to my pretend bosoms. With just a little darkening of flesh colour in the middle and a little lightening on this side and the other, I created the illusion of some kind of swelling and cleavage. Maggie was watching. She just grinned; "Looks good, y'know." I put some perfume on and waited for the performance. Good. Good, just good in the best possible way. I felt I had the play worked out, sorted and wrapped up. I'd worked and shown and led, demonstrated and resolved. I was perfectly satisfied with my performance. I could disappear and sublimate myself into the character of Juliet in plenty of time before the curtain up, but it wasn't easy to abandon her at the end of the play. As we stood bathed in the applause, I was still Juliet; thirteen and vulnerable. I could not escape or re-assume my male identity for what seemed like ages afterwards. I stayed in character for the applause and curtain calls and even for the interview with the reporter from the XX Observer. I have no idea what she asked me and no idea what replies I gave her as she scratched away in her spiral bound notebook. That was Juliet doing the talking. Back in the undercroft wardrobe store, I was alone again as all the other boys had already changed and gone. Mr Trelawney clattered down the stairs a few seconds later. "Lovely performance, Nicky, shall I undo you?" "Yes please, sir." And I turned my back towards him and lifted my wig curls out of the way. He started undoing me, and I waited for the ceaseless chatter that usually accompanied it. But there was nothing this evening; Mrs Trellis remained silent. He swept the gown of my shoulders now and I stepped out of the dress, backwards towards him, I brushed myself against him. I bent sharply and picked up the gown just as I had done before. But this time he was still right there behind me with his hands on my hips as I sorted the gown out and hung it on the rack before me. I felt him bunching my shift up as I finished, lifting it up and over my head. He was standing very close behind me and I felt his trousers against my girdle. And I felt the hard, probing rod of his erection against my bottom as well. I began unclipping my stockings from my girdle as though there was nothing happening at all. I wanted it to be that way; I wanted to ignore him, pretend it wasn't happening and yet I knew I wanted him to have sex with me at the same time. I wanted to lusted after and to serve his lust sexually. His hands roamed around my bottom and around my middle, pulling me back towards him and against his penis. It seemed huge, but I'd thought that about Adrian's too and it hadn't been as big as I'd imagined. As I rolled down and out of my stockings, I felt him fumble behind me and heard the gentle rasp of a zip. He was getting his willy out. Stockings rolled off now, I put my hand in the top of the girdle and slipped it down off my bottom and it took my panties down with it – and I hadn't planned that. Hard and hot, his penis pressed into the cleft of my bottom; he ground it against me with one hand on each of my hips and pulling me back against him. I opened my legs slightly and bent forwards just a bit. I felt him drop his hips a bit. Still holding me tight, he thrust underneath my bottom and straight between my thighs. Looking down I could see his enormous glans and shaft protruding from under my scrotum, and I realised his penis really was huge. He withdrew and then thrust again, trying to angle up and enter me. I started to feel a bit frightened; without any lubrication I was sure that I'd tear again. "No! Not there. I'm very sore and bleeding. Please don't!" I wasn't bleeding of course, but I was desperate to avoid penetration by this monster. "Oh, you can't mean it" he gasped disappointedly and sort of hesitated for a moment, and that gave me time to slither round and drop to my knees in front of him. I was going to suck him off instead. He'd only opened his flies and so his penis merely protruded from its cover. 'Merely', it was huge. So I put my hands on his trousered cheeks and nuzzled in to take the head in my mouth. God, he was enormous! I could only just get the glans in my mouth, so I grabbed the shaft with both hands instead and began wanking him into my mouth, licking and sucking like mad. Off we went, Mrs Trellis thrusting enthusiastically an inch or two into my mouth as I bobbed back and forth, sucking and slobbering and trying to keep up with him. I put one hand on his bottom again and felt the muscles stretch and contract rhythmically as he entered my mouth. His glans was huge and pointed and the ridge of his corona felt so sharply defined to my lips and tongue that I really wanted to examine it. I pulled back and disengaged for a moment while still wanking it with one hand. I looked up at Mrs Trellis' face; she was looking down at me with eyes half closed and mouth open, still thrusting strongly. He would be coming soon. The glans was deep red and the corona cut back sharply onto the lengthy shaft. I had guessed his was about twice the length of mine, but looking at it carefully I think his willy was about seven or eight inches long and rather fat. I was so glad it was in my mouth and not in my bottom. I returned to energetic sucking as he pushed forwards into my mouth time after time. I hardly moved my head at all now as he thrust more and more urgently into my mouth. The pace hadn't changed, just the urgency. And now his hand went to the back of my head, pulling my mouth even further around his huge penis. I thought I'd choke, but I didn't and it just sort of slipped in. He fumbled at the waistband of his trousers and let them slither down towards the floor. Harder, more urgently than ever now, he gave deep animal grunts with each thrust of his pelvis. And "Uugh!" He squirted his semen into me and it almost made me choke in surprise. I pulled away a bit as he erupted another blast, but I quickly recovered and let him back deep into my throat. A loud, grunting exclamation as he squirted into me again. I felt the contraction of his stomach muscles and the spurt of semen up along the shaft of his penis and deep into my gullet. He was so loud I was frightened that someone would hear him and come down to find out what was going on. Thrusts slowing, he groaned and spurted again. Now he stopped completely, holding my head tight around his penis. He gave a wriggle and twitch as an aftershock rippled through him And another one. Gently, slowly he withdrew and released his grip on my head. He stepped back and sat rather heavily on the bench. "Oh Nicky, my goodness." I cast about, looking for something to wipe my face and mouth with. Quickly, Mr Trelawney produced a clean and folded white handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to me. I wiped my face. "I didn't mean to do that. All a bit of an accident." Liar. I had thought he hadn't produced much semen, but it was all over me. Down my neck and even in my bra; sticky and unpleasant. Some of my cleavage make up came off on the hanky as I wiped. "Sorry," I said with slight apology as I handed the mucky hanky back to him. Sitting on the bench, his enormous willy was still hugely erect, pointing straight up from his thatch of brown pubic hair. It was hugely impressive and quite intimidating, but I think I preferred willies without pubic hair surrounding them. "What on earth have I done? That shouldn't have happened at all." He was off, prattling again. Filling the space with words where his inappropriate thoughts and lusts would otherwise take over. I didn't feel that I had been abused. Yes, I'd been taken advantage of – after all, he had sought me ought when he knew I would be changing. But I wanted him to want me; I wanted to be lusted after when dressed as a female. I wanted to be fucked; it was only the realisation that I was unlubricated and that his enormous willy could have torn me to shreds that made me stop him. In some ways, I had taken advantage of him by continuing to undress when he was there and encouraging his lust. Kneeling there, in my padded bra, with girdle and panties around my ankles, I must have looked a bit of a sight. Particularly with my little pink willy poking up from between my thighs. Mr Trelawney cleaned himself with the handkerchief and began to straighten his clothing. Suddenly, there was a rather exaggerated cough from up the stairs. We both started nervously. I looked guiltily to the stairs, and he stood quickly stuffing his monster into his pants and trousers all at once. "Mr Trelawney, are you down there by any chance?" it was Mr Gibson calling down, quite theatrically. "Yes, as it happens I am." "Could I have a word, please." Stuffing shirt into trousers and trying to fasten his belt, Mr Trelawney ascended the narrow stairs away from me. I watched him go and realised that Mr Gibson had known that Trelawney would be here. It was almost as though it had been planned that way. I couldn't quite believe that Trelawney had said 'I'm going down to see if I can have sex with Wyatt; call me in fifteen minutes', but it certainly seemed that way. I pulled my knickers back up, but took off the girdle completely. Maggie had said it wouldn't be wearable with trousers and I was sure she was right. Anyway, I wanted to just go home for a bath and wank so the less I had to wear and adjust the better. I'd managed to get my shirt on by the time there were more footsteps on the stairs. Mr Gibson this time. "Nicky, sorry about this. Seems that this was found here last night after you'd erm, been taken poorly. Thought you'd better have it now." And he handed me an envelope. It was The Envelope; the one I'd been sent from Adrian via Marion, and now via Mr Gibson. I took it eagerly and examined it carefully. It was gummed down still, so it was unlikely that anyone had opened it, although it was rather more dog-eared than when Marion gave it to me the day before. It looked entirely consistent with having been dropped on the floor, stepped on, handed to someone else and stuffed into a jacket pocket for the night. Mr Gibson sort of angled back as he passed the envelope to me and I realised he was trying to get a look just below my shirt. He could obviously see my little lemon panties. Involuntarily, I flinched back and bent slightly away from him; I didn't really want him to see my knickers. One schoolmaster a night would be quite sufficient. Quickly he glanced up and realised I was looking at his eyes; he started and turned away stamping up the wooden stairs again. I sat on the bench and opened the envelope. It contained single piece of pale blue Basildon Bond in italic handwriting. I turned it over and read from the start "Darling Nicky, I'm so sorry for everything I've done. I've made a hideous mess of everything and made everything rotten for you as well. I want you to know that I really love you. And it's all just been horrible this week. I really didn't mean to hurt you, I love you so how could I do that to you? And school today. I didn't mean to be embarrassing to everyone. Now they all hate me. Thank god you weren't there. I feel awful, it was so stupid of me. But I just wanted to see you before I went away to say sorry. Wish I'd been able to see you before I left. I'm writing this Thursday night before we have to get the train to Harwich and I've told Marion to find you on Friday. Don't be cross with me. I meant it all for the best because I love you. This has been a hideous nightmare for me. Please forgive me for everything. I can't think why I did all those things and hurt you. I'll be away until Sunday week and I promise I will telephone you the moment I get back. I'm so sorry for every horrid thing. I love you. Adrian" I read it again, and then a third time. My beautiful Adrian sounded almost panic stricken and I imagined him scrawling these desperate lines in the minutes between packing and catching the train. I had no idea what to do. Adrian was unattainably far away; I wasn't even sure which country he was in now. There really wasn't much I could do until he came home the following weekend. 'away until Sunday week' he'd written, so did that mean he'd phone on Sunday or Monday? I decided to phone his house to find out precisely when he'd return, but damn I didn't have the number! I walked home quickly, quite agitated and upset. I hurried past the woodland even quicker than I normally did. In my mind, I'd named it 'Wanky Wood' after being seen in there. Nothing had seemed to come from being caught masturbating there, but I still hurried past just in case the woman with the sensible shoes jumped out and caught me. It being Saturday night, Mum and Dad were watching telly when I got back and Annie had gone out somewhere. They wanted to hear all about the performance of course, and whether I felt okay. And of course I felt fine as it must have been at least ten degrees cooler this evening – and I hadn't been trussed up so tightly. Naturally, I omitted telling them about having sex with a teacher, but the thought reminded me that I wanted to have a bath and scrub off any residue of his semen. I had planned a nice long soak, but I felt the beginings of the 'blue balls' discomfort, so I shaved myself again and planned to have a good wank quickly. Then I used some of Annie's Nair stuff around my boy pussy to make me wonderfully smooth. I crossed from the bathroom into my bedroom completely naked and with my semi-erect willy swinging in front of me. I felt rather luscious and attractive, probably because I had been the object of someone else's lust and now I was on my own and able to enjoy naughty things alone. I took the white girdle from my satchel and slipped it on again; it felt quite exquisite as I ran my hands over my bottom and stomach. Just by being a little longer, the girdle felt less severe and far more comfortable. Held in check by the material, my stiff willy twitched each time I ran my hand across my stomach. Oops, I'd have to be careful though, I didn't want to leak any pre-cum onto the inside of the girdle if I could help it. I danced back across the landing into Annie's room to look at myself in her mirror. I knew this was especially naughty as Annie had been so kind and understanding and she'd even bought me some panties, but I just wanted a little look. The orange reflection of this white sheath in the sunset blasted back from the mirror as I stood there in the last of the setting sun. I really liked what I saw and how it felt. I turned this way and that, putting my hands on the back of my head as though lifting long hair away from my shoulders. It made my rib cage rise and it stretched my stomach beautifully. I stood on tiptoe and marvelled at the tightening effect on my calves and bottom. I gave a little wriggle of pleasure. I'd have to go back now and take it off before I leaked. As I stepped back into the darkening shadow of my bedroom, I flicked on the light for just a moment without thinking. Realising what I'd done, I cowered down and switched the light off quickly, before scootling over to the window and yanking the curtains closed. Seeing a naked boy would be one thing, but a nearly nude boy in women's underwear would be something quite different. Safe and secure now, I tugged the girdle down and hid it away under the wardrobe drawer with my other treasures. Now, I oiled my body carefully and luxiourously, and my willy most carefully. I thought of myself as one of Beardsley's more disgusting illustrations; all slim torso and enormous pointed phallus. How did I want to have sex with myself? With a flash of inspiration I flung on my dressing gown and hurried down to the kitchen cupboard beneath the stairs from where I collected a very small plastic carrier bag and a Stanley knife. Back upstairs, I collected my sponge from the bathroom and I sliced it neatly in half. I took my pillow from my bed, folded it in half and stuck it underneath my mattress. I stuffed the two halves of my bathroom sponge into the fold in the pillow. Next, I squirted baby oil into the carrier bag I had brought upstairs and placed it between the layers of bathroom sponge. Holding it in place to provide a bit of resistance, I knelt and inserted my willy and fucked my pillow desperately. Perfectly lubricated, I slipped in and out easily, with a delicious constriction courtesy of the sponge at the entrance and perfect space beyond. I thought of Mr Trelawny's willy between my thighs and then in my mouth; I wanted to come. But now I stopped thrusting madly and withdrew my penis and reached for my hairbrush. If I wanted to have sex with someone again, how would it feel? Would I ever be able to accommodate a willy like his? I lubricated my hairbrush handle and inserted it gently. Felt fine. I thrust it up and down with increasing urgency and then withdrew it for inspection. No blood was visible, so I collected some Andrex from the bathroom and wiped carefully: nothing, no pain either. Feeling relieved, liberated and empowered, as we would say now, I slammed my willy back into my pillow arrangement and shoved the hairbrush up my bottom as well. But I couldn't hold the pillow tightly in place and the hairbrush up there at the same time, so as the handle slipped out I fucked the slippery plastic bag ever more urgently. I imagined it as Adrian's firm, pale bottom, with his rubbery willy wobbling about between his hairless thighs. I gave several short, strangulated groans as I came, shoving myself as hard and deep as I possibly could into my complicated simulated bottom arrangement. I'm sure I squirted lots of semen into the bag; it certainly felt as though I was draining myself of quite a build up. Thank goodness Mum and Dad were in the front house and Annie was out. I sat back on my heels, withdrawing my willy from the arrangement, utterly spent. Felt marvellous; a delicious conclusion to an ultimately memorable week. I'd had sex with an older man – a teacher, too. Well he'd had sex with me, at least. I'd served him as a woman – a whore – would. Fleetingly, I loved the idea of whoring for lots of men all at once. Sucking and being fucked at the same time; willies all over me. I washed myself carefully, cleared everything away most carefully and went to bed, tired and satisfied.